Archive of Our Own

LEON

Haunted

LEON

Fred was young--for a motel owner that is--being only in his late 30’s, but it was a family business after all, and his insomnia kept him active during the lazy third shift. He was deep into a Ray Bradbury novel when the stranger had appeared, throwing off the silent nighttime routine and asking for a room. Luckily, it was the off season and as usual, there was an abundance of vacancies. Fred only glanced at the man in the dark office; he was broad and stout, and had unusually well-kept hair for this time of night--morning?

“Sure,” Fred had answered, to his request, and stood to pivot, reaching for the wall of keys. Behind him in the dimness of the room, the man stood silhouetted against the large open window. Snow poured down, illuminated by the blue motel sign. “Just sign the book and let me know how you want to pay. Smoking or non?”

The man seemed run-of-the-mill tired, exhausted, and lost--maybe a bit richer than most, but otherwise much like the majority of passerby heading toward the oil rigs or doing god knows what in Canada. His vehicle was more impressive, Fred could give him that. After walking down the catwalk toward the first-story room, Fred handed over the key and towels. He had thought to walk directly back to the office, but now paused as the newcomer closed his door. There were some linens that needed changing from a recently vacated room...it wasn’t pressing, but he was already outside.

The dark-haired business owner briskly walked to the end of the row of doors, opening the last one and tossing the sheets and blankets into a pile, which he then scooped up and exited with. He did a mental count. New guy in room 4. Family of businessman in room 6. Young couple room 10. He stood next to room 16, which had been occupied by the Inuit man. Wasn’t there another? Wasn’t he missing someone? Fred blinked, confused, with his handful of blankets. 12...wasn’t there someone in room 12?

Troublesome. Fred was not prone to forgetting his tenants. Now he remembered with certainty, while handing the newcomer with good hair his room 4 key--the 12 key was not on its hook. Had he fallen asleep? Now Fred glanced at the parking lot. Newcomer’s hummer. Family in the Chevy, parked close to the office. Couple’s old Volkswagen Beetle right outside their room. Room 12 had no vehicle. No curtains pulled, no light on. Fred fished his master key from his pocket awkwardly, still holding the bundle, and approached the door.

The stark realization that he’d missed something slowly began to fade. The lock did not give. He fumbled and the man’s eyes grew bleary. That’s right...12 was vacant. Nothing in there. He grew tired, and the act of pulling the key from the lock was actually a chore. The man sighed, staring at the 1 2 on the door. What was he doing here again? It’s late, he thought assuredly to himself. I should head to bed. These guests are fine at this time of night.

And he did have leftovers waiting for him in the fridge upstairs. He turned from the door, shuffling away, wondering why his keys were in his hand instead of his pocket.

_________

Leon had decided to turn the old tube TV on. He didn’t like the silence, was growing uneasy with it. He mindlessly withdrew the flask from his pants pocket and then looked down at it as though confused.

Captain Kirk and the gang were investigating a peaceful planet. Their voices sounded in the room behind him as he watched the snow fall.

“What's the matter, Jim?”
“What? Oh, nothing. It's just so peaceful, uncomplicated. No problems, no command decisions. Just living. "
“Typical human reaction to an idyllic natural setting. Back in the twentieth century, we referred to it as the Tahiti Syndrome. It's particularly common to over-pressured leader types, like starship captains.”

He thought of the trainyard, the wolves. The young girl. Leon had come across his share of missing, deceased campers and hikers. Death in the wilderness seemed cruel for a young girl. He wondered if it was true, if she had been a part of some human trafficking cartel, and got lost in the woods. In a place like this, that could be easy to do. As gruesome as the thought was, he preferred it to the now gnawing sensation he had that something was actually wrong.

He second-thoughted the flask and placed it on the nightstand, kicking off his shoes and laying flat on his back. It would be daylight--or at least, Alaska’s version of it--in a few hours, and he intended to sleep. Sleep was better than mulling over his thoughts. It wasn’t a plaga, he’d insisted to Hunnigan. Was that because he truly believed it? Or was he projecting his hopes?

“Doctor...If we don't get to that deflection point in time, it will become physically impossible to divert this asteroid. In that case, everyone on this planet will die, including the captain.”
“Can a few more minutes matter, Spock?”
“In the time it's taken me to explain the problem, the asteroid has moved from here to here. The longer we delay, the less the likelihood of being able to divert it. Beam us up, Mister Scott.”

“Used to be a cop myself. Only for a day though.”
“And I thought I was bad.”

Leon was walking, holding a paper in his hand. The scrawled, disjointed handwriting was one of Luis Sera’s notes on Las Plagas.

“Great, the radio’s out.” It was his own voice he heard, sardonic. Younger. Leon looked up from the paper. Claire sat beside him, awaiting his direction. “...Leon Kennedy.” He knew what he was saying, wasn’t sure why he was saying it. Now he twisted, turned, the police car thrown into chaos, a gurgling zombie in the backseat. The fiery crash, once so detailed in his mind, blurred past him. Yelling at Claire. Meet me at the police station. It had happened, in his mind, hundreds of times. Now it felt as though someone was pressing a fast-forward button.

“CLAIRE. TAKE SHERRY. GET OUT OF HERE.” Horror crept on Leon. Not horror for the events unfolding. He had to protect Sherry. She was only a child. Her parents….

He heard his own voice again. “...that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties upon which I am about to enter and during such time as I hold the office of police officer serving the Raccoon City Police Department.”

His right hand was upright as he recited the oath.

“....the Raccoon City Police Department…”

Spock interrupted.

“Lock all phasers on that mark. Maximum intensity, narrow beam. I want to split that fissure wide open.”
“You sound like you're cutting a diamond.”
“Very astute, Doctor.”

“What, you supposed to be a cop or something? Nah, you don't look that type…” The voice was coy, if men could be coy. Luis was suave, even at their bleakest moments. The hand that had been raised for the oath was now behind Leon, tied behind his back. He could feel Sera’s back and shoulders as they sat. The smell was earth, decay, blood. He attempted to turn, to look for his friend. But Sera was not visible.

“Maybe..”

There was more, but Leon refused, even in his dreams. He didn’t dream about this. He didn’t think of Sherry, of Raccoon City. He wouldn’t. Luis, Spain, it was all gone. He noticed his hands were still tied. On the bed, Leon tossed.

“I'm happy. I'm so happy. If it weren't for the dreams, my mind would be completely at peace.”
That was Captain Kirk’s voice. Leon held onto the dialogue, forcing a refocus. No more memories. Listen to the plot.
“I thought you no longer had the dreams, that you no longer saw the strange lodge which moves through the sky.”
‘They've come back. They were gone for a while, but they've come back, and I see faces, too. Very dim. I feel I should know know them. I feel my place is with them, not here. I don't deserve this happiness.”

“Is it just me, or does everybody always ignore what I say?”
Leon fired a round, shot the zombie in the head. It fell into a heap at Claire’s feet. He approached the pavement, which was already sticky with blood. He stared into the eyes of the vacant corpse, noting its twisted mouth, lolling tongue, the red trickling from its mouth. Brains lay scattered in bits behind the skull. This vision was more vivid than anything he’d seen, almost a counter to his will to forget.

I never say I’m sorry, he realized, smelling a familiar, pungent scent of whiskey. It was coming from nearby, the nightstand. I’m so sorry. I didn’t start this, but I’m sorry. And then it happened; he could feel the breech in the wall. His own wall, one he’d spent many years building. The simple face of one, one that looked like so, so many. So many bullets. So many deaths. Leon was screaming there in the dark of Raccoon City, not for all the dead, but for himself. How many bodies fell so easily from the other end of the barrel? Claire was by him, her hand on his shoulder, his scream turning into a roar.

“The people will be waiting.” A woman’s voice. Kirk's love interest that week.
“Why?” That was the captain.
“To save them.”
“But it's only the wind. The wind can't harm them.”
“The wind is only the beginning. Soon the sky will darken, the lake will go wild, and the earth will tremble. Only you can save us.”
“But I can't do anything about the wind or the sky.”

He saw something else now; a white room, heard the screaming roars. It was him. He was not in the city. He was in a sterilized chamber, beating on a one way mirror. Screeching so loud the glass shook. The face in the mirror was distorted, hidden. Like a corpse itself, covered in black vomit. The eyes were piercing and the screams grew louder.

UMBRELLA?! He saw the sign on the door.

And like that, Leon snapped upright, thrust forward from his dream as though someone had ejected him from his own cartridge, a bullet into the dark hotel room.

He was covered in sweat. And now he felt a trickle cascade onto his lips. His nose was bleeding? He gingerly touched his nose, withdrew his weathered hand. Dark red.

The TV lit the room; Leon looked to the night stand and saw that his flask was open. Had he opened it? Now he stood, walked to the adjacent bathroom, and began to rinse his face in the shocking porcelain white of the sink. He was exhausted, feeling as though he hadn’t slept at all.

His agency, upon initiating the furlough, required a doctor’s verification to keep Leon's standing with the company. She didn’t even give him the option of a prescription. For his PTSD, she’d said. Leon never opened the bottle, but it had made its way into his luggage. He wore his disorder like his jacket. Warm, stylish, always close. Never before had his dreams found their way onto a job in this manner, and never before had he backtracked so far. Leon remembered something he’d said to Rebecca at their last meeting. She brought up Los Illuminados. “That was so long ago, I don’t even remember.” Rarely had Leon wanted to laugh at his own joke, but that was a good one. Totally wasted on boring Rebecca and Chris.

“Not tonight,” he said aloud for no one, and went to his luggage container. Several of the pills and half of the flask later, Leon snored peacefully in the hotel bed, with no more dreams.

-----------------

ADA

A mahogany desk stood centered in a corner with a small lamp situated to one side. The emerald shade cast green tints on the wall beside it, and the warm glow of its bulb created a soothing effect that did not reach beyond its border. The rest of the room soaked in a chill that was purely an illusion, though Ada knew better than to question what caused it. It reeked of arrogance and ambition.
No wonder.

Manila folders were stacked in what almost looked like an organized mess. The contradiction brought her amusement. Sheets of papers held together with little silver clips littered the surface. Photographs topped a singular pile.
It teased her curiosity.
She had only caressed the edge of the report when there came the sound of a latch clicking behind her. The spy didn’t even have time to turn, much less register the sudden rush that sounded like wind.

A cracking sound accompanied her fragile body being slammed into the cement wall next to the desk. Her hands immediately went to the appendage holding her there. Leather-clad fingers dug into tender throat. She felt her senses failing as she clawed and twisted at the sleeve. Shadows crept into the corners of her eyes and the luxury of air faded to a faint memory. Blurred vision caught the glint of a sadistic smile, vengeful, and the burn of a death stare pulsated in muted colors behind obsidian lenses.

Ada was quickly slipping away, though whether the icy tendrils were the loving caress of death or the damaged wall behind her she could not tell. Leather dug, pressing viciously, and a single arm fell to paw at her thigh. She pulled up her phone, holding it to the side, aiming the screen at the man desiring her blood. The vice around her neck fell only enough for her to find her voice, but not to truly breathe.

“Not... e—ven they... kno—ow wha—t it is.” Ada strained to form syllables while the light in her eyes faded to a dull sheen. Painted lips tugged in the pathetic attempt of a smirk, denying him the pleasure of knowing her agony.

The grip eased, but only for a moment, and suddenly she was lifted ever higher. Toes of her shoes scraped against the floor… and then sweet release accompanied a sneer from her attacker. Oxygen flooded her lungs as she gasped and coughed, landing roughly on the floor. She rubbed the creamy skin at her throat trying to lessen the bruising that was sure to appear.

Breath rumbled up from his chest in an amused chuckle and that smooth voice clipped its words.
“Your ingenuity is… astounding.”
She understood it was not a compliment.

A shiver inched its way through Ada’s frame. Fingers rubbed the skin where purple had faded. Her complexion had regained its healthy glow, but the muscles still ached from his iron grip. The memory floated away on the breeze, lost to the drifts that surrounded her. Ada consulted her phone again, the device bleeping an insistence that she had arrived at her destination. Caramel hues drank in the scenery, trying to decide if her gadget was malfunctioning.

She waded through the snow pushing to the only outcropping of rocks that jutted up from the otherwise washed-out wasteland. The base of the mountain had a gentle slope and a sprinkling of pines thinned out the higher one went. Beige stone interrupted the pattern, begging to be investigated, and Ada moved closer. She raised her arms as she trudged through another pile that reached her waist. Strong winds tore at the surface, throwing the crystals into the air and against her.

Ada’s hood fell, the fur tickling her neck, and ebony strands whipped around as she shielded her eyes from the battering storm. Sleet and ice were joining the mix, causing sight and sound to nearly be lost among the storm. Her device flashed and she shot it a look. It seemed absolutely convinced that she stood in the correct spot. She stood at the entrance to the woods she had investigated previously staring at a large wall of snow to her left.

The blizzard was increasing in strength and soon it would be difficult to see even her hand in front of her face. Ada began to turn back. She would try this another day with a device that didn’t seem determined to put her on a wild goose cha--
--something gnawed at her, interrupting the assumption that the device could be glitching.

Wall of snow.
Ada twisted around and squinted through the veil of sleet at the way the snow piled and flowed along the base of the mountain. She studied its swirls and the way the wind tossed it to and fro. That wall did not follow the same pattern.

Trudging back through the path she had carved, Ada reached out and pressed a palm against the barrier. It gave easily and fell inward. The rest collapsed with a muffled plop and she stared into a gaping maw that beckoned her. Nothing could be heard over the tinkling sound of ice, which was quickly building to a soft roar. The trees had disappeared behind her, hidden behind a curtain of flakes, so she pressed onward into the sanctuary.

The deeper she went the more pronounced her footfalls became. The storm outside died away until the only sounds remaining were her own steps, her hushed breathing, and moisture dripping from the walls. Her boot sank as she stepped on an unknown substance. A disgusted look flashed across her features. Her boot was stuck. She could feel the pull as she tried to lift it free. Her breath hitched as her skin crawled and in that moment she heard a slithering up ahead.

Ada plucked her earpiece from her pocket and, once it was situated, the small lamp sputtered to life. The miniature flashlight sent its beam cascading down the interior of the cave. It fell with her gaze and she stared at the muck creeping along the sole of her boot. It held to her shoe, latched on in dripping strings as she tried to yank her foot free. She pulled again and with a sickening sound it popped free, the goop puckering with a snap before settling back down on the floor.

A bit clingy. We’ve only just met… what is this? She maintained her composure despite the overwhelming urge to cringe at the filth.

Ada looked up, peering deeper into the darkness, and noted how the gunk beneath her seemed to branch onward, becoming thicker as it went. She followed its trail until she came to a dead end. A single eyebrow quirked in a delicate arch when she viewed the back wall.

The entire cave was coated in the muck, thick and unyielding, until the back wall was nothing but a mass of oozing glop and weaving tentacles that spread out like the roots of a tree. It dripped to the floor, steam rising from its surface, and throbbed in irregular intervals. Pillars of the substance stretched across the open space, winding around each other. Ada was reminded of a grotesque mockery meant to mimic a gigantic beating heart.

This couldn’t be… could it?

The consideration that she may have stumbled upon the source was interrupted when her light caught something that was neither stone nor slop. Stepping closer she saw a shapeless mass half buried by the growth. A crumbled stack of the remains of a fire were nothing more than ash and charred wood. Beside it a body was collapsed and on its side, curled up as though to ward away the cold, dressed heavily in furs and wrappings reminiscent of the Inuits over the mountain… but there was one thing very wrong with the picture.

It was missing its head.
Where there should have been a face, frozen over by death, was simply a tattered stump.

Ada glanced around, expecting to find a skull or something of the sort, but found nothing. Ragged flesh rippled with the same throbbing black wires that spread across the cave. Its thick mitten clutched an item and Ada bent down to wrestle it free. It took a bit of prying, but when she stood back up she held her prize. She uncurled the crumpled paper and rubbed wrinkles away to its edges until faded lettering became visible. The language was one she did not immediately recognize, so she whipped out her phone. A quick scan and the device revealed a rough translation.

Alasie,

I ---------- safely to town… but I fear I won’t be home again.
----------- died before we broke --------- trees. They howled and acted crazed… Amaruq jumped at me, dark foam dripping -------- and I had to ---------. The whimper he made still haunts me. I sought refuge in a cave near ----------------. I -------- wait it out, let the blizzard pass, but…
I won’t be coming home. Something is wrong -------- mountain. It has me and it won’t let go.
I can’t move, I can’t think. It’s a struggle to wri-----------

~U------

The scrawled writing slanted across the paper with entire sentences smeared away. The rest of the text disappeared beneath a layer of blood that soaked through the sheet. The only visible portion at the end was a single letter in what she could only assume was a signature. Ada’s hand fell to her side. She stared at the body, releasing the letter so it fell in lazy swoops back to the corpse. She filed the digital copy away to study later.

The hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. Ada turned and gazed at nothing. The wall continued to thrum with its alien pulse and the floor held a sheen when the circle of light bobbed along it. The darkness swallowed the glow and kept it from shining too far. She could not pinpoint what had caused the sudden suspicion she was being watched, but she was not one to dismiss her instincts so easily.

“It’s been nice, but I can’t stay.” Sarcasm dripped from her words as easily as the slime on the walls surrounding her. She had learned to trust her gut and this time would not be an exception. Ada didn’t even have the chance to take a single step as a scuttling sound burst forth and something came leaping at her face.

Chapter End Notes

Also, we apologize (in future reference along with past) for any repetitive descriptions noticed throughout the story. When we post to each other to collaborate an indeterminate amount of time passes, so we aren't always aware of any repetitiveness until we see it here flowing from chapter to chapter. Understanding is appreciated!

Prying Eyes

LEON

“Thank you dear, for the coffee,” the older man interrupted, tilting away from Leon and toward the silver-haired, cardigan-wearing woman who now lowered the tray she was carrying to the small coffee table between the two men. They were sitting in the ‘study’, but from what Leon could tell, the room was primarily composed of an array of gun cases. Glass lined cabinets were lit from the inside, showing off an impressive arsenal; one case was primarily fishing rods.

“Thank you,” Leon echoed, nodding to the woman and readily taking a cup. He opened his mouth to continue the conversation, but the maroon-cardigan lady had other plans. She stood expectantly, hands on her hips now that they were relieved of the tray.

“You don’t look like a government agent. Don’t you all wear black suits?”

Leon scoffed in an almost charming way. “No offense ma’am, but if I had to wear a suit to work I’d quit.”

“Well but who are you then?” she pressed, distressed. She eyeballed Leon, from his hair to his boots. “You don’t look like FBI.”

“I’m not.”

“Judy, please--the man just wants to talk, he’s helping look for that girl that ran out in front of our truck.”

‘Judy’ chuffed with disapproval but obeyed, leaving the room and the two men with their coffee.

The snow had turned to sleet after Leon awoke from his groggy, medication-assisted second slumber, and the dream of the night before was a happily forgotten dream before this drizzly day. His hair had grown short icicles on the walk from the driveway to the house, where he'd arrived twenty minutes earlier. The study had a large picture window overlooking the Murrays’ yard, and it too was covered in a thick layer of frost and ice. Anything more than several feet away was not visible, leaving Leon to peer out a large grey frame into the unknown as he spoke with the man who reportedly ran over a mystery stranger.

“Anyway, what were we---...yeah, the ice. It was real bad that night. Usually is within any reasonable amount of the lake.” The man was poring over the coffee intently. “Full brakes, just had 'em put on…” he shrugged and took a sip. “Isn’t much you can do when you’re moving a hunk of metal over sheer ice. I don’t think she was hurt bad. Stunned, maybe.”

“And you said you thought she’d sustained frostbite?” Leon mirrored the man and sipped the coffee. Bitter, black, but it didn’t warm him from the dizzying cold just outside the window. “Not think. I know she did. My son...Erik, he’s a first responder and he works on all the search and rescue teams. Even trains 'em. He is the one who picked her up, but you see---”

------------

“I did a rapid assessment on her before moving her to the vehicle,” Erik explained as he and Leon kicked their way uphill on the ice, traction cleats firmly attached to their shoes. “Which means I--”

“You checked her for injuries that would have been an immediate threat to life,” Leon finished, jamming his hands further in his pockets. It made balancing more difficult, but dammit, it was cold. The sleet still stubbornly trickled past them in thin sheets. The agent’s grey eyes were squinted almost shut, and he was thankful for the long parting of hair that masked his face, no matter how partially, from the cutting wind.

Erik, a tall, lean blond, cut his eyes toward Leon. “You got it. You work on a crew or something? Know your way around emergency medicine?”

“Hardly,” Leon answered with the same almost-friendly chuckle. “The victims I see are usually already dead..in a manner of speaking.”

This morbid statement left Erik silent and puzzled for a moment, until he pointed at a ridge that tapered off the main road they walked on. “Here it is. That’s where she came down and ran in front of the car. Anyway, like I was saying, I had a good minute to do that assessment and it was a wonder she was alive at all, she was suffering severe hypothermia.” The two men stepped off the road and into the deep forest, pausing to see if the cleats would hold up in the deep snow. It had mostly turned to ice thanks to today’s weather, so after a brief pause they walked on. "Dad's truck has a spotlight on it for deer. We were using it to cut through the fog. Makes no sense to me that she didn't see it, but I had a good working light when I was checking on her."

He sighed, breath billowing around him, blue crystals on his moustache already. “Black fingers, black toes, her eyes and lips and nose were completely full of crystals. I thought for sure…” he trailed off.

“But she was in good enough condition to run,” Leon mused, more to himself than the other. Erik nodded vigorously as though he’d thought the same thing.

“That’s the part I don’t get, yeah,” he affirmed. “So did you want me to take you all around where we searched?”

“I'd rather let technology do the work in this weather,” Leon shook his head, and then withdrew his mobile device. He pushed the worn-down button and Hunnigan’s face illuminated the weatherproof screen. “Hunnigan, Leon. I’m in the vicinity where an unknown female pedestrian was struck by a local driver and taken to the hospital.”

“Is that our blood donor?” Hunnigan’s voice was echoy, metallic, in the heavy wind. Erik looked on in mild confusion. A wolf howled nearby and his eyes drifted toward the sound, judging the distance.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Leon answered with a smirk and a nod, both of which went completely unnoticed by the female, who could only see the swirling rain on her screen.

“I’m initiating a topography scan of the area as well as any unusual or suspicious readings on a ten mile radius. I don't think heat traces will be as useful...but I'll try anyway.”

“If you can, include the old trainyard up at the quarry--other than this road I’m standing by it’s the only way in or out not blocked by snow.”

“Got it,” a flurry of tapping keys was barely discernible over the howl of the gale. “I’ll have it to you as soon as I can. The storm is interfering with our satellites.”

Leon peered into the looming forest. Almost as though he’d forgotten, he abruptly ended the conversation with, “Thanks Ingrid. Leon out,” before he again pocketed the device. As he stared at the trees, Erik stared at him.

“So you’re...here looking for this girl,” the younger man ‘asked’ bluntly.

“More or less,” Leon nodded, and then motioned toward the forest. “I’m going to guess that going in there isn’t going to tell me much, what with all the new snow.”

“Pretty much. We wouldn’t even send a helicopter out in this, if we were looking for somebody. But listen, we’ve combed this whole area looking for her, thought maybe she was from a group or something…I don’t know what you’re going to find that we didn’t.”

“Who knows?” shrugged Leon. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Erik seemed to understand that asking for further details would get him nowhere, so he simply nodded.

___________

Several more hours of leads got him nowhere; Leon was beginning to get discouraged. Even worst case scenario--that is, this wasn’t a wild goose chase and there were traces of the parasite in someone’s blood--the girl had probably died of exposure. If it was she of the sample, and he figured there weren’t too many Jane Doe blood samples that night in the hospital. However, ‘I figured’ wouldn’t cut it in his report, and Leon knew his next stop would be the hospital to speak with staff, then perhaps the local sheriff station.

But first, a fresh, dry pair of socks and a warm shower. They were such a tantalizing prospect at this point. He’d been in this situation many times, and never took a hot shower for granted. Leon took a short swig from his frozen flask as he drove along the recently plowed pike towards the motel. The whiskey was bitterly cold, erasing all notes of flavor from the drink, and he grimaced. How was that supposed to warm anybody up?

He was still preoccupied with closing the flask and pocketing it in his wet jacket as he made the final turn into the motel parking lot. It hadn’t been plowed and the vehicle rocked slightly as it slid over a small patch of ice, the anti-lock brakes sputtering.

“Easy to see how their truck couldn’t stop,” he mused as he checked his rearview mirror, looking at the tire prints he’d made on the snow. Now Leon parked and frowned as he finally turned his gaze forward, staring at the entrance to his motel room. His frown quickly turned to an indeterminate, hardened scowl and he withdrew the 1911 in a single, fluid motion as he pocketed the vehicle’s keys with his left hand. They jingled against the flask, and the sharp note was like a rifle sound; he grabbed the keys and opened the door handle, gun upright in his right hand. Leon’s finger hovered by the slide and he exited the rental truck, boots crunching on the newly-formed ice-snow. Not quite as loud. Now he pocketed the keys in his pants, away from any noisy co-inhabitants. His eyes darted and scanned the motel front, sides. The small hill behind the motel. Nothing. No footprints. No light on in the manager office. BACK IN FIFTEEN the sign on the front read. Other vehicles sat covered in snow, their patrons presumably warm and unfazed and basking in the buttery motel-lamplight that spilled out the window onto the sidewalk, illuminating shadows inside the rooms.

A tv was on in one of the rooms. A loud infomercial was playing.

He stepped closer, gingerly, still scanning for footsteps. Nothing.

The lights were off as he’d left them. The door had been broken, clumsily, at the doorknob. It seemed to be the work of a rock, he noted as he scanned the paint. Leon paused, back to the stone wall, and listened. His head canted to the side.

Not a sound.

Leon pivoted and turned, flooding the room in a white-blue wash from his LED flashlight. He scanned the vulnerable corners of the room. Beside the nightstand. Door to the bathroom. The light panned across the washroom mirror and reflected back onto Leon’s face, turning him a pasty lavender color momentarily. Behind the TV he panned next; nothing. The antenna threw large, dancing, spidery shadows across the room.

Not a sound.

He moved forward into the darkness, eyes finally adjusting, and cleared the bathroom. Finally Leon turned on the light and surveyed the mess.

His suitcase was opened, the contents scattered everywhere. Leon packed light and didn’t have much in the way of personal effects, but he noticed that his hair products, previously neatly aligned along the sink, were now on the carpeted floor. All the nightstand drawers were open and even the TV stand had been moved, pushed aside as though it were hiding something. Leon quickly turned to the bed.

The mattress was askew, the bedsheet torn half-off.

Dammit.

He saw the file he’d neatly hidden between the mattress and box springs, now on the floor, papers messily scattered.

Leon reluctantly holstered the gun and slid his mobile device from his pocket.

________

“No cops yet. I have a fingerprinting kit in the vehicle. I can lift what I find and scan it to you.”

“Sounds good.” Hunnigan was stressed; her voice was curt. Leon noticed every tonal change. “Did you determine if there was anything missing?”

“Only one paper in the whole file,” he responded, glancing over the paperwork. “Page 35, which is a--”

“--figure diagram of the Los Illuminados cult symbol,” they stated at the same time. Ingrid continued, “That page is about the cult’s involvement with the plaga.”

“Yeah. I know.” Neither of them knew what to say, and Hunnigan’s typing paused for a moment as she processed this information.

“Looks like maybe this sleepy little town has a secret,” Leon stated, peering out the window, where it again had started to snow.

----------------

ADA

Shadows grew until they towered over her. The walls slithered at her back, shifting with whispering sounds as long tendrils pulsated against cold stone. Light shrank and fled, the beam flickering on her ear until she was left with only darkness, twisting away on instinct as a creature lunged. Long fibers and wet slop dragged along her cheek, leaving an icy trail in its wake and ripping her light from her ear. The sound of her boots scraping to a halt bounced off the stone cavern’s walls, and Ada’s head whipped around to glance back at the blur that had nearly overtaken her.

Orbs glittered in the arc of light as her earpiece skipped along the floor. The sporadic flashes revealed sharpened teeth and a long tongue that flapped out of its mouth with every wheezing breath, and the gear’s path brought it to a rolling stop where its smoky light could illuminate both beast and ooze.

Those shining eyes bore down on her as that tongue lolled out of its mouth again. Ada retrieved her gear, ignoring the little beast, and earned herself a few whimpers and growls. Its jaw snapped several times as it took a deep inhale. A gruff, despite being high-pitched, bark echoed as the young pup dropped down on its haunches and tipped its head inquisitively at her. Ada finally graced it with a glance letting her eyes wander over the wall and the body before settling on the pup that didn’t seem to be bothered by any of it.

“You’re brave… I’ll give you that.” A genuine smile threatened to break free. She didn’t offer more attention than that, instead turning away to the exit of the cave. The storm had rebuilt what she had torn down, though only knee-high, and she easily pushed her way back through the barrier of snow. Claws scraped the cave behind her and the patter of little paws could not be mistaken. She turned, the light revealing a frenzy of scrambling limbs and frantic eyes.

The wolf came speeding out of the cave with a yelp as though fleeing the depths of hell once it realized she would not be returning. It buried itself in a pile of white, failing to stop when the pads of its feet hit the ice at the entrance to the hidden alcove.

“Maybe,” Ada’s mouth twitched in the corner as her eyes took on a mirthful gleam, “not quite as brave as I thought.”

+~~~~~~~:~~~~~~~+

The office left much to be desired. Ada flitted among its contents. The lock had been unremarkable and she had hardly needed to fuss with it. Gloved fingers brushed the keys on the wall as her silhouette moved to the desk, leaving them to jingle and glint. A number of keys were missing.

Busy considering the weather. Ada caught which numbers held no metal at a glance before she turned to the book tucked between folders on the desk. She plucked it up with ease and began to skim its contents. Names, dates, and costs were recorded in chicken scratch, the penmanship a contrast to how organized the information it held was contained.

Onyx bangs swayed along her forehead as she turned away, dropping the book back where it belonged. Eyes squinted as something teased her mind. She pulled it back to her, flipping open to the last page, and ran her finger down the parchment. Amber pools glanced toward the key rack. The ledger did not match the board behind her. Despite the clutter, she doubted very much that the keeper would have lost a key and not recorded it. Even a sticky note plastered to a folder would have sufficed. It seemed strange that someone in charge would ignore a slip like a missing key, especially when each guest was recorded so diligently.

Ada’s curiosity dug at her, along with having little to do until her next call, and she moseyed along to the riddle that begged for solution. Perhaps a little prying would reveal more about the city itself. At least she could gain insight on how the manager ran this establishment and, if nothing else, it would entertain her until the next report.

Black fur of her hood teased her neck as she shot a glance back at the office. The ‘back in fifteen’ sign meant she still had another ten minutes to explore the vicinity before she would have to present herself to the manager and book a room. A better opportunity rarely presented itself.

A whimper behind her made her turn. She recognized the wolf pup, no more than five months old, its gaze locked on her. Its appearance was deceiving, a smaller image of the fully grown adults she had sought, but its mannerisms were still that of a growing wolf. She ignored it and continued to her goal.

The wind died down, leaving her hair a tangled mop as she approached the twelfth door. Black leather pulled through it, straightening the chin-length bob, the frame in front of her strong and in desperate need of fresh paint. By all appearances nothing seemed wrong, but her nerves tingled the longer she stared at it.

The knob stared back, reflection crystal clear in its surface, until it was hidden beneath her grip. The lock was not engaged, a pleasant surprise, and with a hushed creak it opened wide. The only light came from a small blue lamp resting on the nightstand and the bathroom.

Ada stepped over the threshold and stopped cold. A bitter smell made her nose wrinkle and it stuck in her throat. She could taste infection, though she could not see it. The bathroom door sat ajar on its frame, the light sporadically cutting in and out. Overall it didn’t seem that different from any other room she would find all across the United States. A little spooky perhaps with that flickering light and stench, but hardly worth a second glance. Ada let the door swing closed behind her.

Cozy, but still uniform. She ran a single finger along the top of the dresser and rubbed the gathering of dust on her glove. Apparently, the tenant doesn’t cater to guests.
A stack of papers on the bed drew her attention. A mountain of sheets were collected between thick pieces of cardboard with a symbol scribbled on top.

Footsteps were muted as she crept closer to the bed. A drawing etched the top piece of cardboard, large and centered. Each stroke was broken and scratchy, thick as though the line had been traced over and over almost obsessively.

Is that… crayon? Was it possible a child had drawn this?

No. It was too symmetrical and its centered position suggested the controlled hand of someone older. Ada stared at the image, refuting all the suspicions that nagged at her.

The symbol would forever be seared into her mind, even without her impeccable memory.
Los Illuminados
Ada caressed the symbol, fingers curling after as though the contact had burned, and opened the makeshift book. The cover flopped to the side and she spread her fingers against the pages to fan them out. The meat of its contents remained in place, only the top few falling to the side for her to scan their secrets.

Lab reports, statistics on bonding and hosts, genetic factors... Quite the collection. Someone’s been doing their homework. Oh? What’s this? Her thumb caressed the cult’s symbol, the image’s ink faded as though the same motion had been repeated countless times before.

The page offered in-depth details on the cult itself and the importance of the plagas along with their application.

Where’s the rest? Ada’s stare tore from the printed ‘35’ at the bottom of the page when she heard a scuffing sound outside the door. She folded the paper and quickly tucked it away in a pocket as the front door creaked open.

“You should knock first, you know.” She teased in that silky purr, not bothering to look away from the papers on the bed.

Company

Chapter by Fluttering_Shadows, silusaugustus

Chapter Summary

a crossing of paths

LEON

Leon securely locked his motel room before crossing behind the office and ascending the flight of icy steps. His first objective, based on a hunch, was the towering structure of the motel owner’s home. It lay on a snowy hilltop, Christmas lights still dimly lighting the path to the wrap-around porch. It was a style typical of Alaska; log cabin mixed with old world Scandinavian charm, yet this building was somehow more reminiscent of an Edward Hopper painting than a Thomas Kincaide.

The agent squinted as fifteen minutes later, he exited the mansion, convinced of its inhabitants innocence. Leon’s gloved hand pulled the front door closed behind him and he sighed; it was back to scour the motel area. Rarely was a hunch proven wrong, and these were precious minutes wasted.

After finding the room in disarray, Leon barely had time to finish sweeping and clearing the place before the little “WE’RE OPEN COME IN” sign on the office door turned to read “BACK IN FIFTEEN MINUTES” and the dark-haired manager exited, climbing in his practical Volvo and likely driving to the diner all the way down the street. He’d done it twice this week already, and Leon had just confirmed via inspection of the fridge in the house that there was nothing but spoiled milk and some unappetizing fruitcake inside. Perhaps the cabinets held more dry storage. He couldn’t recall. Had the place been that unremarkable? He paused, uneasy, on the rustic porch, head tilted.

The house had been weathered on the inside...dated, the furniture reeking of tacky 70’s, but it was clean and orderly, with no telltale signs of….well, whatever he was looking for. There was nothing there, and no one. Leon’s footprints in the snow crossed over his own footsteps from his earlier entrance. It was a creepy house,to be sure. He smirked to himself as he realized it reminded him of the Village Chief’s home in Spain. The wandering, meandering thought was forcefully stopped as he realized what he’d just mulled over. What a strange thought. What an odd, obscure thing to compare this house to. Why was he thinking of that place, here? How were the two remotely similar?

Now Leon struggled to recall the house he’d left only seconds ago. The entryway, with its lumberjack decor. The living room, with the big old tube tv. The refrigerator and…..his memory was fuzzy.

The tall agent paused at the foot of the steps and turned back to the front door, smelling a musty stench--was it that dirty? It hadn’t looked dirty. He’d cleared the entire place, from spare bedrooms down to root cellar, and apart from tacky taxidermy, there was nothing. Right? Why did he feel so uneasy about the relative neutrality in his mind? The agent almost backtracked, withdrawing his mobile device to get a video recording, when he heard a yelp from down below, a sign of life at the otherwise asleep motel. His head snapped to the side, grey eyes narrowing--it was a wolf pup’s playful call and nothing more.

But he noticed from his high vantage point that one of the motel doors was standing open. Not his. A different door, shrouded in darkness. It was only open a crack, but Leon’s sharp vision caught the discrepancy, noted it. Noted the footprints in the snow leading inside. Noted that there was no car parked out front of this room, nor had there been any memorable occupant in the time Leon had stayed here. It was the room adjacent to his.

A grey Volvo turned the corner, approaching the parking lot.

Time to move.

Leon jogged down the steps, boots crunching over hardened snow, and as he cut behind the motel, avoiding notice from his proprietor, his mobile device vibrated. Leon fixed his glare on the back window of the motel room with the open door, the only part he could scout from here. It was black, quiet. Unnaturally black, even, without the sheen of a frosted glass window.

When he glanced back up at the house, the blond could almost see a fleeting figure in the front window, a small head, ducking. Another look and it was gone. With one hand in his pocket, Leon pressed a side button on the device, notifying Hunnigan that he couldn’t talk. Another vibration answered him. This was uncommon, and signified her relay of digital information. Usually whatever she had to say wasn’t urgent, and she would simply wait for his next available video transmission. Leon’s sense of urgency grew along with this new information, and he paused in his quick pace, skirting the rear of the motel, to withdraw the device from his pocket. His breath fogged around his neck as he looked down into his palm. A preview message was plastered on the screen.

FOUND THE FINGERPRINT MATCH, YOU NEED TO HAVE A LOOK AT THIS-------

The rest was cut off, but Leon didn’t dare get sidetracked looking.

He pocketed the device, withdrew his gun, and sidestepped toward the L of the motel. The owner would not see him from this angle, and had likely not noticed the cracked open door. For the first time, Leon was aware of a smell. Was it him? He smelled must, as though an old lady’s jewelry box were right under his nose. Had it come from the house? Leon’s nose wrinkled and he turned toward the wind, happily filtering out the scent that carried down from the….kitchen? Dining room?

What had been in the dining room?

He peered around the side of the motel, silent. A brief scan showed Leon two things. First, the door at the end of the row was still open, the cracked maw still black as pitch. Second, the owner exited the Volvo, carrying a plastic bag proudly, jingling his keys, and in another moment he’d entered the office. The sign flipped back over in the glass doorway.

WE’RE OPEN COME IN

After a pause, in which he allowed the man time to return to his desk, Leon crept toward the room.

Footprints in the snow, coming from the opposite direction. From the office.

Female, he decided, noticing the shorter spacing between steps and wider sway outward. But she walked quickly; in this depth of snow, had to be some sort of tactical boot or practical snowgear. What had Hunnigan found? Who did the intruder’s prints belong to?

He steadily moved forward, gun pointed at the open doorway, and when he squared into the door frame Leon slowly pushed on the wood, a loud creeeeeeeeak announcing his arrival as he once again placed both hands on his weapon. His stance was guarded, but he did not expect what he heard next.

“You should knock first, you know.”

Leon’s hand had already motioned toward the light switch--lightning fast, the room was blanketed in unsavory motel-yellow light, and he had his clasp back on the gun before he knew he was blurting out, “Ada!”

He’d broken his typically-aloof response, and now Leon fumbled to recover, a snarl passing on his face and then quickly becoming replaced with a disapproving frown, as though Ada had stolen his last cookie.

“Shoulda known you couldn’t resist the skiing this time of year,” he snapped, eyeing her from behind. She was dressed more sensibly than usual. The boots had belonged to her after all; fresh snow caked on the toes and a small melting pile of tracked snow was across the 70’s carpet.

He tracked upward, meeting the brunette's eye level. Leon watched, calculating, waiting for her to reach for a weapon or gadget. He knew Ada all too well. “If you wanted an extra key to my room, you just had to ask,” he added, and now his eyes scanned away from her clothing and toward the bed, and the rest of the room.

“What the hell--?”

----------------

ADA

The air practically sparked with the sudden tension that filled it. The sensation began to slowly ebb though did not leave entirely. Suspicion and trust battled each other in such palpable severity that onlookers would never have known which spoke the true bond the two held. Ada’s gaze remained on the papers she had fanned out. Eyes drank in every detail as she heard his tone turn sour following his sincere outburst.

Ah. Some things never changed.

She did not even attempt to halt the amused look that passed over her features as he spoke, though she did contain herself from rolling her eyes at his initial comment. As if she would waste her time with something as ridiculous as hurling herself down a mountain with a pair of flattened sticks strapped to her feet. There were better ways to enjoy the snow.

“If you wanted an extra key to my room, you just had to ask...”

That brought a sparkle to her eyes. At least he had retained his sense of humor, if not his deduction skills. For being such an intelligent man he was often slow to catch on, or quick to rush in. It was endearing, though foolish, and so very him.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Each syllable dripped from her lips like fine wine in reciprocal banter.
A gloved digit trailed down a piece of paper, following the lines of information as she scanned for--
--there.

Snatching it up she held it out to him as though passing him a treat after hearing his "what the hell" and finally spared him a glance. Mouth quirked before falling into a straight line. The paper itself held photographs of the events in the ESR, and scribbled outside of the paragraphs were words like ‘unworthy’ or ‘failures’ along with several photos being scratched out. The only pristine black and white image showed the agent himself.

“Seems you have a fan,” she murmured casually.

She continued to read over the assorted sheets. One caught her eye, fingers stretching to move the overlaying papers aside. Blue crayon circled a chunk of paragraphs detailing information she could recall from memory.

The Plaga’s success rate is highly dependent upon both the host and the way it is administered. A host may be infected one of two ways, each with its own benefit. Pacified hosts appear to retain most of their original personalities, while hosts that are agitated have a tendency to display a spike in their aggressive behavior.

Plagas Type-I
If administered in its larval state, the plaga has a higher chance of bonding successfully while placing the host in the 25th percentile for risk of mutation. The plaga grows within the host, reaching full maturity in a natural environment and allowing it to fully integrate with the host’s nervous system and musculature. This is beneficial both for the host and the plaga, as the host can either be unaware of infection or be convinced to desire it. The plaga is inserted via injection which also aids the process. It is bestowed much the way a vaccine is, leaving the host calm and accepting. This subdued acceptance is not found with the Type-II method. Hosts can continue living a semi-normal life while being dedicated to the host of the Master Plaga1.

Plagas Type-II
The plaga is grown to maturity in a controlled environment. Once it has reached adulthood it is then forcibly distributed via insertion through the mouth. This method spreads the parasite much faster than any other. Emotional and physical resistance is common, resulting in a higher percentage of mutation and aggression. Hosts of the Type-II can function and cooperate much like the hosts of Type-I, but are more likely to attack both uninfected parties and their own comrades. Many factors are taken into consideration during the process, including if the desired result is more akin to that observed in Africa or the Eastern Slav Republic. Data on these events can be found in sub-paragraph D of Section 3 in File P-T2-047001

1refer to 745.C-2

Contact labs 5A-7C with preliminary-----

The rest of the report did not interest her. She pushed the paper aside, finished with it, and flipped through a few more. Enough time had been spent in the room that she had almost grown accustomed to the odor that hung around them like an invisible cloud.

“A bit obsessive.” She commented under her breath at the multitude of information.

Annoyance flashed in her eyes though she appeared calm. Why was all of this gathered here? Who did it belong to? Was this related to the infection spreading through the wildlife? Her thoughts remained private as she stepped back from the bed. Small chunks of ice fell from the edge of her boots, leaving a trail as she wandered around the room. Her slow circle eventually brought her back by Leon’s side and she peered over his shoulder to watch the falling snow through the open door. Exhales fogged in the air as the chill from outside crept into the room. She could feel eyes upon them, the sensation familiar and unmistakable, but it faded as quickly as it came.

There had been something she wanted to tell him, a warning of some sort, but what had it been? Ada reached up to flick her bangs aside, and tilted her head as she looked at him. He had not changed all that much since the day they had met. He still held himself the same way, his stare was just as intelligent and sharp, and his posture continued to remind her of the young cop she had first encountered in that cursed city.

Her mouth twitched as she looked at him, until her stare fell to his shoulder and it wiped all thoughts away. For a moment she could not stop the pang that she felt. It was years ago, a lifetime even, yet despite not wishing to linger on the past she could not help herself.

Her eyes glazed over, focused on him, and suddenly he stood in front of her with his blue uniform and the bandages coated in his wound that continuously oozed. The blood was vibrant, red and fresh, and continued to discolor the fabric as the splotch grew. Her heart forgot how to beat and her breath caught in her chest, confusion and anger waging war within her, and that bitter hint of guilt, just as it had when she had tended to him. She continued to stand there, staring, incapable of looking away.

The setting around them had not changed, but it was impossible to mistake his police uniform. The embroidered R.P.D. on his arm glared at her, just as the wound did, accusing and harsh. Where there should have been confusion only worry held its place. Ada stepped closer, reaching out to press her palm against the wound, and her usual facade fell away. Concern swam in amber depths. Crimson pooled across the fabric far too quickly.

“You’re bleeding,” she said as she gently pushed against his shoulder, her coquettish nature absent in her mannerisms.

Suspicions

LEON

“Now, where’s the fun in that?”

Leon pursed his lips and found, to his own great annoyance, that his handgun was lowering. He wanted so badly to ignore the black mold creeping along the walls, centered on the head of the bed--his own room had been outdated, but clean--and ignore what Ada pushed in front of him, to keep the weapon aimed on her, to be ready for anything, but it was futile.

At the moment, his instincts told him that he did not have to worry about Ada. His mistrust, was, for the moment, unwarranted.He hated that gut feeling. He hated knowing that he could, sometimes, trust her.

So, with an even more perturbed stare, he slowly and methodically holstered the 1911 and glared at her as though his bad mood were her fault. Well, it was.

“Seems you have a fan."

Oh god, he missed her voice too. Leon somehow had the misfortune of thinking every encounter with Ada would be his last, and the time in between to convince himself he was okay with that. The scar had been cut open so many times now that the opening didn't hurt, it was just routine. His swirling, hidden thoughts remained behind the scowl as she held the paper toward him.

"At least someone has good taste," he joked, a hint of real humor in his voice, but the would-be smirk quickly faded when he saw the paper.

Now he scanned the edges, noticing the smudged black fingerprints. What was this stuff? It had to be the source of the stench. He saw his own black and white image, the familiar scowl on his face.

Memories of the ESR wafted in front of him and he quickly lowered the paper to prevent the flood.

"I'm too sober for this," he decided, and stepped to look over Ada's shoulder at the rest of the paperwork.

He almost repeated his 'what the hell' aloud. This belonged to the intruder. He didn't know what to say in front of the spy, so Leon quietly read documents that he'd read, hell, some of that he'd written.

“A bit obsessive.”

Leon nodded in agreement, noting that it seemed Ada didn't have all the information either. He was mulling, aggravated, at the realization that she was here in the suspects living space before he’d even discovered it, all while ‘living’ next door, but Leon consoled himself that he would have caught on soon. He had checked into the motel for that very reason, after all.

Ada seemed to be thinking; he caught her gaze momentarily and it felt like one of those rare wafts of being on the same team. Just as quickly, the moment faded. Ada now circled the room as Leon eyed the photos, the trash, the bed. The wall. A thin line of black wound up from the corner to splay, almost like a weed, across the ceiling’s corner. He’d never seen anything like that, even in the dirtiest corners of Spain’s villages. The villagers had been piling up the bodies and subsisting on nothing while maggots ate what was left of their food, and mold had never existed like this.

Finally he voiced, “This isn’t good,” ever the master of understatements. Leon felt exceptionally uneasy, and he realized with a jolt that he hadn’t cleared the room. Had Ada? The room was nearly dark, the lamp the only illumination in the foul-smelling chamber. The bathroom door was closed. His anxiety rose.

His mobile device was still forgotten; he should have been taking photos of the scene, but the unease was welling up now, and Leon shifted his foot to look down at the brunette. He was startled by her expression; the seductive lids and coy smirk were all but gone as she stared, transfixed, at his shirt.

Leon followed her stare, glancing down to see nothing impressive about his clothes. Just a black shirt. But Ada moved suddenly, explaining herself with “You’re bleeding,” and pressed her palm against him. Leon could only stare, dumbfounded, for several seconds.

Was he? His right hand snapped upward, catching her pale fingers and pulling them from his chest. Her fingers, save for the nail polish, were bare. His shirt was dry. Leon palmed the area himself--no pain, nothing out of the ordinary.

He dropped Ada's hand as though it were hot coals, nearly electrified by the touch. “No, I’m not,” he corrected her, feeling very stupid. Leon’s instincts were creeping up on him again; the hair on his neck was standing. He paused, meeting Ada’s gaze again.

She looked nothing remotely like herself, some strange expression that almost made her appear younger. He wasn’t sure how to proceed; the barely lit room offered no comfort, and he felt that it was important to move from where he stood.

“I’m going to clear the room,” he stated, and searched her face one more time. Leon almost asked “Are you okay?” but foundered on the words, simply passing her swiftly to withdraw his pistol and click on the flashlight.

Now the agent swept the light up, then down. Just dirty. Smelly. Nothing here. He nudged the door open and paused in shock; the mold was worse here. Leon didn’t dare turn on the light; the ambient light filtering in the nearby window showed that the stuff was...wiggling. There were small organisms moving, whipping to and fro within the mass of the shiny mold. Leon would recognize their twisted squirm anywhere. His jaw actually dropped and he snapped the bathroom light on.

In the light, the plagas made their signature shriek, as though they were lobsters dipped in boiling water. Leon knew the sound, knew that even though evaporated trails of steam, smoking up like incense in the bathroom, made the place appear cleaner...they had been there. They existed.

“Holy shit,” he said, backing up, moving faster than he would’ve liked. Now he held up the device, remembering Hunnigan.

YOU NEED TO HAVE A LOOK AT THIS. THE FINGERPRINTS ARE REGISTERED AS ‘CLASSIFIED’ IN A CANADIAN LABORATORY FACILITY TWO HUNDRED MILES FROM YOU. THEY MUST BELONG TO SOMEONE AFFILIATED WITH THE PLAGAS, I NEED TO FIND OUT WHAT THAT LABORATORY IS DOING. THERE’S NO WAY IT’S NOT AN EXPERIMENT OR STRAIN OF SOME KIND.

The blond's head snapped to the right, back to Ada, this time with no thought of hiding the intense stare of shock on his face.

--------------------

ADA

Leon's protest left her confused. She stared at the seeping wound where the bullet had struck him. Crimson pooled, staining his uniform, and she did not move to free her hand from his. Her action paused, hesitation blatant, feeling his warm skin against her own. It felt like fire, the burning lingering even after he dropped her hand and moved away.
He couldn’t walk around with an open wound, especially one that profusely eked so much blood.

Ada struggled internally with her motive.
Objective completion took priority. Always.
The injury would slow him down, giving her the opportunity to finally escape his constant determination to stick together.

Can’t stick together if you can’t keep up… She couldn't lose this chance to depart. Yet still she remained. Rooted to the spot.

The act of taking the bullet seared into her memory and heart, unexpected–and stupid if she were honest–and shocking that another person would willingly risk themselves for a stranger, stirring emotions that she thought herself incapable of feeling.
Guilt being the strongest and most detestable.

His refusal of her aid vanished in the wave of nausea that trailed after the shriek. She heard him curse and Ada’s blood ran cold, skin prickled, and her painted lips parted for a sharp, though unheard, intake of air.

Honey hues turned aside, peering with thinly veiled anxiety, not knowing what to expect despite recognizing the sound. When her stare fell on Leon he had returned to his normal state of dress. The uniform had vanished, along with the surreal recollection, yet the sensations of the past remained. They swarmed through her, twisting the placid surface she struggled to maintain across her fractured visage.

The vision of the past had fled her, but there would be no time to gather her wits. Trouble was afoot. Ada would never forget that sound. The vile creatures had a habit of making it as they bubbled out of existence, melting into the floor until only a puddle remained, and she had heard it enough times over for it to still haunt her dreams.

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat as suspicion and dread coiled deep within her chest. Utilizing every ounce of self-discipline she had formed over the years her lithe form sauntered across the room to join him. Her lapse in composure all but forgotten as her typical mannerisms took the forefront. Fingertips grasped the frame as she leaned in. Airy smoke dissipated as it swirled upward, leaving sheer wisps twisting the appearance of the goop that collected in the corner. Ebony bangs fell haphazardly across her brow as she tilted her head and fixed the spot with a hard stare.

“I always hated their sounds.” Tidbit spilled in a sour tone that held a tinge of confession.

Ambers spoke volumes of her disdain for the creatures as she turned to look at Leon. The memories swimming in her eyes were ones they shared, the experiences of Spain indescribable to any that did not witness them.

Ada gathered herself, the sympathetic look fleeing her countenance, and the mask returned. Her shoulders rose back, posture perfect once more, and she stepped into the bathroom. Out of her coat pocket she dug her pair of gloves, tugging them on securely. Next, came her blade, silver and thin, gripped firm with purpose. She stooped down next to the disgusting nest of grime and ooze, intent on whatever it was that had captured her attention.

Hissing accompanied the slicing of her knife into the pulsing blob. Her wrist made quick work of the barrier, and her hand disappeared beneath it. Fingers latched on the item she sought, and she pushed up from her crouch. Wiping the blade on the towel hanging from a bar, she tucked it away, her opposite arm bending at the elbow to hold out an item for inspection. She dangled it between thumb and index, the clothed pads of her fingers holding tight, revealing it for them both.

The weapon swayed slightly in her grip, specks of metal visible through the thick coating of filth, as she turned so the etching could be seen. A look of disdain passed through her eyes, mouth twitching with it, before she gained that coy look that was synonymous with ‘Ada Wong’.

“This,” gaze flitted from blade to man as hushed words gained a dangerous bite, “bears investigating.”

A relic from the past spawned ill emotions as her mood darkened. The papers detailing the parasites, the sporadic infection of the wildlife and the victim lying in the cave, the evidence of plagas in the hotel. Lines were being drawn, but it was too early to assume anything. Ada studied Leon in her peripheral, as intensely as the item she held, gauging his reaction to learn how much knowledge he held of the situation. Jack Krauser’s weapon continued to gleam in the bulb overhead as Ada’s eyebrow arched.

Suspicions II

LEON

Leon held his mobile device in one hand, his gun in the other. Right now he didn't feel like letting go of either, and his grip intensified on both. In an instant, Ada was beside him, leaning onto the door frame, the strange moment between them seemingly forgotten by both as they peered into the grime-covered room.

“I always hated their sounds.” An unusual tone for Ada, more vulnerable sounding than usual.

Leon turned his head and they locked eyes for a moment. He remembered her strangeness and again bit his tongue against asking for reassurance that she was all right. It seemed she had been hallucinating, or maybe it was the poor lighting?

"Yeah." It was almost spoken with gritted teeth, but not annoyance at Ada. Rather, Leon felt the gap between them lessen with his affirmation. Spain was at the center of his heart of terror, the middle of his nightmares...it held a place even more reverently catastrophic than Raccoon City, and probably always would. He wondered if Ada felt similarly.

She shifted again, shoulders back to normal, face smooth and at ease. He looked toward the bathroom again, knowing that the moment had passed. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? Ada moved to inspect the area more just as his communicator buzzed loudly in his hand, and Leon pivoted, hesitantly holstering his handgun and pressing the highlighted button on the device.

He stood facing Ada, and held the screen up so that no other details could be seen.

"Hunnigan."

"Leon! You look like you've seen a ghost." She sounded out of breath.

"A parasite," he corrected her grimly.

"I've reached out to that facility in Canada," she answered in a rush, "Nothing, Leon...no answer, no phone service. No website updates. I called the health department of the municipality and they stated it was just a medical billing and accounts building. I've contacted the Embassy--"

"No," Leon said, remembering the train yard, and the wolf. "I know a way in. I'll make my way there--"

"It's over one hundred miles and a country border away," she said disdainfully, and Leon's eyes flickered over to Ada, who was now picking something gingerly up--something that glinted metal.

"If we're going to catch this person I need to stay one step ahead," Leon said adamantly. "The trains run all season, I can follow the tracks. I'm taking the rental back to the airport. Get me a snowmobile."

"You could die out there, we have no idea--"

"I do have an idea," Leon snapped, visions of the village in Spain swimming before his eyes. "I'm going to the airport now to trade vehicles." He mashed the button aggressively, and realized now he was panting, nearly as out of breath as Hunnigan. But Leon's adrenaline rush was paused at the sight in front of him.

Ada stood in the bathroom, gloved hand dangling the dirty instrument as though it were a detestable piece of trash. His mouth was slightly open, he realized.

"This bears investigating."

He wasn't even aware he was replying. "You've got to be joking."

_____

She was being dragged now, by her protector. Against her will. He was spouting of the danger, they were cornered. They were found out. No more motel. No more investigating. He had refused to teach her of the blond man with the scarred cheek. The one who held memories she had peered into. The one.

His hands were strong around her wrists, and even as her feet attempted to clamp down onto snowy ground, she was pulled easily along. He was close. So close. She could sense him, a like and kind life form. The parasites were dead, the one's she'd left behind. Light had killed them. But he was still so close. He must have stood near the mold....

Just one more look. It wouldn't hurt.

________

Ada's arched brow seemed to insist that she wasn't joking, but as Leon opened his mouth again to inquire, held out his hand to take the instrument, he suddenly jolted with pain. Leon paused, mouth forming silent words, and he met her eyes with a sincere fear as he doubled over in excruciating pain, holding the door frame.

It finally became too much to bear, every nerve on fire, every blood vessel about to burst, and the usually stoic Leon actually cried out in agony, stepping back away from Ada. His boots slid on the carpet, and he felt a burning, stinging sensation on his skin, in his blood. Leon gripped the door frame so hard that the wood splintered, and his communications device slipped from his hand to clatter onto the bathroom floor tile. He gripped his head, feeling as though it would burst from the pressure, and the room went black.

He took another step backward and slammed into the wall, not realizing his eyes were closed. Leon groaned again, his black vision blurring. He saw the castle, a gallery wall, the garden. He saw a woman in the village, pitchfork through her face, stuck into a shed wall. Saw cave drawings of the plaga.

The pain, abruptly as it had come, was gone, and Leon now sagged against the wallpaper, the throbbing in his head abating even though auditory hallucinations still haunted him. Whispers, voices. He blinked blearily, then caught his reflection in the mirror behind Ada--what little of it wasn't covered in mold. His nose was bleeding, crimson pouring out both nostrils, and more blood trickled from the right side of his mouth.

He tasted it now, bitter and coppery, but Leon gave one final concerned look to Ada before slouching, palms on his knees. He had to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, willing back the imagery, but it was gone. Leon was left staring at the carpet, watching as a drop of blood stained the brown a darker brown.

-----------------

ADA

Ada continued to hold the knife as though it were an insect between forefinger and thumb.
As if things weren’t complicated enough. Her expression nearly puckered with distaste at the thought.
The blade would always be something etched into her memory as securely as anything else in her past. Having an iron trap for a mind was not always a blessing. She caught Leon’s inquisitive, if appalled, stare and his palm raising to take the weapon. Her own arm stretched toward him preparing to drop it like the disgusting piece of metal she felt it to be.

Just as quickly her appendage snatched back. He stumbled backward, clearly struggling with something unseen. Concern knitted her brow and eyes sparkled with unspoken emotions. His face contorted in… pain? She had glimpsed fear in those blues she knew so well. Despite her efforts to remain detached the sudden affliction caused her heart to leap into her throat before being dragged down to the depths of her stomach.

Too much time.
Not enough.
So many years together.
All the time apart.

Ada Wong could count on a single hand without all her fingers the number of times she had witnessed such raw fear staring back at her from Leon’s intense gaze. The sincerity of the emotion left her speechless and nearly gaping as he doubled over. Thoughts snapped from concern for him to her own safety when wood splintered in his hands.

Her foot slid backward, sticking slightly in the moldy substance growing in abundance, and the knife flipped in her gloved digits. A sour taste built in the back of her throat as her breathing slowed. Pupils dilated as adrenaline pumped through her, though outwardly she appeared still as the snow outside. A similar moment flashed through her mind. His hands on her throat, air a forgotten luxury, the desperation she had felt when her release had come only from the sleek edge of a blade embedded in his thigh. She did not relish the idea of another confrontation, but she would not be caught off guard again.

Once bitten, twice shy… or 'prepared' as she preferred to think.

Don’t. Please. Don’t do this. Not again. Silent pleas would remain buried within, stifled by her self-control and refusal to allow a glimpse into her own thoughts. Only she would be privy to those no matter what existed between them. She prepared herself for the worst.

As quickly as it had struck it seemed to disappear. The only evidence of his lapse, whatever it had been, rolled down his face in crimson dribbles. Caramels narrowed and she almost moved forward to put a hand on his shoulder, but she refrained with a great amount of control.

Ada was not a fool and to think that it had passed so quickly without any sort of residual effect would be horrendously presumptuous on her part; a trait she was not willing to indulge considering the past.

Instead, her slender frame moved to the only towel hanging from a gleaming silver bar. The cloth held a thick coating of dust, but otherwise would be the only item worthy of the term ‘clean’, and wiped the blade in her hands clear of the gunk coating its surface. Once it shimmered, a shadow of its former self but still better than it had been, she turned and waited for him to gather his wits.

Sorry, Leon.
Enough lingering. She had a mission to complete and he was being far more distracting than in the past. The longer she stayed the less she desired to leave. A compromising position she could not afford no matter how much history existed between them. She pushed past him, placing the dagger flat against his chest as though a parting gift, words thrown over her shoulder.

“A souvenir.” She teased as though it were vacation.
What he wouldn’t see was the conflict swimming in her eyes as she forced herself to leave him in this state. The sooner she had answers, the better she would know what she was facing.

It would be beneficial for both of them, she tried to convince herself.

Attachments have no place in this line of work, she reminded herself.

Now if only she could believe herself as easily as she spouted the lines in her head.

It was always easier when they could simply quip at each other. Seeing him in so much pain, panting for breath, clearly losing a battle she could not imagine… it created a risk she couldn’t allow.

In a rush of burgundy cloth she was whisking through the door and out into the snow. Once in the sanctity of the frigid air she expelled the breath she had been holding. Why did he have to make it so damn difficult sometimes? She had chosen her path long ago. Long legs swept her along the blanket of white as she broke into a graceful run. Soon the gleam of her red transport came within sight. Black gloves grasped her goggles and pulled them down, her hood yanked around her hair to protect from the brutal wind that had kicked up without warning.

Ada jumped on, turning the ignition, and disappeared in a flying blanket of snow. It had not taken long for her to put Leon’s statements together and plan a destination. While she did not have an exact location it shouldn’t be hard to find considering the railroad wouldn’t stray from its linear path for too long.

Bangs and blood continued to plague her mind until she squashed it down. She could worry about him later. Right now, she needed answers.

---

Trees zipped by, mountain looming in the distance growing ever closer, and the wind bit into her exposed cheeks leaving red streaks like smeared rouge. The tracks nearly disappeared in the aftermath of the blizzard that continued to bombard the sleepy town, but its old metal peeked through enough for her to follow the trail. How long she had been riding she could not say, though the scenery had changed enough for her to know that she was well beyond the borders of the town she had left behind.

Snow piled in front of her and she maneuvered around it, unwilling to chance being stuck in a drift if it proved too thick, and she looked for any sign that she was getting closer to her goal. The trees thickened up ahead but the rails cut a clear path between them with plenty of space for her transport.

Ada’s nerves prickled unexpectedly and her stare shot back and forth. Years had forced upon her an instinct so keen that it rarely failed her… but what could have caused it? There didn’t seem to be any—
—her body went flying as a blob of muscle and fur hit her with full force.

She landed in a pile of snow and ice, her senses abandoning her to the cruel vertigo left in their place, and she sputtered spitting out snow tinted red. As quickly as she had landed, she was flipping up and turning to face what had caused the accident. Gloved hand reached up to swipe at her mouth, leaving a trail of red along creamy skin and black leather. Her snowmobile revved violently as it veered into the trees and flipped on its side, engine struggling to push it forward but finding no resistance.

Ambers sought her attacker… and when she found it she felt a flicker that was more annoyance than fear. She didn't have time for this.

The bear stood on its hind legs, watching her, its muzzle drenched in blood and the black ooze she had come to detest. Chunks that could only have been its last victim dripped from its claws and its fur bristled as it locked its beady eyes on her. A glaze had overcome them, the film turning them milky, but she harbored no illusions that it was blind. It could see her as clearly as she stared back at it.

For a single moment time stood still. The air crackled with tension and even the wind fell silent in awe of their stand off. Its grunts and muffled growls churned the air with every breath that huffed in front of its face. Her own exhales gathered at her neck, clinging to the fur on her hood like morning dew, and her boots slid in the snow as she lowered her stance in preparation.

Time resumed as it fell to all fours and became a rolling mass of pure muscle and rage aiming straight for her.

Blood Trail

Chapter Notes

LEON

Contrary to his question, she wasn’t kidding. Leon was still steadying his breath when she moved, and he blinked slowly, as if to will the pain from his stinging eyes. He knew what was coming next, and though he couldn’t see his reflection in the dingy mirror, he knew that his jaw was ticking. Leon touched his index finger to his nostrils, feeling the dampness of the lingering nosebleed, and Ada’s soft steps were drowned out by a distant ringing in his ears. Hastily he dropped his head again, wiping the bloody lip on his leather glove, closing his eyes. He couldn’t stand yet.

And somehow despite that alarming revelation, the worst part was that Ada was here. Leon realized it was better for him that she were here, versus practically anyone else, but...couldn’t a guy have a terrifying unexplainable blood-coughing episode in peace? Just as he grimly mused over the idea, she moved to pass him, and Leon pursed his lips in a knowing, grim expression, glaring at the brunette when she pushed the knife toward him. He clasped his hand over hers, just as she released her grip on the knife. Its weight was more than he expected, suddenly heavy, and with the realness of the blade he, for the first time, grasped the severity and strangeness of the situation without any forced memories of the rural Spanish forest to interrupt.

Rigid, Leon righted himself as she muttered, "a souvenir.”

She was already past him and Leon pivoted on his heel, painfully, every motion performed in a slow, hungover manner. She was moving toward the door. Leon lowered the knife, forcing himself to continue standing upright despite the reeling in his head. He tasted metal in his throat, couldn’t swallow. He attempted to will a witty, sarcastic comment, but couldn’t, either due to the lump in his throat or the almost desperate annoyance at her leaving.

“Ada--” he muttered, but the door was already open, she was already scooped away by the snow blowing past. The shock of cold air hit him and seemed to do little to revive the agent, but after several long, steady breaths and an awkwardly quiet moment staring at the remnants of las plagas in the room, Leon spun the knife around his finger and unsteadily followed her footsteps out into the daylight.

Not half an hour later, Leon’s stumble was a brisk, purposeful walk as he exited his motel room for the last time, as the swarm of police, SWAT, BSAA, and FBI at the motel caused the young owner, Fred, to howl in protest as they tore apart every room looking for more evidence. Leon had given his statement. He’d sent the photographs. He was done here. He carried a duffel slung over his back, the obvious outline of several large weapons not hidden in its appearance. Strapped to his chest, hidden under the heavy down ski coat was his newly acquired knife.

Hunnigan was in his ear piece. “....shouldn’t alert the department to this potential hiding location? I don’t know if you’ll reach it before--”

“No, keep it quiet,” he responded as he slung the bag in the jeep and hurled himself upward after it. “Bad enough that they had to come test this town. If anybody stayed behind here, they’re scared off for sure now. Whatever evidence we could’ve had...it’s gone.” Why did he sound reassured by that?

“Okay, so are you World’s Greatest Detective Bruce Wayne now?” Hunngian was teasing, a hint of a smile in her voice.

“Maybe,” Leon responded with a smile in his own.

Hunnigan sniffed and resumed her businesslike tone. “Well, sorry to burst your coup...but we have to make sure that there are no active parasites or parasite hybrids in the residential area.” This time, Leon didn’t answer. He was driving, perhaps recklessly, toward the rental store. The town boasted little in the way of tourism, but Leon had already seen their array of snow equipment. The snowmobile he had his eye on was ready and waiting for him, but he mentioned to Hunnigan anyway, “Just tell them to charge whatever they want for it to my card. It’s not coming back.”

“Leon,” she stated in an almost motherly tone, but second guessed her own choice to try to change his mind, “.........Just…..make sure you pick up extra fuel. Depending on the route you take and the level of snow that accumulates, it could be tomorrow before you make it up there.”

“Good thing the sun doesn’t fully set here, huh?” he joked, a faraway voice in his head muttering about vacation.

_________

It had finally happened. Leon sacrificed style for comfort, but just barely. The helmet was undoubtedly ‘cool’ looking, let alone the most expensive one in the shop, but he was dissatisfied, as it covered his hair, gave him blind spots, and muffled his hearing. Had it been any warmer and less snowy, Leon would have gone with a pair of earmuffs instead. The helmet visor was polarized, so he could see quite well in the torrential flurry. The snowmobile was light, with a frame of of carbide and made for speed, so the trees zipped by in a blur as he followed the line of tracks.

A flash of grey in the trees to his left gave Leon pause; he took his right hand off the handgrip and uneasily moved it toward the shotgun holstered on the snowmobile, positioned at his hip. A moment later and the flash of grey bounded past him, but he saw more in the distance, catching glimpses like leaping fish out of water. Leon turned his head as far as the helmet would allow, scanning the trees, but the animals bounded along in snowdrifts and between trees, easily able to hide from his apprehensive stare.

He heard a howl on the wind, through his helmet, and Leon was surprised at the sheer speed of the wolf that rushed him shortly after. He lifted a boot and kicked, pushing the animal away, and glanced in wonder at the speedometer. He was going nearly sixty miles per hour. How was this wolf keeping up with him?

Leon wouldn’t have to wonder much longer as the animal suddenly transformed, a small plaga erupting from its mouth instead of from the spine, as the wolves in Spain endured. Leon favored his handgun over the shotgun, and while painstakingly keeping the snowmobile going straight, Leon flung his right hand, gripping the shotgun, forward, firing off several rounds into the snow. One hit, and the wolf yelped.

He was faster than them, he had to be. Leon had no desire to match strength with parasite-infested wolves here in the middle of nowhere; his own GPS had failed at least twenty miles back, alerting him to “reroute for traffic” over and over as he dragged the snowmobile over a frozen creek. It was the railroad or nothing for navigation, and veering off course to appease the local wildlife was a bad idea. He would have to be faster than them.

Leon gunned the snowmobile, pushing it to the limit and trying to brush off the chorus of howls that grew more and more distant as he drove. The snowmobile was basically gliding on top of the snow due to his speed, and he should have felt more relaxed when the forest grew quieter. His uneasiness didn’t settle, however, and Leon saw why as he did a double-take; ahead the trees broke into a large clearing, and he saw deep crimson staining the snow and trees. Blood littered the once-white circle, and the hum of another engine caught his ears immediately.

Leon braked hard, snow spitting up behind him, but he was going far too fast; Ada had taken the same route ahead of him, and now the packed down path was slippery, icy; he skidded right into the clearing and had mere seconds to size up the scene; Ada, glaring down what he first took for a furry car, but no, it was a bear, and the source of all the spilled blood in the area. He was still trying to brake, the nonskids stuttering to do their best, but even with this resistance he was headed right for her crashed snowmobile which lay idling on its side.. maybe fifty, forty, thirty feet now.

As Leon passed the woman, he did the only thing that made sense, reaching forward and yanking Ada back by her coat, tossing her unceremoniously onto the snowmobile behind him. There was only room for one, but he was standing, and now they crashed into the other snowmobile, sending it tumbling across the clearing. Luckily, the pair weighed down Leon’s vehicle and they did not flip, but the empty snowmobile did, barrel rolling toward the end of the clearing. The throttle snapped on a turn, gunning the engine and all but slingshotting the unmanned mobile forward as though it were driven by a ghost.

Even the bear paused to watch its flight across the snow, which ended abruptly when it flew off a cliff, and that’s when Leon noticed--...there was a cliff. He could see a sparkling lake below, maybe a thousand feet in the distance--it might as well have been another planet, the transport skidding to a stop. The railroad tracks loomed behind them, setting a very cramped stage. Leon grabbed the shotgun, turned, and fired.

The bear didn’t even blink, but roared, saliva and blood dripping from its muzzle, and Leon neglected to notice that he’d moved protectively in front of Ada. He leapt forward, shooting again, and the bear picked up speed.

Two more shots. Barely a flinch. He was going to have to reload. It wasn’t even BLEEDING yet. He turned back to the snowmobile, eyeing a rifle with a grenade launcher attachment, but before Leon could consider, he heard more howls and as he faced the animal again, rifle deftly in his hands, he saw that miraculously, the wolves were attacking the bear. Black mold spewed from the bear’s mouth, looking like obscene vomit. Where it landed on the wolves, it sizzled and stank. The plagas whipped madly at this, seeming to take personal insult. It was, Leon realized, like watching two biohazards at war. These were not the first wolves that had attacked.

They were likely the source of the blood from earlier; only now did he see several carcasses laying in the deep red snow. He heard the familiar whip of tentacles; the host wolves may have been dead, but their parasites were still alive and searching. From the direction he’d come, Leon heard the blare of a train horn, and he shouldered the rifle. But now the bear roared again, tearing another wolf to shreds, and stood on its hind legs. Leon’s mouth opened in a thin expression of disbelief as he realized this was a Kodiak bear, largest of the brown bears, and it towered over him by at least six feet. A fleeting memory of El Gigante crossed Leon’s mind, and he moved toward the back of the snowmobile as the bear flung another wolf from its torso.

“Watch out,” he yelled in the roaring wind to Ada, and Leon finally, disgruntled, tore the helmet off before lugging one of the full jerry cans from the saddlebag of the snowmobile. It was heavy, and he propped it on his knee before swiftly reaching into his coat. “Distract it,” he barked unnecessarily in Ada’s direction, wind whipping his hair into his eyes spitefully. Leon reached across his vest and pulled out Krauser’s knife, using it to stab a large hole in the side of the plastic can.

The bear was done being distracted, and now it stood only fifteen feet away. Leon was spilling gasoline all over his pant leg, but the thick insulation prevented him from feeling any sensation. Fumes were strong as he lug-tossed the can into the bear’s path, and the train horn sounded, much closer this time. Leon hopped back onto the seat. He pivoted and pressed something into Ada’s hand, showing once again how possibly unwise and vulnerable he was--the egg-shaped incendiary grenade was now hers-- and he nodded once before warning, “Hang on!” as he again gunned the engine.

The pair on the snowmobile suddenly gained an extra ten feet, now fifteen, but Leon’s naive trust in Ada and his scarce watch of her was completely forgotten as he saw a white, shining light approach from behind--behind the wolves, behind the bear. It was coming fast, and he frantically searched his own weapons stash and utility belt, thinking as quickly as the train’s approach.

A red-orange flash lit up the snow and an explosion nearly rocked him off the snowmobile as Ada’s grenade found its target, the bear roaring wildly as it was set aflame. Forcing himself to spare a glance, he saw that the creature still lumbered toward them, though it had at least been slowed. And was now on fire.

No time to think of that; Leon glanced around, ensured that everything vital--him, his weapons, Ada-- were securely on the snowmobile, and now he unwound a thick cable from his vest--actually, the cord ended in his belt and was securely fastened to his waist--and swiftly looped the slack around the snowmobiles carbide frame, scraping his arm on the body as he reached forward.

Leon shook his head to himself, as if to say ‘that’s as good as it gets’ before he again went full throttle and withdrew, with his left hand, the grapnel side of the cable. He could hear the chuffing of the bear, hear gunshots ring out as Ada attempted to defend their small lead, and now Leon watched as the freight train overtook them. His snow-covered head pivoted, counting the line of cars until he saw the break in cargo trailers, and an empty flatbed began a new line of cars. The bear growled again, spewing mold--he could smell it burning-- and Leon could not focus on aiming the spring-loaded grapnel while maintaining speed. He had to slow down.. The heavy snow drifts pushed against the snowmobile, and he felt the animal behind him swipe at the vehicle, causing it to fishtail, as he shot the metal toward the cargo train’s thick bars.

He only had moments to wonder if the grapnel caught before Leon felt another jerk, this time in the opposite direction. He instinctively dug his knees inward, feeling the tension around his waist and the weight of the sudden airborne snowmobile as it lifted up, pulled by the train. For a moment, Leon, Ada, and the snowmobile hovered in midair cartoonishly before the speeding train propelled them forward and up and away. The rescue was short-lived in its generosity, as they now spilled onto the large platform and Leon, still attached to the snowmobile, rolled over and over with the leftover force from its abrupt pickup.

Leon bounced off the metal flooring once, twice, and finally slammed to a stop, wincing as he pushed himself up onto his shoulders. He fumbled to release the grapnel, dazed, and grunted the same word he’d muttered to himself earlier: “...Ada?

Chapter End Notes

Ada's POV is in the next chapter. (We split it into two separate chapters to avoid overwhelming the reader)
Thank you to those that gave kudos! We couldn't have imagined such positive reception!

Unbearable Truth

ADA

A muffled grunt escaped her mouth as she pushed herself up. Palms sank into the snow up to her wrists. Blood speckled the blanket of white. Controlled breaths fell in visible puffs and the sudden wind made ebony bangs thrash against her forehead. Ada pushed herself to her feet, one gloved palm pressing at the pain in her abdomen, and stole a glance at the wound. A muffled buzzing angrily beat against her mind, separate from the humming of her overturned vehicle.

It was not visible though she could see shredded fabric and evidence of something more. Burgundy cloth frayed and puckered in a thin line and crimson continued staining the outline of the tear. Either she was getting rusty or infection had increased the bear’s speed. The former was laughable, even after the exertion of dodging and fighting for over an hour.

What are you? Ada’s thoughts were a blur of everything she had encountered so far with this contagion. Answers she did not have teased her thoughts and caused wonder at the possibilities surrounding such a virus… and what the hell it had been created from was at the forefront. Caramel-colored eyes glanced upward searching for her adversary, the taste of copper all too familiar on her tongue.

The bear was lumbering to a stop though not from exhaustion. It seemed as if it would never tire and grew more violent and unpredictable as time passed. It turned, breaths trailing in clumps of vapor over its shoulders, and its milky gaze sought out its current prey… but it hesitated charging. The creature stood on its hind legs and sniffed the air. Its matted fur, still damp with evidence of its last meal, gleamed in the glow of near-eternal day and viscous liquid dripped from its half-opened maw and formidable claws to splat at its feet. The blackish ooze hit pristine snow and caused a sizzling sound as steam rose in inky trails.

Ada filed the observation away to muse over another time and took her chance to push herself completely to her feet. One boot stumbled forward catching herself from falling as a wave of exhaustion swept through her. The wounds, though small considering her opponent, sent stinging sensations through the surrounding muscles.

Worrisome? Perhaps.
The infected bear? A higher priority.

The buzzing in her head would not cease and she shook it quickly trying to rid herself of the sound. It grew in volume instead, defying her efforts… Until she realized it was not in her mind. She caught a blur of motion from the corner of her eye. Before she could turn her head she felt a pull on her clothing and the floor fell away. Her ribs crashed against a hard surface. Fresh pain bubbled forth from her injuries. The padded seat did nothing to soften the blow when there was so little available. The vehicle was meant for a solo adventurer.

Snow that had been crushed into a glossy surface whipped by beneath her while she regained her senses and flipped around in the ‘seat’. Her balance returned just in time as they impacted with something she couldn’t see. Arms gripped Leon’s waist briefly to keep herself from being ejected and she released him as soon as he slid them to a stop.

Snow blew from her jacket, fur-lined hood waving wildly around her neck in the wind, and she blinked against the tiny flakes that bounced into her eyes. Black-gloved hands shielded her face as best they could while the haze over her eyes slowly cleared. The blizzard was returning, air thickening with flakes and a winter chill moaned through the trees beyond the train tracks with the same ferocity as the bear in front of them.

A roar drew her attention back to the problem at hand but she still could not see beyond Leon’s back. No matter how she angled her body to peer around him he seemed to always shift to block her view.
Hey, handsome, it’s not all about you. The corner of her mouth nearly tugged in a smirk.

His weapon fired repeatedly but there didn’t seem to be auditory evidence of an effect… as if the target continued to shrug off the projectiles as easily as the snow around them. Disturbing, to say the least.

He had chosen a different weapon and as he turned back to continue his assault she used the chance to quickly observe all the morsels he had packed for the road.
Stylish and prepared… Well done. The unspoken praise caused a single eyebrow to lift. Once again she attempted to view the threat that had him so intently firing.

Ada assumed his focus was on the bear and when he finally sidestepped the miniature war taking place was revealed to her. Spasming tentacles and harsh yelps put a tension in Ada’s shoulders she did not desire.

Muddy roads and decrepit housing threatened to complicate the scenario. A wolf’s growl, the stench of infection and coagulated blood, and the feeling of impact as similar tentacles whipped her skin made Ada visibly stiffen while unwanted memories stirred; self-induced and leaving only a sinking feeling in her stomach instead of an illusion.

“Watch out,” masculine voice barked orders, “distract it!”

Ada bit back a quip and instead dropped her gaze to the equipment surrounding her perch. A pistol rested securely near her calf and she pulled it from its sanctuary without hesitation. Arms held it aloft in the direction of the feral infected beasts. She set the sights on her target…. but did not pull the trigger.

Her aim wavered ever so slightly. Ada squinted as her vision blurred in and out. The fur of her hood tickled her throat and her breath clung to the air at her lips when her typically calm breathing came out in small forceful panting sounds. Fingers slipped against the weapon and she dropped it to her lap to remove her gloves. Safely tucked into another pocket she resumed trying to aim but to no avail. The blur worsened, the large shape of a bear turning into a blob of brown that was jagged at the edges and releasing some form of black spray. Her abdomen burned and throbbed as an itch began to cry for her attention.

“Leon,” Ada almost slurred in warning as his body suddenly blocked her view again, but her voice was lost in a sudden gust of wind screaming through the trees.

An intense smell of gasoline filled the air. Its potency invaded her senses and snapped her awareness back like a plucked rubber band. Vision remained hazy, movements slowly lost their sluggish nature, and her bangs tossed along her forehead as she shook it to clear her mind. Before she knew it he was back on the vehicle and they were spurred into action. Her balance failed her due to her condition and she almost fell backward. Ada, with much effort, squashed the concern that rose in her throat and instead gripped his jacket tightly with her fingers. The train could be heard behind them, along with the thundering footsteps of a very angry bear.

Something solid fell into her hand and with that came the rush of comprehension she was accustomed to and had sorely lacked for the past several minutes. Slender form twisted easily despite the bulk of her winter gear. A gentle toss and the incendiary grenade landed two feet in front of their pursuer… and ignited in a blaze of melting snow and burning gunk. The bear continued to charge, now engulfed in flames and appearing impossibly more horrific and determined even as its gait slowed by the smallest bit. She would have inwardly groaned if not for the distraction her wound caused.

Leon and his bright ideas…

The surroundings swayed and tilted and she latched on to him again to keep herself from falling. Thankfully, it was precisely what needed to be done which meant it wouldn’t raise any questions. A sense of vertigo yanked at her awareness. Next there was a crashing sound as he was torn from her and she went tumbling in a different direction.

Cold metal met her with eagerness and she rolled along the floor until she made impact with large metal containers. Shining cylinders went sprawling, much like her limbs, and one introduced her cranium to its protruding valve. The impact struck hard enough to claim her eyesight and the world blacked out, replaced by a confused blinded feeling. Ada briefly wondered if the stars were visible outside of her mind as well.

She could hear Leon impact somewhere not far from her. Ada pushed herself up with clumsy motions, palm pressing against her temple to settle her nausea once she realized she had landed in a pile of the ooze she detested, and actively refused to acknowledge the aches and other unpleasantries building within her. All of her self-discipline went into taking one steady step and then another. Her snow boots crunched with leftover ice against the metal floor until she could see the agent. He was alive.

Ever the survivor. If not for the pain that suddenly lit her nerves on fire Ada might have smiled. He was surprisingly sturdy for all his pretty boy appearance. Any humor that may have left her lips in a quip vanished when she felt something unknown squirm between her flesh and clothing beneath the jacket.

Ada’s unreadable countenance flickered as she fought to maintain control over her expression. She smothered the lapse with words.

“Seems we get a reprieve while he cools off after our heated exchange.” Her voice lacked the usual air of mischief and instead fell dead as her attention was tugged at again.

Privacy became her priority. A single hand reached into a pocket and felt a faint lump over the wounds. She pulled her phone out under the pretense of retrieving the device and sauntered away from him with as much nonchalance as she could muster. Let him think she was off to take a call or report to superiors. They had enough history… he could formulate his own inaccurate beliefs and glare at her later.

A stack of crates loomed to her left and she darted behind them sliding her phone back into her pocket. The alcove offered shelter from the lashes of wind and harsh glare of sunlight on steel. Ada dug her gloves out and tugged them on while taking a deep breath. She opened her coat and then grasped the hem of the black shirt beneath. Its cloth was also torn and clung to her skin resisting the pull she gave it. Cold air smacked into her with the same frigidity of ice pressed against flesh. Ada exhaled and stared, eyes narrowing.

Ebony tendrils wove their way across her skin, no more than an inch or two in length, pulsating against raw flesh pink with irritation. Pale scarring from a wound years ago left a sour taste of the past pulling at her inner cheeks.

Ironic that after decades the past would return to haunt her, yet somehow fitting.

The fresh wounds clawed across the faded parting gift from Birkin. Three ragged gashes streaked across her once creamy flesh. There would have been more if she had not dodged in time but she could not find the willpower to feel relieved. The main wound in the center wept blood, red trickles coasting down the revealed area in slow rhythmic patterns. It wasn’t stopping.

Ada listened but did not hear any telltale footsteps. Right arm deftly plucked her knife from a concealed holster and revealed its thin blade. She took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and slipped the tip of silver into her wound. Air hissed between her teeth as she pried the skin apart to reveal confirmation of her suspicions. The ooze had birthed from inside the wound, not the other way around.

“Well, this complicates things.” Typically sultry voice was void of any humor in the muttered phrase as eyes remained locked on the wound.

Perfect Record

LEON

Leon felt a wave of fatigue when he attempted to push himself up. The agent was feeling his age today. He instead tucked an elbow and rolled over onto his back, cringing at the feel of splintered wood of the flatcar's deck against his skull. Despite everything, it was almost peaceful; an orange-pink sky muddled by grey clouds, the sun so far away it hovered as a pinprick above the mountains, never rising above the edge of the earth. He wondered if it was sunrise or sunset, and then Leon considered that maybe he should've kept the helmet on. He had always been prone to bouts of short-term memory loss, but the sheer absurdity of this mission left him, for the moment, without a reason to get up.

He heard Ada's footsteps meandering away, her boots gently clicking on the wood, and Leon growled a disgruntled "You're welcome," after her before sighing. He fumbled with his gloves, removing one, and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and forehead. He needed to find some clarity or else he would just lay here on this train car until he died.

The agent performed a quick sweep of his torso as he stood up slowly. Krauser's knife was still strapped onto his plate carrier, without a sheath but nonetheless secure. Pistol and ammo under the coat, check. Belt secure. He pulled up a GPS map on his mobile device and saw the pin Hunnigan had dropped earlier for the medical facility. Assuming this train wouldn't deviate, they were going in the right direction.

Satisfied, Leon pocketed the phone and glanced in the opposite direction where Ada had disappeared, probably conspiring with whatever shitty people she conspired with. He turned back, now looking toward the snowmobile. It had crashed precariously at the end of the flat car, where a boxcar had caught its wild barrel rolls, and prevented it from flying far off into the Alaskan forest.

Nice. Leon approached the vehicle, which was idling stubbornly, and he glanced around to see if it was possible to haul the mobile backward, onto the platform. No such luck. The forward frame was warped, and the nose was far too low for him to safely hope he could pull it backward. His boots toed the edge of the platform. Three feet below, the tracks were a blur as the train rattled forward at full speed.

The best he could hope for was gear retrieval. Leon hastily grabbed the weapons and tools from the saddlebags, making a small arsenal pile behind him, and as he tugged the last gun, his trusty Mosin, out of the holster, the ATV groaned with motion, tugging back. The gun was yanked free and Leon stumbled, surprised at the speed with which the snowmobile toppled forward between train cars and was then caught under the train wheels. In barely one rotation there was a loud, sickening metallic and glass crunch as it was ripped apart so fast it seemed to explode. Debris flew behind them, and whatever parts of the broken machine stuck under the train rattled for only moments before they too were spat out by the wheels.

No one saw Leon's wry wince at the event, or his cautious glance as he first set down the Mosin and returned to the edge of the platform to wide-step the gap between cars, his boot catching the lip of the car in front. Without moving from the precarious perch, he slid open the door of the boxcar.

It was empty inside except for a few piles of waste; broken palettes, empty barrels. The side door was wide open, revealing a window to the view to his left, but the right door was closed, creating a one-sided shelter. He pushed away from the sidecar. It was the best place to stay, offering more protection than the rows of flat cars behind them. He placed the Mosin on the top of his weapon pile before scanning the area--all clear, for now--and walking in the direction Ada had gone earlier.

Leon heard movement nearby, turned his head, and paused at the sheer strangeness of what he saw. At first, it looked as though Ada were tending to a wound, but her gloves were still on. Her coat was open and Leon saw dark crimson haloing around the shirt fabric covering her abdomen. He was not surprised that she had been wounded, nor was he surprised that she would tend to it on her own. He would do the same if it were him. But just as he opened his mouth in confusion, she dug in again with the knife, muttering something he couldn't hear over the wind.

"What the hell are you doing?" he questioned, rushing to her side and swatting the knife away before she could protest.

It clattered somewhere amid the junk of the rail car, and now Leon looked closely at her abdomen. It was definitely a wound from the bear--three lacerations, thankfully no evisceration-- and while it definitely warranted cleaning and bandaging, he could see from the blood on her gloved hand and now, the blood exiting the wound, that she'd only punctured it more deeply.

The past few days flashed in front of Leon and he remembered Ada's strange reaction, dazed and muttering that he'd been wounded. Now he yanked her wrist, probably harder than he should have, but a rare flash of fear rose over his grey eyes as he glared at her.

"What in the hell are you doing?" he asked again, all pretense gone. "We've got to bandage this, now."

-----

"He's gone," the young girl said wistfully, staring out the window at the waning sun, the first flecks of stars appearing on the horizon behind the dying sun. She sighed almost in the way a lovestruck teenager would sigh, remembering the vision of the ornate castle. The blond man. She wanted to devour his mind as though it were one of the thousands of books she'd read during her captivity.

"Good, now, come here and get these documents. We've got to leave," her guardian had been rushing, running, packing, fleeing, while she sat in the windowsill. Not the stark, depressing medical facility where she'd lived all this time, but now she was in the deceiving and gorgeously decorated lobby. The ornate ballroom-esque space was littered with the dead--the workers. They lay strewn about the mold, resistant to decay thanks to the temperature. The power had been cut off, generators running only necessary functions until they too ran out of fuel. This place would become an icy tomb once the heaters turned off, but by then, they would be an ocean away.

"I wonder if he saw me," she wondered, doodling on the frosted windows absent-mindedly. She drew the symbol she'd seen in her own research, in everything her Guardian showed her. A spiky, strange symbol, representing a religious organization, but also the magic that grew within her. Her Guardian declined to answer, instead holding out a passport and other documents with a stressed, annoyed look on his face.

"We're going," he repeated.

She sniffed and closed her eyes. "I saw you together. Somewhere warm. I saw you again in a sandy place...old and important...full of history. Our history. What did you do there?"

"I told you not to do that to me," he said warningly. "The less you know about all that, the better. Besides," he shrugged. "It was in the past. The place you saw in my head was in Spain. So if you ever do want to see it," he waved the papers. "Now's the time...."

"The past has a way of coming back," she said cryptically, as she slid away from the window seat, leaving her doodles to slowly frost over, cemented against the Alaskan sky.

-----------

ADA

Countless official missions, and many more ‘off the books’, and over two-thirds of them had involved a virus in some form or another… and now, her luck had run out. After everything, every nightmare and risk, the bill had come due. It was almost poetic; a tragic harmony to balance out the melody of her life and career. Even the lines weeping blood glared accusingly with the dreams of yesterday. The fear of infection had been intense all those years ago yet she had pushed through, knowing that the objective remained the priority until she took her last breath. Stumbling to safety with only the bitter taste of her own choices to keep her company and every twist and turn of dank hallway filled with the stench of chemicals flooding her senses. Thinking back on it, as she had many times before in self-evaluation, had that fear been pushed aside for her job or her companion?

Would their lives have been any different had he first heeded her warning in that underground garage? Would their paths have crossed and ended there? If she had allowed her employers to think she lied among the rubble, lost to the shuffling dead and contaminated labs, would she have been left derelict and able to start a new life?

“What the hell are you doing?”

Her blade fell from her hands. It flew away from them and bounced with a clatter. Confusion left her dazed and she cradled her palm with the opposite hand, holding both near her chest. The skin beneath her glove stung where he had hit. The contact had been brief, but enough to cause a spike of surprise along with pain. The action had been so abrupt that it left her without words. White flakes swirled past the alcove she had hidden away in and left a hazy and disorienting glimpse of the forest speckling the mountains along the route.

She sobered enough to notice his attention to her injury. An inspection? What was there to inspect? The ragged skin and constant spill of blood revealed enough, but the disgusting substance inching its way outward from the injury was the punchline of the cruel joke. Perhaps it would have been kinder to turn away, or to push him from her. Yet, she did not move to shield him from the truth.

For the first time, in longer than she cared admit, Ada struggled to find words for the situation… and decided it was better not to speak. The spy could not sugarcoat the situation, could not turn a phrase to gloss over the significance of it. She also held no desire or need to rub salt in the wound. There would be plenty of that later when the stages of grief began for those affected.

Black gloves whispered, caressing the sting that lingered. Her actions were interrupted by his sudden grip on her wrist. She didn’t fight him but her eyes flashed in shock at his rough handling and the painful vice of his strength holding her arm to prevent any movement. The wind screamed with renewed vigor in the storm as though to protest the violence between them. Annoyance turned to anger, both bubbling forth from the cloud that had been her mind… until she saw his eyes. An emotion she had not expected to see had been revealed. She had thought him to be usually flippant in scenarios that agitated him; a quality both infuriating and endearing, yet missing in these precious few seconds. She hadn't expected to witness a fear that echoed her own.

“What the hell are you doing? We’ve got to bandage this, now.”

Ada blinked once, staring at him as though she were seeing him for the first time. She studied him silently and her mouth settled into a thin line.

Bandages would hardly solve the problem. At best, it would buy her some time by guarding the injury from further exposure.

She tried to read him, to use her natural intuition and her own knowledge of him to understand his urgency when he had yet to mention the infection. Something akin to begrudged understanding flickered in her stare. She didn’t want to face it either… but it wouldn’t do any good to play dumb, no matter how stubborn he could be.

Tension coiled in her chest as she lifted her free hand to gently rest her fingers over his that embraced her wrist. As much as she wanted to scold him for ignoring the obvious complication of her condition she simply removed his grip from her wrist and let go. She pulled her hood up around her face to guard against the strong winds, offered him a simple nod in acceptance of his demand, and made her way around the boxes until she could search for her knife. The glimmer among junk helped her search but it was bent and useless. Sighing Ada tucked the bloodstained item away. Perhaps it would find a use somehow even in its horrid condition.

Standing and bracing herself against a large metal container she moved toward the only true shelter this part of the train offered. The boxcar beckoned with its walls and she took several steps before nearly falling. Her strength gave out and she gasped as she almost went to a knee. Trembling as blood dotted the ground beneath her, she pushed herself up with a grunt and ignored any help that may be offered.

I may not be in any condition to refuse, but I still have my dignity. That, Leon, you will never make me question. Reassurance rang hollow but still she tried to convince herself.

The shelter felt so very far way but she weakly stumbled to its entrance. One hand on the open frame allowed her to peer inside and see the mess.

Is it too much to ask for one place, one single place, to offer goose feathers and silks? Inner sarcasm caused a wry smile to tease her lips, but then her face was a calm, albeit grimacing when she moved, mask again.

The injured spy limped to the center of a dry spot and eased herself down to sit. Her coat scraped against the wall and a muffled thwump sounded as she hit the ground with legs curled beneath her. Shifting her position she stretched out as best she could while sitting up and revealed the infected skin. Gloved hand reached into a pocket, smearing blood on its path, to withdraw a small tube akin to lip gloss and a compact as though to apply makeup. With a hiss it opened a secret compartment and she grasped a small hooked needle and thread. Removing the bottom of the tube with her teeth revealed a sheet of metal that began to glow with heat. The casings were discarded on the floor having no use until the task was completed.

Three attempts to touch the metal to the lines that wouldn’t need stitching left her hissing through her teeth from the burns on tender flesh. Sighing, she had to admit to herself that she couldn’t do it. Her vision blurred but she sought out her only companion.

“Don’t suppose you know how to be gentle?” She teased in that husky purr she often had though it was broken by labored breathing.

Hands offered the items, waiting for him to either accept or refuse, and her head fell back against the wall. Fur teased her cheekbones and onyx bangs fluttered from the little bit of wind that clawed its way into the open side across from her position. The steady clack of wheels on tracks kept pattern as she considered the current situation and all that had brought her to this point: the first time she had ever met him, all the times they had seen each other between, and how things often changed yet remained the same.

“Do you ever think about it?” The question voiced was in a whisper, as though miles away. She didn’t bother specifying what. It had imprinted on both of them, that cursed city, and with the anniversary so near she wondered if he was plagued by thoughts as she often was. “So naive… yet oddly admirable.” The corner of her mouth pulled in a smirk, neither coy nor unkind, and she sighed.

Her life was very much this train and its tracks. She could go wherever she pleased, so long as it didn’t deviate from its set path and each destination connected to the same line. More often than not he had been involved too, because fate never seemed to lose its sense of humor even when no one else was laughing. The snow outside glittered in the constant low-set sun, flashing by in streaks that caught her eyes when she opened them for a second or two before resting again. Snow wiped everything away except her memory, which was a pity. She could still recall the air between them being genuine and guilt-filled instead of thick with lies and could have beens.

One Way Rails

LEON

He was too confused--quite the feat--to be anything else as Ada stared wryly at him, as though he'd suggested they have tea with the President. Just as he opened his mouth to protest again, she stared at him more deeply, and he arched a brow. The wind blew around them as though to urge both to make some move, and Ada seemed to comply, moving her other hand to cover his. Leon jolted inwardly but thanks to years of practice, remained stoic as she pulled his hand away and turned, pulling up her hood.

Now wait just a goddamned minute, he felt like snapping, feeling the familiar reaction that was a ghost of a slap in the face already stinging his pride, a flush rushing to his cheeks. Despite being all business and reacting cat-like, not wanting to show pain or her wounds--Leon knew Ada's ways--they were alone on a fucking train in the middle of the tundra. Showing weakness after being mauled by a bear would have been appropriate.

However, Leon kept quiet, setting his jaw and nearly stomping after her. He wasn't silent out of manners; he had few of those anyway. Something told him that Ada wasn't thinking straight, and that perturbed him enough to keep him observant rather than reactive. He had to get more information. Something had happened to her, and it didn't seem related to their recent attack on the snowmobiles. He half-rolled his eyes when she took her knife, and headed toward the boxcar he'd scoped out earlier.

His stomps turned only slightly more hesitant when she faltered and refused his deft catch. Again, not unlike Ada, but if he had to follow her right off the edge of the train to make sure she'd take care of the wound he would. In fact, he was considering tackling her and wrenching the knife away, but Leon wasn't stupid enough to think that Ada didn't have other weapons hidden. More information, he reminded himself, nonetheless supporting her back as she unsteadily moved over the gap between train cars.

With one last glance at the rails below his feet, he was standing on dry wooden flooring, littered with cargo shipping material--warm, at least. He surveyed the 'room' as Ada meandered to a corner to sit. It was well-sealed and the only breeze was blowing in from the opposite open door. He watched the snow blowing over the dark, bleak line of tall pines and moved to slide the heavy metal doors half closed before returning to Ada. He didn't want to shut what little light they had out, but he would keep the area as warm as he could. And actually, he was soaked; Leon lay his larger guns down in a heap, and covered them with the thick winter coat, which now smelled of gasoline fumes and bear fur.

He dropped to one knee, eyeing the makeup compact as though it might explode. Things did have a habit around her.........

“Don’t suppose you know how to be gentle?”

He almost eagerly took the instruments and gave her one last hopeful, stony smirk as he held them.

"I've mended a few buttons," He said reassuringly,

He pulled her coat completely out of the way. It was shredded in the middle, swatted off her skin by the mutated bear, but the blood-soaked fabric of her shirt lingered, stuck to pieces of skin too near the wounds. Leon brushed them aside, still studying the marks. The animal's flesh had left characteristic jagged cuts, damaging but not deep. However, Ada's knife left one clean cut that connected the other three. Luckily it had missed anything too deep, but he almost winced at the pain that must have taken.

He began cleaning, and suturing. Except for the faithful clacking of the wheels against the tracks, it was silent. He glanced at Ada several times during this, but her eyes were closed and her dark hair fluttered around the fur trim of her hood. After the stitches were secure, he found an occlusive bandage in one of his many own pockets and made it work, pressing the sides down to adhere to her skin and frowning at his own work. He couldn't really make a quip, both because the extent of the wound and its cause was bothering him, and also because Ada was probably unconscious and wouldn't appreciate his great humor anyway.

“Do you ever think about it?”

Leon paused, freezing as he had been about to awkwardly thrust the makeup components back at her. He blinked, momentarily stunned, and then tucked the contents back into one of her large coat pockets. Now the blond shuffled clumsily and leaned against the structure beside her, glancing again at the passing landscape in all its greys. He stared ahead, trees offering no respite from rainy, ransacked Raccoon City. No snow, but the chill of rain. No midnight sun, just a bleak, long night full of horrors. Ada and her red dress, which had remained hidden under her trench coat when they met. Their first true walk together. He'd felt so sheepish, following her through the rows of cars, long before they had entered the laboratories. He remembered the fascination with her and his own demanding nature...looking for answers where she gave none, his own wild ideas about her job with the FBI. It was easier to reminisce with her laying there, eyes closed, near him. He continued to stare at the black trees, seeing the neon signs of Raccoon City reflected in the slick, rainy pavement.

"Sometimes," he said in a more contemplative voice than normal. He wanted to sigh, to exhale some of the frustration and stress he'd been holding in. Just as Leon inhaled, eyes on the horizon, Ada responded...or voiced internal thoughts aloud, he wasn't sure which. It made the flush rise on his cheeks again and he almost choked on his breath.

“So naive...yet oddly admirable.”

He turned his head sharply, staring at her to see if she was going to take another jab at him. Ada was smirking in a way he rarely saw, and the special agent who'd taken on countless cities and bioweapons had to actually scan a second time to assuage his fears that she was not, in fact, picking on him. In fact, her reminiscent expression looked almost fond of the memory.

Maybe Ada preferred the young puppy dog that had followed her around all night, taken a bullet for her, mourned what he thought was the loss of her life for what seemed like forever after getting drafted by the Secret Service....

He shut down the train of thought before it took off with more verve than the train they were currently on. But Leon couldn't help the next words that spilled out of his mouth.

"Naive," he nodded, pressing his back into the cold metal wall and kicking his feet out, stretching. "Maybe I still am." He couldn't bring himself to look at her again, at the almost pleasant look she'd had. "And maybe you're still using that to your advantage. Beats me thinking you're dead and hating that night even more. Do you remember what I said?" He could almost hear his own annoyingly youthful, hopeful voice as he happily skipped along Raccoon's mildewy sewer entrances, reassuring himself more than Ada.

It's not too late to turn back, Leon.

"....Stuck with me to the end."

He said it aloud and was surprised at how gravelly and harsh, how tired and full of disdain the words sounded. Not at all the way he'd said them all those years before. It was his turn to lean his head back and close his eyes. Ada at least seemed stable, and passive enough to stop stabbing herself. He made the most of the moment and sighed.

-----------

ADA

Tension seemed determined to drill its way between them, yet somehow it never managed to sour their encounters. No, that was what the past was for, what her very presence seemed slated to cause. If he were comfortable, she’d never know…. But she, herself, did find comfort in his company even if he was too sullen to realize it. This was yet another time when she was injured to the point of vulnerability, and while loathe to admit her predicament, she needed him. She could feel him working quickly, skin pulling and puckering as he stitched, but she bit her tongue to keep silent against any discomfort.

“Maybe I still am.”

Her smirk grew only to vanish with his next words.

“And maybe you’re still using that to your advantage. Beats me thinking you’re dead and hating that night even more.”

Ada Wong had long since learned how to smother her guilt down with half-truths and twisted justifications until she could pretend it didn’t exist, but it didn’t save her the pain in her chest or the fluttering in her stomach. His words were the stinging blade that carved its way deeper than any other ever could have hoped to go. Bitterness mingled with the copper tinge in the back of her throat. She swallowed the lump of emotion without a sound, the taste of her own blood appropriate as though a mockery of religious communion washing away sins. She preferred the wine and dry bread, but blood and regret were her only sustenance now. They did less to wash it away and more to solidify it.

Indifference was often assumed to be a lack of conscience. The assumption served her well during her career but times like these reminded her how alone she truly always would be. While the world was not as simple as right and wrong, that much was true, it wasn’t as simple as lacking a heart or being cool and calculated through and through. Ada kept everything under lock and key because it was safer that way, not only for herself. Emotions complicated things and missions suffered for it.

If they couldn’t read you, they couldn’t use you. Have a heart and the incoming shot would always be straight and true.

She couldn't dispute his words, though he seemed to harbor the belief that she used him more often than she actually did. Many times things conveniently aligned in such a way as to benefit her path to the goal, but there were just as many times that she had detoured in order to keep him alive. Thankfully the two paths had yet to tangle beyond what she could salvage. Reputation and pride were not the only things on the line… but every so often fate would remind her of her choices in a profound way.

It seemed Leon would be that reminder this time… as he often was.

“Do you remember what I said?”

Ada’s lips pursed. Did she remember? As if she could ever forget. Her memory didn’t allow that luxury. She could still smell the rain and even the sheen of sweat on his skin if she allowed herself to drift that far. His cheeks had been fuller back then in his youth, his uniform fitting him perfectly, and the sound of his boots on the floor as they walked together echoed through her head.

“….Stuck with me to the end.”

She was not prepared to hear him repeat his words from the past, especially with such a tone. Where once his voice had been full of determination and eagerness, now she could practically feel the spark of venom woven into disdain. Ada briefly wondered if she would literally see it arcing through the air toward her if she opened her eyes. Better to keep them closed and be somewhat blind to it...

Don’t worry, it won’t be much longer. Her arm wrapped around her waist as though to punctuate her thought.

Better to focus on something physical than the hurricane inside. She had pondered more than once what she would do if her time with him were to come to an end. What words she would say, confessions or apologies, the coy yet defiant smirk that would grace her lips one last time as if to say ‘I’ve died before, what’s once more?’ and what she would say to encourage him to keep going…. and now that the moment was staring her in the face she could do little more than fall silent and bury the options deep.

Only once she felt confident that he had stopped moving around did she finally venture to investigate. Lashes parted as she opened her eyes to stare skyward. Taking one shaking breath she tipped her head down and inspected his handiwork as much as she could through its covering. The bandage had adhered and she gently ran her fingers along it to feel for the stitching. He had tended her to the best of his ability and her attention turned to him instead. Head tilted, bangs lying askew, and her hood fell back to her shoulders. She studied him in this moment they had while nothing else around could distract them and they had some semblance of safety.

“You’ve improved.” Words had fallen into little more than a whisper but filled with conviction.

Where once he had been mostly smooth jawed and rounded cheeks now she saw sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw dusted with shadow. His eyes were closed but she knew their look as well as her own. Had memorized it in those fleeting chances allowed and watched the change as they both grew older. Where blue eyes had once been vibrant with the folly of youth, now she knew them to hold all the lessons a harsh life had instilled, each horror etched within their now-hidden depths. Her compliment hung in the air either aimed at him, his work, or both. She wouldn’t voice which she had meant.

“I can still smell the rain.” She breathed in hushed confession.

Eyes stared ahead, watching the trees zip by in the gap he had left in the door. Now that she had opened the sluice, it spilled forth.

“I remember first walking through the city, once most of the screams had ceased, and its silence thick with death. It felt like I was the only soul left. I may have almost been convinced of it… until I happened upon a young man in uniform.” The last statement rose slightly as her lips curled in a shadow of a smile. “You looked so determined to survive… I saw my own resolve reflected back at me. Ammunition was so scarce…” She paused for half a heartbeat, “I’d still say the bullets were well-spent. I was right. Ever the survivor.” Something akin to pride almost crept into her voice. She coughed, a wet sound in her chest and throat, and reached up to discreetly wipe away the blood that had edged to the corner of her mouth.

Ada wrapped her arms around her stomach and turned only slightly away. Silence followed her statement but red and blue lights flashed behind her eyes as windshields glittered with fresh raindrops. She was chilled from more than just the winter surrounding them and reminiscing didn’t bring her warmth.

Memory Lane

LEON

His aged and bitter voice was still ringing his ears as he squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. Why had she brought up Raccoon City? Whenever Ada or Claire or, well, anyone mentioned it to or around Leon, the reaction was the same...stiff, reluctant, speaking of a ghost. As it should be. Yet it sounded like she wanted to relive those moments of hell. He couldn't imagine why. Raccoon was the ultimate failure, the first of a long line of failures. As though the city were an old friend, Leon had protested its inevitable demise. He wanted to save it. He wanted to help.

Wanting to help had turned into some strange turn of duty where passion was replaced by stalwart training and techniques, the latest weaponry, enough physical training to make a military officer cry, and a plethora of other immeasurable substances that swallowed Leon up so wholly he didn't even know where he was at times. He should open his eyes. He needed to ground himself. PTSD was a nice clinical term for living moments away from an exploding amygdala, but he'd dealt with these drowning thoughts for long enough he knew how to snap out of it, how to focus on the task at hand. And yet opening his eyes was impossible.

He found himself pulled away from the wisps of smoke circling Raccoon City, and into a warmly, dimly lit stone room. The smell was cedar, and fog after rain. Priests whispered in Spanish, a language Leon had zero interest in learning for the last decade. But he knew what they were saying anyway. Perhaps his brain intended for this strange intermission, perhaps not, but just as Leon was trying to wrench himself away from it, there was another light in his orange-tinted nightmare.

A voice, Ada's voice.

“You’ve improved.”

He could see the way out. Leon on the train kept his eyes glued shut. Leon in the castle looked around for the voice, and light.

It wasn't enough to pull him out yet. Despite the swirling images of the tapestry on the castle wall, mixed with the labyrinth underneath once-Raccoon City, Leon's eyes moved rapidly. His brow was lowered in what looked like a brooding expression, but the telltale signs, his hands, gripped nothing and were motionless at his side. He tried to unclench them and could not. Ada spoke again, her voice coming from the slightest change in direction. He could tell that she had been looking at him and was now looking away.

The light shone again and Leon could open his eyes suddenly, the roaring of the train on its tracks and her silken tones the most deafening welcome back to reality that he could have mustered. Ada wasn't one to stumble over long, drawn out statements, so he exhaled and attempted to bring her voice back into his focus, his ears still ringing. His ears had been ringing? Leon unclenched his gloved fists, feeling the soreness, flexing his fingers until he got some feeling in them.

"...until I happened upon a young man in uniform. You looked so determined to survive… I saw my own resolve reflected back at me. Ammunition was so scarce…”

Now he was even more disoriented, and for a moment the nightmare in his mind seemed a safer and more familiar one than this. Leon scanned Ada's face for some clue what this was about, but she merely continued, slumping backward even as he leaned forward with concern.

"I’d still say the bullets were well-spent. I was right. Ever the survivor.”

He had seen the brunette slicing at her wounded stomach but was it possible she'd hit her head sometime before he happened along to fight the bear? He leaned even farther forward now, the ringing in his ears threatening to return, but Leon fought against the mental onslaught. He had to focus on Ada. Something wasn't right. He glanced back down at her torso and abdomen; the bandage was holding, wasn't bleeding....she didn't lose that much blood.

"Ada," he said, and compared to the last sentence he'd spat, a tonal difference of night and day--pure concern, a touch of tender warmth and familiarity. He was so perplexed that Leon didn't even notice the warmth in his nostrils, the all-too-familiar threat of another 'brain zap', until the rush of blood trickled down from both to coat his lips and then splash on the wooden floor. Dizzy, he blinked and wiped his face with his palm.

For a moment the blond stared at the blood on the floor, confused, and braced himself for another onslaught of pain. He decided he'd better ask in case the attack came back.

So Leon grimaced in a puzzled, hesitant tone, "...Why are you saying this?"

Despite his fears, the pain did not come, and the buzzing in his ears seemed to fade. He would have felt more himself than anytime in the past five minutes save for her strangeness. It was so strange that he reached for her arm and tugged her toward him with more resolve than his attempt at helping her stand earlier. What was stranger, Ada stabbing herself, or saying these things? He didn't know, but didn't like either. So much for gathering more data.

-------------

ADA

Her arms tightened around her abdomen, steeling herself for whatever flippant thing might roll off his tongue next. He may never have noticed it, hell even turned a blind eye towards it because their lives were easier that way while working, but he could stab at her with his indifference as easily as she cut him with hers. The difference continued to be that she hid it better. Always had. Always would.

“Ada.”

She remembered that intonation. It was one she did not hear often during work-- or any time really if she were honest, rare as it was. Memories tickled her senses and threatened to take her back to the last time she had opened her eyes to her name tumbling so softly from his mouth. The briefest flash of burning buildings and another man, cracked as though his skin fit like a misshapen puzzle, flitted before her. It vanished before they could take hold. Ada shook her head gently as if the action could somehow clear away the past.

Leon had fallen silent again. Typical. Predictable. Ever the silent hero, though if she dared call him that… she was almost tempted just to see if his brow would furrow or his lip might pull up in reaction. It was half the fun, really. And what was life without whimsy? Dull. Uninspired. Dreary. A hundred other synonyms that would never be the lives that had been thrust upon them.

“Why are you saying this?”

Contemplation morphed her face into a mask of calm. All she had to do was accept it and call it by name so that he would, too… so why was it so difficult? Unfinished business, perhaps. A quiet intake of air preceded an answer that was cut short when his hand clasped around her arm. The hold was as strong as it had been on her wrist earlier forcing the world to shift as she half-tumbled sideways. Ada gasped for breath as the stitching pulled against itself from the sudden twist of muscles. It took her a moment to push the sensation to the back of her mind, to compose herself back to even an injured lump resembling the persona of ‘Ada Wong’. One palm pressed against his chest near where she had fallen from his action, the other splayed out on the floor. Fingertips slipped against liquid splashed beneath her hand, gloves thankfully shielding her from whatever the substance might be.

She pushed herself up, but remained by his side, shoulder touching his as she contemplated-- and finally settled-- on an answer. Raven hair framed her face as she stared at him. Did he need an answer so intensely that he would manhandle her into giving one? It was unlike him, but she graced him with what he so desperately wanted to hear, though she doubted greatly that it would satiate his sudden curiosity.

“Time.” It would be left to the agent to unravel any meaning behind the single word. His eyes had once held such hope… That was when she noticed the smear of crimson above his lip.

“Leon,” she began, turning more towards him. The action caused her arm braced against the floor to slip and she lifted her hand to see fresh blood dotting the black leather. He was bleeding. Eyebrows pinched together. She looked away only long enough to tear a strip off the lower portion of her shirt. The item was ruined anyway, shredded from the bear’s wicked looking claws, and she turned the cloth over in her hands making certain the beast had not left any residue on it. She thrust the piece towards him, though not ungracefully, her old poise slowly returning. Black gloved fingers wrapped around his hand that wasn’t pulling on her arm. She brought it up to her own in hope it would influence him into grabbing the cloth for himself, though the motion wasn't quite as elegant as it would have been had he released her. “You’re bleeding, again.”

Ada stole a glance at the world outside. The trees had altered their shape and distance to each other. The land was changing, slowly but surely, as the train barreled on its path. Maybe a distraction would help quicken the journey’s pace and keep his roughness at bay. It didn’t suit him or match the concern she had heard in his voice.

“Red isn’t your color,” she playfully chided with a hint of affection, the pain in her eyes dimming when amusement sparkled.
Bury the worry, smother the fear, until it’s all another memory. Her expression did not betray her thoughts, glimmer in her eyes like days of old.

Chapter End Notes

A bit short compared to previous chapters, we know. Chapter length varies. Thank you all who are following this story!

Red Ledger

LEON

One prize Leon would probably win was 'number of times an asked question went unanswered'. Since his first day on the job as a cop, so it had always been. He did not ask rhetorically, but his physical accompaniment of the question with rather sudden and involved body contact betrayed his will to have an answer.

She resisted weakly, pressing a palm to his chest, but this time Leon didn't even inwardly notice; his butterflies were gone, sheer confusion and loss of control of the situation occupying his mind. Leon tried to read Ada's face instead as she pushed herself up. He always marveled, with each encounter, how immortal she seemed to look. It wasn't that she was the same breathy, mischievous woman from Raccoon City who dared jeer at the number of times she saved his ass--that Ada had transformed, over the years--but her features were as familiar and yet mysterious to him as the feel of rain after a summer storm, or the scent of his favorite whiskey, or the welcoming enveloping darkness that hung over his head just before he fell asleep.

Her eyes always glimmered with simultaneous 'there's something you don't know, Leon' and 'but don't worry about it'. Her lips didn't betray if she was actually happy to see him or if she was playing coy, and he had long since abandoned the idea of deciphering those hints. He had to admit, loosening his hold reluctantly, that she looked as she usually did. Minus the wound and the lack of sleep they were both suffering, that is.

"Time."

Yep. Zero sense. Completely useless information. He suspected as much, and now Leon's expression moved from concern to slight contempt. It took a lot of willpower to not interrogate Ada every single time he saw her, usually due to the scraps of clues he perused on his own time for nobody's sake other than his own. If he indulged now, she'd shut down and probably grapple-gun into another time zone for a year or two, but his odd combination of concern and irritation mixed over his brow and then to his lips, which curled as he tried to think of an equally infuriating reply.

Ada's eyes moved from his own down toward his mouth and he paused in his wordless formation of some halfhearted response--was she going to kiss him? She said his name. His eyes widened at the unexpected implication, but she dashed that with an observant "You're bleeding, again."

Now Leon's lips pursed closed purposely and he flared his nostrils.

"I'm fine," he insisted, and followed her gaze to look outside at the trees.

Was she, in fact, considering flying off into the darkness until they met again? He gripped her shoulder firmly, determined to get through to the woman somehow.

"Red isn't your color," she added, and with that Leon finally trusted her, and himself, enough to let his hand slip from her shoulder.

Something wasn't right, but she wanted to pretend it was fine, and there wasn't much more he could do. Leon knew there was no winning Ada's game. You either let her move pieces around, or flipped the whole board over and didn't get to play anymore. The flipping temptation was at its strongest right now, but he would always relent. Leon re-positioned himself on the floor, turning to face the woman but placing more room between them.

His comment was finally about to emerge, finally--casual and flippant and with just enough spice to make him feel smug, as though he'd nudged the board when she wasn't looking and couldn't do anything about it--when he was interrupted by a subtle beep coming from his pocket. He hadn't checked in with Hunnigan since the beginning of this hellish cross-country trip, and she'd have his head if he didn't answer.

He gave Ada a pointed look, which he knew she'd understand, and flipped open the communication device.

"Leon, it's been hours--"

"No update, I am just sitting on a train like a good boy," he joked, turning on the charm, hoping to ease her lecture. It worked.

Ingrid chuffed, but then shook her head. "I have something to tell you about those prints."

"I'm listening."

"They were registered as classified but it didn't take long for the Department of Security in Canada to get back to me. They were classified to THEIR government, not ours. Meaning they belonged to an American. It took me hours of combing, because these trace records have been deleted, but...Leon..."

"What is it?" He tried very hard to sound curious.

"They belong to Jack Krauser."

Leon nodded, betraying what he already knew, and said aloud, "Well...that answers one question."

"How would he even still be alive? There's been zero record of him since Spain, and the EU gave us a full report on all involved persons. He was reported as dead. Even if he faked his death somehow, he's been quiet for this many years?"

"I guess he found something interesting enough in Canada to risk his vacation," Leon joked. "Any other updates on the facility?"

"None," she said in an almost annoyed tone. "Private land, private owner. They get a very small government grant for some laboratory program that supplies vital drug components, but that's it. The place barely exists on satellite, and it looks like there's no one there. Whoever works there mgiht be involved in anything from the black market, money laundering...to..."

"To worse?" Leon suggested, with a flip of his hair. "We'll find out soon. Do you have a tracker on me?"

"You're just four hours shy of the property line. I don't know how you think you're going to get out of there though. I could request a helicopter but it could take some time. That's very remote airspace and no doubt the Canadian government would have questions."

"Well, I'll update you when I arrive," he decided, "And we can go from there. Leon out." As he closed and pocketed the device, Leon finally mustered up his signature smirk to Ada. "You sure you don't want to sit this one out?"

-----------

ADA

Even now he echoed her own habits. The entirety of the yin to the yang, making one shape even with the differences. She buried her own concerns and he insisted to be no worse off. Torn between amusement and exasperation Ada chose to allow the former to take precedence. Some things would never change, including the blond agent’s tendency to rebuke her few chances to demonstrate acts of kindness. The only thing missing was the scowl that usually accompanied--
Ah, no, there it is. The spy kept her face neutral even though the predictability made her inwardly smile as she noticed, from her peripheral, the change in his expression only a moment before he claimed to be ‘fine’.

Her attention drew back to Leon when his pocket vied for attention. The look he shot spoke volumes and it almost gained a roll of her eyes. As if she were the type to announce her presence during a call involving a government of any nation.

Maybe she would lean in and photobomb his chat with a stereotypical peace sign and mischievous grin… If not for her own always-contained poise Ada may have snorted derisively.

Wind whipped through the crack in the door unexpectedly forcing her to clutch at the edges of her coat. Fabric pulled tight around her stomach guarding against the sudden onslaught of icy chills. Her mind wandered, considering the mission now that she was feeling more alert, yet she still caught every word of the ‘private’ conversation. As far as Ingrid knew, Leon was in fact alone. It seemed Leon still held the same company even years later, though the woman’s voice threatened to force Ada to reminisce of autumn woods and sepia landscape. Pointed refusal kept the memories at bay.

“They belong to Jack Krauser.” She heard Hunnigan inform Leon.

A shadow passed over her expression, eyes gaining a murky depth as her mood instantly soured. Trees flickered by in the hazy light, mere wisps of lines that blurred in their speed. While not foolish enough to disregard the possibility, Ada had not yet confined her thoughts to the faith that Jack actually had survived their encounter. Now, it was indisputable… possibly. There still remained the slim chance that someone else had used his prints or that the tested items contained echoes of previous handling. She wasn’t stupid enough to believe it, but filed away the consideration for a later time. For now, it was best to assume the prints were fresh and that the gung-ho soldier had not perished.

The light in her eyes dimmed impossibly more. This would be twice now that he had wriggled his way free of death at her hands. It was starting to become personal. After all, she would have to rescind her statement. Lord, the paperwork involved if this ever got out, not to mention the reprimand from superiors.

Unacceptable.

Ada Wong did not make mistakes, officially, and she would be damned if the slug whose obsession with power seemed to rival only Wesker’s-- speaking of slimy creatures, she almost smirked—would tarnish her record. Where once there would have been begrudged admiration for his tenacity, now she felt only annoyance that tightened her throat. If Jack were involved then she could assume his vendetta had only grown worse with--

“You sure you don’t want to sit this one out?”

Leon’s voice yanked her from internal considerations, the call having ended. Gaze shot toward him quicker than what would be her normal habit, and despite herself, Ada actually smiled. Thoughts that had forced a pensive, even unhappy, look upon her face were washed away by the delight sparkling in her eyes. At least she could count on one thing: Leon’s timing was impeccable and his dry humor often matched her own.

“And deny you the only chance for scintillating conversation?” She purred, her old tone returning unexpectedly. “Leon,” his name held the same warmth she’d heard from him, however brief that had been, but the look in her eyes shifted from one of calm to a gleam of determination, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Krauser would not walk away this time. If she had to squash the man beneath her heel until even his smoldering remains floated away on the wind, she would.

This time would be the last.

If Wesker ever found-- no, she wouldn’t even entertain the thought.

It was bad enough to feel as though she were under his thumb, she would not permit him the knowledge of her mistake. There had been enough fuel for the fire when she had barely been able to bargain for her life. She would take the knowledge of Jack’s continued survival to her grave, filed away among the many other things that only she knew.

Tempted to inquire his thoughts on their old 'friend' resurfacing, Ada instead opted to comment on their journey's progress.

“The sun is falling.” She breathed.

The light had grown dim, their path taking them away from the land of eternal sun. She looked back at Leon after glancing at the door. “You should rest.”
It wasn’t a suggestion and concern glittered in her eyes. The emotion disappeared as quickly as it had formed.

They still had a few hours left if the train continued to run at its current pace. Her injury was clear yet tended, but this was twice now that he had bled without apparent cause. Curious as she was to inquire the reason, she refrained. If things were to progress smoothly, or as smooth as possible considering the situation currently tilting the chess board, she would need her prized piece in top shape.

Off the Record

LEON

It was a rainy, and thus a normal day in London, but the fluorescent lights in the laboratory betrayed the quiet grey pallor outside. They illuminated the blue sheen on Maria’s hair as she leaned against the door frame in an anticipatory manner. She saw the male’s eyes flicker away from the computer screen momentarily, but then they landed right where they had been before.

“Well?" Her stern cockney was evident even in the single syllable. "The meeting’s in ten minutes.”

“Good thing I emailed you my report promptly at three-fifteen this morning eh?” came the reply, the sharp contrast of the heavily accented Spanish as noticeable as the intense lights against the window of grey fog.

She waved her hand dismissively, stepping into the room. In response, the male pushed his chair away from the large laboratory desk, but did not stand to greet her. These days, he hurt too much to waste energy like that. Had Marie noticed the pin-thin reddish-pale lines threading their way up his neck and even across his jaw, she would have still been privy to only a glimmer, a fraction, of the scar tissue on his body.

But she was more interested in what he had to say; one arm splayed out interestedly toward him, and the other gripped her padfolio. She looked meeting-ready. “Yeah, but what’s the word on the source of the antibodies that were produced, you said you were almost done testing...?”

“Not a mycotoxin,” he relented. Well, that was easy. He clicked his pen against the smooth enameled desktop.

She didn’t seem to think so. The woman’s dark eyebrows lowered in confusion. “But….”

In the ensuing silence, the pen clicks were the only measures of time. Finally Maria scanned her eyes upward, seeming to be deep in thought. “The multiple sources…and the enzymes.”

“MVOCs,” he nodded, pleased, and then droned out, “microbial volatile organic compounds. How many? What kind? Is their potency due to the extreme rate of metabolism? I do not know any of that yet.” He shrugged, and was reminded of pain with a twinge in his upper back.

“But it’s a good start,” she nodded, growing more enthused as she realized the wholeness of her report had just increased.

“Ms. Baugh,” came a voice from the door, and both researchers recognized the deep tone. “I’m here to escort you to the meeting room.”

The INTERPOL officer wore his sunglasses inside the building, which ordinarily would have been a source of mockery, but the intensity of the lights in the room made it less laughable. He nodded emotionlessly, and Maria departed the room with one last hopeful glance toward the mysterious Spaniard.

He didn’t return the glance; she noted that his blue-green, strange eyes were already glazed...he was back into the research, lost in time and thought.

_________

The preteen sat excitedly as the man withdrew the box from his own suitcase; it was a simple cardboard thing, the type sold in art stores to save old photos, but of course she had no way of knowing that. Confinement in a lab had left her so ignorant of the world that she didn’t question the grey canvas-covered box. Instead she tore it open the way a smaller child would dig into a Christmas box.

The dark green LSVW rattled on through the snow, Krauser’s paid driver silent and watchful as his two passengers sat cross-legged in the back of the cab. Around them were their own hastily-packed bags, a mini-arsenal, mostly belonging to Jack, and several dubiously obtained crates of survival items.

Now the item contained in the box was illuminated from the dim light seeping in the windows, and it contrasted from the dull olive green of the military equipment--a royal purple, embellished tome engraved with multiple gemstones and two large, leather buckles that wrapped around the entirety of the book.

“It’s so….”

“New?”

“Beautiful!” She ran a finger across one of the sapphires. “But yes, why is it so new? You said this was written during the Baroque period.”

“The what?” his slightly redneck accent slipped as he curled his lip, his icy eyes conveying minor confusion. He looked up from his methodical rifle inspection and magazine removal.

“Baroque.” For never having been in school, she had the proper bossy tone of a schoolgirl. “You said this manual was written by the Los Illuminados, when they were in the Salazar castle.”

Jack massaged the bridge of his nose, looking more and more like a haggard father of a teenager. “I said that Saddler gave it to me. When he revived the cult they reprinted the books for the honored higher-ups. I naturally got one when they did the ceremony with the dominant plaga.” He snarled a bit at the word ceremony, as though he found the idea ludicrous.

She did not notice or take heed of his own slight moment of reminiscing; Jack rolled his eyes and imperceptibly shook his head at the aftermath of saying the word ‘ceremony,’ but the girl was moved to a sudden trance. Her ears rang, the engine of their vehicle slowed to a dull roar, and she sensed rather than saw the blond man. A powerful sadness, one too strong to bear, overtook her thoughts, and she felt an overwhelming desire to pull away. Whatever this was, she wanted no part of it. With strong will, she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, as if shaking off a biting winter wind. The emotion faded.

Perhaps if she were older, or in fact, had emotional maturity, the girl would have wondered where the sadness came from, or why it was so unbearable. Or why, out of all the emotions she could connect with, this was the first unfiltered emotion that leapt from he to she. Perhaps.

She might have also pondered on how readily she relinquished contact or curiosity with it; after all, she had been plenty curious about his memories. About the castles he saw, about the flickering candles and the howling winds in his mind. Even about the gun he carried, or the woman he so desperately wanted to kiss, despite his anger. But that cold, steely bleakness did not ignite curiosity or empathy, and had she wondered about that, she might have learned something. But she didn’t.

The purple book sat heavily on her thin, knobbly knees. Krauser withdrew another weapon, this time a submachine gun, and frowned at it.

“Thank you so much for this.” Her pale hands clung to the volume, her fingers digging into the leather spine. Jack’s irritation seemed to fade, and he half-smiled in a flicker before returning to the task of separating his magazines from their rifles. Private agency flights were still a pain in the ass, criminal organization or no.

“No problem,” he said after a long pause. But she didn’t even seem to notice; the girl was already flipping through the illustrated pages, excitement growing at familiar sketches and passages.

_____________

The energy it had taken him to pull off the smirk gave Leon the momentum to lean back, relaxing the too-tense muscles against cold, uncomfortable metal. The rumbling of the wheels against the tracks was more pronounced now, and he shifted to plant his feet down in front of him.

Why was he so tired, anyway? He mopped the blood from his lip. Was now really the time to ask himself those questions? Nope. His ears weren’t ringing, were they? You know what they say, he heard a friend from decades ago chime in. If your ears are ringing somebody’s talking about you.

Leon turned, still smirking, toward Ada and was shocked to see her smile. Though she always looked immortal, the smile elevated her to an almost imaginary creature, something too strong and fragile and too close and too far from this planet, and the unexpectedness caused Leon’s subtle smirk to fade into a far more serious, even penetrating stare.

“And deny you the only chance for scintillating conversation?"

He didn’t even blink at the slow re-warmth of Ada’s regular, melodic tone. Instead his keen stare flickered, from her eyes to her lips, and he finally felt the wave of fog lift from him. Oxygen rushed into his skull, or so it seemed, and the agent’s clarity returned in time for him to blink suddenly as Ada said his name.

“Leon. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

It was his turn to smile, or Leon’s version of a smile anyway. Still subtle, and with more creasing around his eyes, but it felt good to do it. Better still was the reassurance, however sarcastic it might have been, that Ada might wait a few more hours before ziplining into the distant future.

He hadn’t even pondered the realities of Jack Krauser’s return yet. The thought crossed his mind now, shattering the illusion of peace, and Leon exhaled loudly. The moments were too fleeting. Less to Ada than himself he muttered, “I already came to terms with Krauser’s death before I killed him.” What a strange thing to say, especially since the only untrue part of the statement had obviously been the part about killing Krauser.

It did drum up concern because Krauser likely meant a tie to Umbrella, or whatever Umbrella ghosts roamed the dark corners of the earth, and though he anticipated their involvement by now, he still resented that he had to be suspicious. Agitated, Leon stood and paced toward the open edge of the car. He leaned his forearm against the sill, staring for the first time at the forest, at beyond the forest: foggy, snow-drifted mountains lined the horizon. He scanned the rail cars in front of him in their silent, icy walls of metal.

He peered into the dimming grey in front of the open train car as Ada spoke, “The sun is falling. You should rest.”

He gave a nonchalant look, tossed over his shoulder, implying her unyielding tone and his own resistance to authority were at odds, but old and boring practical Leon had the floor this evening. He looked at his hands, removed his gloves lazily and took slow steps across the rattling wooden floor as if contemplating her offer.

“Only if I take second watch.” He had a feeling that getting Ada to sleep while he took watch might have to involve martial arts, rope, and some severe head trauma, but he was too tired to force that issue for now. After a nap, he could probably handle the fight.

The blond drifted back down to his seat, lamenting his headrest of steel, and nodded towards his companion. “And I can’t sleep if you hurt yourself again, so don’t do that.” It was a rare moment indeed when Leon could lecture Ada so assuredly, and he savored the moment with another smirk and flared nostrils.

Against every fiber of his instincts, with his intuition screaming faraway in the distance, he closed his eyes.

Chapter End Notes

Well, it's been a while since we updated this. Life, y'know? We won't promise to speed up our posting times, though we do genuinely want to thank all of you that follow this story, have given kudos, or have shared encouraging words. Hopefully, these new chapters make up for the time you waited! -the writers of Leon and Ada

Rock and a Hard Place

ADA

There was something she couldn’t pinpoint in his stare and that fact alone made Ada suddenly feel very uncomfortable in her own skin. She could always read, always play the game, keep herself one-- or even ten, honestly-- steps ahead of the other pieces on the board; making herself more akin to a player than a piece. But in this moment she could not, loathe as the spy was to admit it even to herself, read him.

Leon, of all people.

Not to say she always had him pegged, but she was usually within a breath of the bullseye if not directly in it. Now, though? Ada was at a loss. Between his sporadically-timed blood loss and his raw honesty of concern for her, she felt her own grasp on mental security slipping. Were things bad enough he also felt the need to hide it from her? Were things actually fine and she was overthinking the situation? Much as it pained her, she had to resign to not knowing. Which, for someone of her line of work and with such a reputation that she prided herself on, it could quite literally be pained.

A quirk fell upon her lips when he insisted on who would be on guard and when. Only once his eyes closed did Ada allow herself to lie back against the cold steel of the train car. She couldn’t completely allow her walls to crumble, but at least in this moment she could ease up on their rigidity a bit.

Ada thought back to mere seconds ago when he’d been staring at her before he’d wandered to take a gander at the fleeting scenery flashing by the open door. Her eyes had followed his when they had dropped their intense blue stare to her lips. Unbidden, her heart had picked up its pace and her breath nearly caught, though she was able to focus through the thrumming in her ears. All too quickly the moment passed and she was able to exhale silently once he moved away. In her vulnerable state she may not have been able to guard against any tells, should he have looked too closely.

Small victories. Ada mentally muttered to herself, even her inner voice carrying that twinge of bitter regret. Things would always dance along a line between them that was both strained and comfortable.

Each minute they traveled the train began to make more noise, almost as if they were coming out of the most heavy of the snow. It would be a relief to see a little less accumulation, even though she deeply loved the white fluff. Unlike before, when she’d so eagerly held the clumped snow, where it washed away all for a clean slate it was now tainted, like her, like the blood soaking the ground in the arena where she’d gone head on with the bear. The sight of the white substance flying by made her feel queasy so the spy looked back at something that would ground her mentally.

Him.

He seemed… peaceful. For once. It was sweet… and heartbreaking for any who knew him intimately. It was a rare thing indeed, far more fleeting than a snowflake, to see Leon look so pacified, and she knew, regrettably, that it wouldn’t last. It never did. For either of them. Though she was far more skilled at keeping the effect from her face.

The mobile in her pocket buzzed and her expression soured with the speed of a bolt of lightning. Ada didn’t have to view the caller ID to guess who it would be. Sure enough, the name read ‘unknown’ and the screen blipped incessantly as though requesting-- more like commanding-- that she pick up immediately. Ada snuck another glance at Leon; sleeping like a babe… or at least asleep enough that she could take a private call.

Ada braced against the floor and wall, awkwardly cradling her phone, and limped away from her companion. She rounded the broken boxes and very few debris that littered the floor, trying to distance herself, hopefully to muffle the conversation should he awaken. Being certain to keep the phone away from the door enough that she could communicate clearly, but close enough that wind would wipe most of the incoming chatter out for any distant eavesdroppers, she thumbed the screen to answer the call.

“Report.” Static jumbled the demand, but she was familiar with it enough.

“Young, female.” Ada breathed in natural husky tone. Her injury made itself known but she squelched it away with conscious effort. “She may still be injured but she has fled. The staff is trying to cover their mistake, but they couldn’t hide it from me. The girl must be resourceful if she’s gotten this far.

I’m on the trail now. In less than thirty minutes I will be at the site we discussed. If it’s as off-grid as it seems, then signals will be difficult to come by.” She lied through her teeth as easily as she gracefully rolled out of bed in the morning.

She would reach the facility much sooner and her tech could almost always guarantee a signal; no way in hell was she going to reveal this to him, though. Not after their last rendezvous. The muscles in her neck held shadows of the pain from his iron-locked fingers. Ada resisted reaching for her throat to rub it. No need to fuel his ego and let him know he had left a lasting impression on her. Sunglasses stared her down as though they could bore right into her very soul over the handheld screen.

Contemplation was written across his expressionless face, noticed by her only from the experience of working with the tyrannical man. If she knew him, and she wasn’t fool enough to say she did but she could at least use the term ‘lightly familiar’, he was digesting her words and debating on insisting for more information. Best to jump ahead of him without being obvious.

“Oh,” she began, coy as ever, with a smirk barely teasing her lips, “another thing.” She paused, a mockery of deciding whether to bestow a treat played with all the convincing elegance she was capable of drawing, and then tilted her head as if she had chosen to share it after all. “It’s not yours. The parasite has either evolved or has been tampered with, perhaps even improved.” She took a breath, tasted blood, and swallowed it without so much as a twitch of her eye. “Tests have proved futile. This new substance corrodes most materials within seconds of host failure. Sample extraction is still a priority though obtaining a living specimen would be the most beneficial.”

She could hear and see his vocal chords thrum in deep thought. Always contemplating. Asshole. He nodded after a moment and set his fingers together in a steeple pose.

“I expect another report in two hours.”

The screen went black and just as quickly lit back up. It brought no sense of relief. Ada briefly entertained the idea of letting the call go, but she knew she couldn’t. Pipe dreams and all that. Ada answered it, steeling her expression against the next demands and scrutiny.

“Yes,” she concurred, “up north beyond the border. The facility is where the intel suggested. The woman is far younger than assumed though. She’s also wily and moves quickly for someone with her injuries, which implies either a remarkable pain tolerance or some form of a healing factor. Either is concerning, perhaps the healing even more so, since the parasite never exhibited the ability before now.”

“Keep us updated.”

Ada moved her thumb to end the call but her superior’s voice made her hesitate.

“Ada,” the robotic voice of a changer warbled, “remember, last chance. No mistakes this time.”

This time when the screen went black Ada actually collapsed against the wall. Anger trickled through each vein and she bit her lip to contain the sound bubbling in her throat. Insulting. She hadn’t made a mistake, according to their records, and she knew it to be a ploy to force her to work twice as hard. And dammit, if it wasn’t going to work in spite of her wisdom to see it for what it truly was.

They knew how to push her buttons and keep her one step ahead of the rope that always hung just over her head. Well, It may not matter now. Whether it was the noose or Wesker’s hand, one way or another there was a tightening sensation around her throat and she knew it was only a matter of time. At least, if she were lucky, the infection writhing through her would get her first; bittersweet as it was. She tried to push away from the wall and found she couldn’t. The most she could muster was the effort to slip her phone back into its pocket.

Emotional waves bombarded her, battling the fatigue, pain, and worry. Finally having a moment to herself with Leon presumably sleeping meant she could allow herself a momentary reprieve to embrace fully everything going on with her. She was locked between two titans and to make matters worse Leon was trying to tug her from between them with his constant barrage against her morality and self-acceptance. He didn’t need to say a word for her to find the need to remind herself that she’d chosen her path long ago. She didn't even want to stew over Krauser right now.

What fresh hell had she gotten herself into this time?

She pushed against the wall again and did little more than bounce back against it when her non-existent strength failed her again. It took all of her energy simply to stay upright against the surface, her chin tilted down to her chest and eyes closed, each breath wheezing faintly from her chest to expel from her parted lips.

Blame

LEON

Miles ahead of the runaway train car a note fluttered in the bitter Alaska wind. Previously, it set on the inside of the nondescript medical facility, but the broken glass had caused that same chilling draft to sweep in and scoop it up, depositing it along the mold-covered lamp-post at the end of the property line.

Whatever the granite slab by the railroad track once identified the property as, it was now illegibly covered in a strange mold. Velvety black, with a luminescent sheen of forest green mixed in its own dimples traced over the rock. The contrast of these spores against the white snow made for a stark landscape, inky black weaving along the industrial road in rows like waves of cold lake water.

The spores found the snow inhospitable, the emergent trees and light posts and signage far less so. The mold had not spread to cover the paper that fluttered stubbornly against a spot of ice, dripping under condensation from the lamp above.

No one would read the notes on the paper.
They were meaningless.

--believe the subject is somehow altering thoughts? What I do know is that sleep makes the workers more suggestible lately. They agree with her more after working long shifts and staying on the quarters here. The last big storm we had that snowed the shift in for the weekend...so many interconnected, strange dreams and everyone was suddenly empathizing with subject, conversating even.

Wouldn’t be the first testing done on sleep suggestion, but my worry is...who is testing who? I wonder if it has to do with the triple regrowth and repair of diseased cell tissues during REM sleep?

--definitely something strange going on here. I’ve got workers flat-out refusing to conduct routine tests. Will follow up with Jack later on recommendations. Wonder if he has immunity to these suggestibilities?

I think I’m going to reach out to a sleep specialist, not sure how to explain this situation.

----

“You trust that bitch?”

‘Bitch’ to ‘Ada’ was ‘good hair’ to ‘Leon’ ...two words that just sat together beautifully, that were used as descriptors from friend and foe alike, that seemed permanently nestled in the DNA code next to each other, barely discernible from their counterparts. Peanut butter and jelly. Ham and cheese. Eggs and Tabasco sauce. Chris and unnecessary bro-rage. Whiskey and ...whiskey.

I can’t believe I miss her.

Leon was dreaming again, dreaming of Raccoon City. He always heard Annette and Claire, always felt and heard Tyrant’s fist against the broken rib as it punctured. He always felt Annette’s bullets pepper into his vest. Though over the years the memories had changed, distorted and warped as though he were watching a static-covered TV layered with dust and a failing audio connection. Whiskey and on-and-off-again sleep meds also dulled the clarity of the dreams, sometimes numbing them altogether, so that Leon could awake with the familiar sight of BE GLAD YOU AREN’T HERE ROOKIE fading away into a normal morning fog of confusion.

Traumatic dreams were different. They were virtual reality games with a hare trigger, gun pointed at his brain stem, ready to activate every nerve with a single event or internal sight. But, thanks to whiskey, those didn’t happen much anymore. In his twenties, Leon broke a few nightstands, dragged a few unfortunate romances out of bed while screaming at them to get out of the fire or grab their gun. In his thirties it was more likely he would wake into a panic attack or angry rage over an imagined noise or intruder. With the right flask, even those events were rare now.

The trauma had mostly moved from his sleeping brain to some other place--his core, maybe, his mind giving up on trying to work out the issues during sleep cycles. Instead it had been booted from his mind and attached itself to his soul.

It dulled every sense, physical and mental, to a debilitating degree when he was doing anything normal. It gave him power, adrenaline, calculation, when he was doing everything else. It caused him to drink. To blankly stare when he wasn’t busy. To halfass every human interaction, and slowly begin to care less and less about everything as time went on.

It was killing him, but at least it wasn’t causing clear, disturbing nightmares.

This clear dream was disconcertingly lucid as Leon stared down his gun at Ada. He already knew he wasn’t going to shoot her, but now he vocalized that she wasn’t going to shoot him, either. Instead of the relieved, nearly withheld smirk he’d given as she lowered the gun, Leon screamed inside his own head MOVE OUT OF THE WAY. He knew what was coming, but wasn’t in charge of his body. Annette’s shot rang out behind him.

Again Leon noted his own prior actions. The sample was dropped from his hand as he reached for Ada. Training that would come in following years would never allow for such a mistake, a mistake that haunted him deeply. Now, his gaze moved from the vial as it slipped over the catwalk, to Ada, and years of guilt and shame were erased. Who cares. Fuck the sample.

Someone changed the channel inside his head. Leon shifted in his sleep, a slight frown threading across his face. His eyelids flickered, then moved. Behind them, his grey and almost faded irises began to scan the nothingness. His breath quickened, though there was no one to hear it over the loud rumbling of the tracks.

At first the channel was just static. It seemed like someone was trying to tune the antenna. It was calm and peaceful; Leon had no idea how long the static lasted; it felt almost rejuvenating. But then Leon saw Sherry. She was dressed in a meager hospital gown that looked stained with dark patches. She was blond, frail, pale as she’d looked years after Raccoon City. Her silken hair cascaded around her face as she sobbed and kicked. Two hospital workers dragged her toward a machine, their faces hidden behind the typical face shields of biohazard environments. Wait.

Leon tried to move, found that he couldn’t. He was watching from someone else’s eyes. Someone who was gripping the edge of the one-way mirror so hard it was about to break. Sherry screamed at the sight of the machine, and a doctor entered the room by the mirror, sighing loudly.

“You would think by now the subject would comply without use of force,” he chided.

The not-Leon voice was gruff and disdainful, but cautious. “Why not try a sedative then.”

The greying doctor looked skeptically over his glasses. The older man had a distinctive Canadian accent, whereas the others was gruffly American, almost lilting. “Cell regrowth after damage is always at much higher levels when there is central nervous system activation present. In other words, if she’s not afraid to die, she won’t heal as fast.”

“And why does that matter? It’s still ungodly fast.”

“Because we need to perform these tests as accurately as possible for their future use,” the doctor was done explaining and he snapped the cover on the tablet he was tapping on. “Feel free to go wait somewhere else.”

__________

But that must have been a traumatic dream, because now Leon awoke in a rage. Maybe he sputtered Sherry’s name, again lost in the loud rumbling of the tracks. Like a clumsy, stupid tree falling upright, he plowed through the stack of broken pallet wood he’d been laying near, attempting to stand without over-correcting. But he stumbled back and then his fist found the metal wall. Punching it backhanded, he swiveled and aimed for another spot, this time bending the crossbeam and only pausing on his third drawn-back fist when he realized what had awoken him.

The grade crossing predictor had been triggered, the doctor’s voice drowned out by an alarm. The railroad gates. Leon moved in a fluid motion to the open car side, kicking and punching a series of barrels and debris out of the way. The pieces flew like kindling out of the side door and the overzealous agent himself almost flew out as he haphazardly grabbed the lip of the metal.

Wind was cruel as it cut into his face where an uncharacteristic snarl already lay, and he surveyed the scene. Sure enough, there was a road ahead, that crossed the tracks on a curve. The crossbucks and red lights stood out against the dimming sky and white snow. Tendrils of black criss-crossed over the gates, which dropped reluctantly despite their heavy burden of snow and ice.

Leon was already viewing what lay behind this crossing; a cold, dark industrial area with too-clean windows and a compact power yard sitting innocently to its left, automatic solar floodlights taking over where the electricity had obviously failed. They littered the place, as though a snow-locked inhospitable work area needed theft-deterrent.

Leon caught this scene in a moment’s glance and then turned, retrieving the rifle and flinging the strip over his back, his jaw ticking. He could jump from here. The bank was probably fifty feet, but he felt invincible. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, he just knew, somehow with the rage filtering into his blood, that he would land the jump. Just as he turned toward the open car, he remembered -- Ada.

“The bitch,” he echoed earlier from Annette, but this voice wasn’t Leon’s. It was more of a growl, barely human. He saw the sea of cargo in front of him, and the blond stomped forward in a manner less Leon, more Tyrant who loomed in his own nightmares. Most of the articles were flung out the side door, but some cascaded behind and broke around Leon. He was causing a veritable tornado. He knew she was over here, he could almost smell her.

Dim streetlights coming into view illuminated the too-pretty-for-here face, and Leon forgot his brute strength and seemed to sway back to his less trained stance of bygone years. His pistol was withdrawn, sloppily, and Leon stumbled forward, almost thrusting the gun toward her like a lance. He held it one-handed, unprofessionally, the silver glinting from the approaching streetlight as his hand shook. Not with fear, but with something else, something more primal, and even more deadly.

His finger slipped through the trigger guard. The grimace on his face was removed as he attempted to cough up words, stringing them clumsily into a sentence. The inflection almost made him sound shocked or confused. Each word was halted by a pant and even in the icy air, Leon’s forehead was covered in sweat.

“I lost the G sample because of you.”

Out of Time

ADA

The sound of half-shattered items and rampaging steps brought her out of the haze, though barely. The stomp of feet sent chills down her back, each vertebrae coating in metaphorical ice until the hairs on the nape of her neck stood up. Memories of a meaty fist encased in black leather flashed behind her eyes, the towering once-human staring her down with an emotionless gaze.

A flood of adrenaline whipped through, pumping in her veins enough to help her stand while only leaning against the side of the train car with a single elbow. Her coat’s fabric slid against the metal but she caught herself, breathing heavily from the small effort.

She’d wasted too much time lingering in the past and now it had caught up to her. It was making her second-guess herself and her surroundings. Yet again, Ada was reminded of the severity of her predicament. She needed to keep herself grounded, to remain here, in this time and this place.

“I lost the G sample because of you.”

What little warmth was left vanished as her blood ran cold. Ada turned, eyes aside in search of him, until she was askew from facing him. He was focused on her. All on her. Once, she would have been flattered. Now, she felt unease. She sidled, cautiously, turning fully to face him and stare down the chamber pointed at her face. His stance was familiar yet strange, as if he’d forgotten how to be himself. Even the way he held the weapon was dissimilar to his usual control. Whatever was going on, Ada knew that she did not want to discover if he was willing to pull the trigger this time.

Maybe it would make things easier if he did. One less thing to mess his day or cause his scowls. One less spy in the world making everyone’s day a little longer, a little more troublesome, a little annoying.

She wanted to live, though, even with all of the past weighing on her shoulders as heavily as the memories of actions to complete objectives. Able to shrug them aside or swallow them down just enough to continue ignoring them didn’t mean she never felt or thought about them; only that she was disciplined enough to keep herself from allowing it to take hold more often than not.

The spy used what little strength she found to ebb slowly around him, never turning her back. Ada wrapped her left arm around her abdomen in attempt to stifle pain while her right hand splayed its fingers at him in silent admonition of his possible action. Each cautious, painstakingly slow limp brought her from the corner where she’d been pinned like an animal to around him and into the open space of the rail car.

Her eyes never left the gun other than to glance between it and his face.

His expression wasn’t one she recognized. Again. What was happening to her? To him?

They were less than five miles from their destination, her half-hour estimate having been a lie to give her more time before contacting her superiors with another update, and she wondered if she’d ever make the next call. Leon’s expression chilled her to the core and a well of dread bubbled within her.

The wind whipped through the open door of the train, sending ebony strands flying around her cheeks and the fur of her hood angrily rustling. Each back-step brought her more into the biting cold assault until she had nowhere else to go. The train rumbled on, wheels shrieking when they ground against the rails with unexpected friction and the wind became a roar around them… or maybe that was the sound of her pulse in her own ears.

“Leon.” His name slipped through her lips, the only word she could muster.

She could see his finger caressing the trigger. In that second, she knew how dire the situation truly had become. She stared into his eyes, paint-worn lips parting as though to speak again. Her eyes locked on his, those worn-down and pale blue she knew so well. In the rarest moment of moments, perhaps caused by the collapse of her health, hers swam with all the unspoken emotions and a silent plea to him as if calling to his very soul not to do this. Everything she’d ever wanted to say glimmered in those hues of hers and she began to lower her arm tha she'd used to keep him at bay.

The walls were crumbling as they almost had back in Raccoon and she knew she was finally staring at death’s door. Poetic that her end should come from her beginning; while it had been far from her first assignment, Leon had been the pinpoint on which her life had turned— at least in the sense of thawing her heart or similar sentiment— and now he would be the pinnacle on which it ended.

Emotions deepened in those amber-hazel depths, mouth tugging in sorrow and regret as she faced her last moments with Leon.

The train jolted violently when the wheels hit a patch of oozing substance solidified in growth over the track. She stumbled with the movement, arms reaching out to find some purchase to keep her footing but found only air. Her foot slipped at the edge.

And Ada disappeared, surprised fear cracking her usually unreadable visage, tumbling out of the open door in loss of balance as the train continued to whip along its path.

———————

A grunt in retort accompanied what would have seemed to be the hundredth question about the parasite and the cult once known as Los Illuminados.

“It’s in your book.”

“I know what’s written.” She sassed him with disdain. “I want to know more. If the image in my mind matches your description. If it’s as wondrous as I imagine.”

Krauser didn’t respond. A huff expelled from her chest and she sat back against the seat, book clutched in her lap and fingers absent-mindedly tracing its cover. Pout trembled her lips in frustration. Any gratitude she had felt at receiving the gift was overshadowed by her anger that he refused to share his personal knowledge.

“They called you a failure, you know.” She said nonchalantly, stare locked out the window at the frozen landscape zipping by them, her mean girl streak synonymous with her age rearing its head. Why hadn't the blond man done it yet? She grew inexplicably angry with her lack of influence, try as she might, and it boosted her bitterness towards Krauser. “Said they only took you in because no one else would. Not even your old boss.”

The repetitive motions as he disassembled and reassembled his weapons for the eighth time halted.

She almost grinned, pleased with herself for striking a nerve to the same extreme as he had hers. She glanced over, but seeing him frozen, the look on his face and the lack of any expression, made her instantly regret her jab. Her shoulders slouched and she clutched the book tighter. The blond man was instantly forgotten.

“I’m glad.” She confessed, unable to bring an apology to her lips for fear it would fall empty and opting instead for honesty in place of her bitterness. “If your worth had been realized, then I’d still be alone.” Eyes relayed the truth in her words when their gazes met and after a moment’s longer pause he resumed his actions.

“It was… bloody.” He finally relented.

“Oh.”

“Not like yours.”

She responded with silence, contemplating the new information about the parasite versus her own.

“We’re here.”

She stared out the window again looking at the jet that would take them to the castle she’d only dreamed of ever seeing. The metal beast overwhelmed her senses and she gasped in awe. She’d never seen anything like it. Excitement forced her up from her seat to cling to the window with palms pressed against the glass. Breaths fogged her view, book balanced on her legs while he stuffed his gear back into the duffel bag.

A smirk tugged Krauser’s mouth at her reaction.

The LSVW veered and made a sharp U-turn next to the plane. Jack opened his door and climbed out, waiting for her to follow. Slinging the bag over his back, he walked briskly to the plane, with her trailing close behind. Wind swirled snow around their feet and they climbed the stairs in haste with her pushing her way ahead of him to rush upwards.

She stood in the aisle, turning a full circle in wonder at the sight of its bleak interior. To her, it may as well have been a floating palace.

“Can it really fly?” She asked incredulously. It looked so very heavy from the outside, she couldn’t believe it.

“Yes.” He grunted again.

She turned, eyes brimming with anticipation, heart in her throat with realization. “We’re going home, Jack.”

He paused in placing the duffel bag on a seat and stared back. He nodded and didn’t brush her hand away when she reached out to squeeze his arm. Much as he didn’t speak about it, she knew he did care. They gave each other purpose. She needed him as much as he needed her and the guardianship he had taken upon himself made them both feel like they had a place in a world that rejected him and created her.

A Ghost Story

SPAIN, present day

Paola was thankful for her large teenage appetite for American sitcoms; it wasn’t often that she had to make small-talk with British pedologists while standing in the foothills of the Cantabrian mountain range.  In fact, that had never happened before today.  Copious episodes of Friends had prepared her for this moment, though.  The younger woman’s voice betrayed her enthusiasm over speaking English while conversing on Green Spain’s marvelous….greenery.  

She was also a bit relieved that her visitor had chosen the same stiff, regulated business class wear despite the fact that the entire visit was field study.  Both women looked a bit absurd exiting the rental SUVs in their sleek heels, slacks and jerseys.  In fact, they even seemed to be slight stereotypes, the Spaniard with a smooth ponytail and dark pinstripes and the Brit sporting tamed strawberry-blond curls and a beige jacket.  

Paola, a geochemist, ached to venture away from the meeting point and into the hills.  A large outcrop faced the neglected rural bus stop and their parked rentals, assistants and attendants, as if to tease Paola, “good luck making it up here in those shoes.”  Luckily, both women had commented on the other’s outfit upon arrival, and both had packed their backup wading boots and June-approved floppy sunhats.  Along with the field testing equipment, now rolled out and jockeyed at the meeting point by the Company’s attendants, were two well-worn duffels containing a quick change.  Neither woman was new to this.

Amanda was already shrugging out of her jacket, kicking a pump away casually.  

“...found a distinct pleasure in that hypothesis, myself,” Amanda finished, removing her other shoe.   Paola’s eyes drifted away from her small-talk companion and toward the long, badly paved road that stretched out in either direction in front of them, having wound up the first few slopes out of sight.  Amanda turned to follow Paola’s eyes, and sniffed in approval.  “I take it that’s your biochemist then?”

“Yes,” and Paola grinned despite her wish to appear aloof and uneager.  “You’ll really like him.  We spent a lot of time together this spring at the Madrid lab...he’s…” she gestured with her hands, the wind tousling her hair as she shook her head in defeat.  “He’s something.” 

“Don’t tell me,” and Amanda cocked her head, surveying the modest sedan as it slowed.  “He’s a typical Spanish casanova...a ladies man?”

Both women laughed, but Paola blushed.  “He’d love to hear you say that!  No, he can be a little awkward at first, but er...let the wine have some time.”

“It can have all the time it needs.  Especially if it keeps up this blustery sky,” lamented Amanda.  “I did not leave my Island of Depression to come here and NOT get a tan.” 

Paola removed her rubber boots from her bag and scoff-laughed.  “I don’t think we give the Canary Islands much competition this season.”  

The unremarkable vehicle soon rolled to a stop along the roadside, slightly downhill from the women.  Both paused as the driver stepped out, and Amanda looked quizzically, not understanding the not-scientific-looking chauffeur uniform.  She had driven herself and her understudy; the reason for needing a service driver eluded her. 

Her internal question was answered when the driver leapt out of the seat and hurriedly opened the back door.  The first glimpse of ‘Something’ that Amanda got was actually a wooden cane, and then her blond eyebrows raised in surprise as the figure stood.  He wasn’t old, she marveled a bit naively, but as he paused to balance himself on the car, she saw that he had a pronounced limp.  

She could see why the other scientist called him “something” all right.  He wore half-business, half-cowboy attire, silver studs and unmistakable adorned men’s winklepickers.  This bizarre outfit strangely fit in to the rural, mountain atmosphere, and Amanda wondered if he’d mixed up Zorro and Clint Eastwood movies.  

He let out a strangely loud yawn-sigh, but stopped short, even pausing in his uneven steps, as he noted both women in a state of undress.  “Aaahhh, getting started without me?  That’s no fair.”

Amanda laughed aloud at his accent.  Yes, he was something.  The man caught her laugh and grinned.  It took at least ten years from his age.  And now he awkwardly didn’t speak as all his effort went to ascending the hill with the cane.  A grimace threaded through his eyebrows, and Amanda almost blurted out an offer of help, before second-guessing her own ignorance at Spanish customs.  She and Paola instead turned bashfully toward their own shoes and jackets, relieving the scientist of the audience watching him painstakingly ascend.  

“Amanda, this is Martín.  Martín, Amanda, visiting us from sunny London!”  Paola extended her arm toward both in a sweeping gesture.  Amanda caught what almost looked like a flicker of ...sadness? Anger? Something untold moved across the man’s eyes as his name was spoken, but before Amanda could even ponder on it, he’d stepped in for the traditional Dos Besos greeting.  She had practice with the uncomfortably intimate, un-British hello over several vacations or travels to other countries, and the gambit of mutually awkward to overly touchy seemed to radiate throughout the generations and genders of the other participants.

She was surprised, though, at Martín’s delicate manner, almost as if he thought she were fragile.  That was neither Zorro or Clint Eastwood; he didn’t even make the loud kissing noise that several men had made.  The gesture seemed to confirm Paola’s high esteem of the arguably multi-faceted personality.  He wasn’t just a sleaze, then?  Why did she care?  Wasn’t she here for science?  Amanda snapped out of it as the man pulled away and began some other bluff, another comment on the pairs of heels sitting in the Spanish mud.  Unlike the pair, however, he seemed content to keep walking in his own high-price fashion shoes.

“Are you sure you’re not going to change?”  Paola snipped.  Martín seemed familiar with the terrain and now walked slightly ahead, his slow pace being fine for the others who carried survey equipment and camping gear.  

“I didn’t get all dressed up for the ladies just to ehh….” he pointed his cane at Amanada’s shoes.  “...Put on puddle stompers.  Is that what the English say?”

She decided to quicken her pace just enough to match his, and laughed.  “Well, technically I was born in Scotland, so.  I’m not really sure.” 

In the swing of his arm, his jacket fell away enough that she noticed a strange addition to the glittery-cowboy appeal.  A suede harness was over his torso--not that strange for a chemist doing field research--but it held something she’d never seen from a chemist on a hike.  The holster was long, leather and heavily detailed.  It was an old American style...the “California slim jim” as it was called.  Its presence surprised the woman so much that he caught sight of her agape jaw.  

Martín’s strange greyish eyes flickered from her mouth to his own chest, and he grinned again.  “What, are you a ballistics hobbyist too?”  The way he enunciated the word was meant to be joking, and a deep blush rose from her cheeks to her ears.  But she’d already been bested once, so she found her words quickly.  Thunder rumbled in the distance.  

“Just wondering what kind of soil you’re planning on studying out here with that.” 

As if to counter her cynicism, a long, low howl emanated from the faraway treeline.  Everyone in the group paused, the fog rising from the mountain now seeming particularly ominous, and Paola tightened her grip on her own camp bag.  Martín’s gaze drifted forward again, and he said in a rather contemplative tone, “You wouldn’t believe what kind of things you can run into out here.”

-----

Back-and-forth showers punctuated the rest of the day, but it was pleasant for all three of the researchers.  Both they and their cohorts were familiar with, and comfortable in, nature.  The fees provided by the agencies covered more than adequate supplies both research and campsite related, so by the time the aforementioned wine was opened, the entire group was sprawled out in camp chairs under a large canopy where a fire roared.  

“But no,” Amanda interrupted, “I want to hear more of these ghost stories.  You won’t stop talking about the castle, and yet everyone in the municipal airport acted as though they didn’t speak English when I asked.”

“Asked, about what?” Martín was conservative, lazily sipping his first glass as though he were a newcomer to alcohol.  “They probably didn’t.”

Several of the Spaniards laughed at this, and Paola, her inhibition slipping away, eagerly spoke.  “It’s bad luck in this entire area to even mention it!  You can’t just go around being an outsider, speaking with locals.” 

“Well, what’s so bad about it?”

The younger men and one woman, understudies for each scientist, glanced at each other and the contractors hired to move supplies and samples.  If they were more native, or had more inner knowledge, they kept it to themselves as Amanda glanced around the fire at the orange-tinted faces.  

She stared a bit longer at Martín, but he kept his thoughts to himself and swirled the wine glass instead. Paola seemed surprised, but unhindered, at the silence.  

“Castle Salazar!...El Castillo de Salazar,” and now she struggled to keep her embellished tone in only English.  “Deep in these mountains...a sleepy shell of an old medieval hero.  Some say, appointed by God himself.” 

Thunder crackled, either to enhance or refute this claim, and Amanda’s eyes widened despite her usually professional demeanor.  “Appointed to do what?”

“Drive out the….monsters,” Paola whispered the last word, and now a few nervous giggles spread through the group.  Amanda kept her eye on Martín, expecting some joke, but he was sipping his wine and making unbroken eye contact with Paola now.  

“What kind of monsters?”

“They say this area used to home a savage tribe.  Not even pagan they were.  Just people eaters.  They were not human.  Human posers.  Some kind of...skin walking parasites.”  

“And this...Salazar?” 

“Came with the Reformation and cut them all down.  He had a war with them.  And brought the Holy Sword.  But the rumors are….well...some say.  He didn’t quite finish the job.  That the pestilence remains.  That’s why you don’t want to run into any locals.  Maybe they want to drag you back to the deep mountains and…”  a very dramatic throat-cut pantomime was made, and now the younger group continued laughing but sat forward, interested in the story. 

Only Martín reclined in his seat, his cane draped over his long, crossed legs.  He stared at the wine glass thoughtfully.  

“So then what is this, a local legend?”

“It’s the truth, if you listen to anyone from the municipality.”  Paola finally had a break to drink.

Amanda stared, waiting for the punchline.  None came.  “Er….a pestilence.  Ergotism?”

She was referring of course to the fungus that grew on crops, notably corn and wheat, causing a sensation of madness, hallucinations, and paranoia.  During the Middle Ages, ergot might have been responsible for a persevering fear of witches.  Well that and the inescapable plagues and devastation everywhere that demanded a mystical explanation. 

She didn’t expect Martín’s loud snort as a response.  The woman’s head snapped to the side, and he seemed to bashfully recede his statement of ridicule.  

“What?  You disagree?”

He shrugged.  She could sense there was more there, hiding.  What was he thinking about?  More importantly, what did he know?  His ankle bounced almost nervously, he bit his lip, subconsciously quieting himself, and finished off the wine in his glass. 

“The castle still stands as an omen against the evil,”  Paola finished, drawing herself up and pouring more wine.  “The government doesn’t want anything to do with it.  The property deed sits on the desk of a local judge, but no one other than a Salazar can live there.  The Salazar gift from God was immunity toward the plague.” 

“The...you’re referring to the bubonic plague?”

“No, Las Plagas.”  This explanation did nothing for the Londoner.  Paola sighed.  “The pestilence, the plague of the mind?  If anyone but a Salazar, ordained by God, tried to enter, it would take over his mind.  But the Salazar family can control them.  The only protection even the animals have from it...lies in their souls.” 

Rain continued to patter around the canopy, and again wolves howled in the far distance.  

“So where is this castle?  Are we going to be close enough to get any tourist pictures?  A refuge against pestilence sounds like a good Facebook cover.”  

Martín subtly shook his head at this even as the others chuckled, as though he didn’t approve of the levity.  That didn’t seem like him, since his entire repertoire of jokes were rooted in levity, but it was slightly sobering to Amanda.  She again wondered what it was he knew. 

“No one really knows,” Paola finished with a smug gesture and sweep of one leg over the other.  “It’s all deeply overgrown now.  It hasn’t been seen lit for...ten years now?  Some say if you appeal to the church that a map or a pilgrimage trail will be revealed to you, but to the rest of the world it’s a castle full of ghosts.  Lost to time, and all those souls within it….souls invaded by the pestilence of Las Plagas...they are--”

“Stranded there, forever,” Martín quietly finished.  “Left in a memory.  Unable to move on, or leave.”  His eyes rose from the empty glass, and panned around the campfire.  “Angry at the injustice, staring out over the sacrificial altar silhouetted with colors...indigo, violet, crimson...a stained glass window that fails to illuminate its own insides.  Blood on marble floors, candles to light the way.  Circles inside a broken fortress hiding a secret too dark to ever be understood by man’s reach, whether religious or scientific.”

Paola’s eyes were so wide they glimmered with firelight.  Amanda’s jaw was open again.  He didn’t speak for another few moments, but finally waved the glass.  “Can I get a refill, perhaps?” 

---

LEON

Leon very rarely lost himself in moments, or even thoughts.  Truly the closest he'd ever come to meditation was still interrupted or paused by his obsessive safety checking or wondering if he was alone.  However, in those moments, Leon's strength was still noticing the minute details in front of him or behind his eyelids.  

What perception didn't catch, intuition did, and he could count on one to notify the other, both hemispheres of his brain checking in to situations seeking clarity.  Even if the point of clarity was to sleep or meditate free of thoughts.  In the same way, even in his strange awakening state, observant Leon was present in some tucked-away corner of his own brain.  Unreachable maybe.  Not in control.  But watching.  

When his finger moved into the trigger guard, that inner eye caught all of Ada's subtle movements.  This was not the Ada that had met with him for off-duty events or called him on his birthday.  Not the Ada that Chris screamed at him for years didn't exist, the one that Claire somehow believed did exist despite not having any physical proof of her.

This was not the Ada that Leon couldn't help himself for trusting.  Even after she proved over and over that he could, he was still mad that he was right about it.  Cautious Ada was still an Ada that read and wore confidence around Leon.  She was the one with all the tricks up her sleeve even as those tricks benefited or flat-out saved his life.  

In short, he may have been wary of Ada, but she had never once been truly wary of him. 

Until now, it seemed.  He could read it on her, painfully realizing that he was probably on the very, very short list of people that Ada usually didn't have to bluff her safety awareness around.  

But, good Ada, there she was doing her catwalk around him as he flung the pistol derangedly toward her.  In a moving train, with a loud hulking and stumbling agent who was mostly sleep talking.  Despite the wound on her side and her obvious exhaustion.  Even in his rage Leon couldn't help but appreciate the fluidity of her movement and silhouette of her legs in those boots.  

Leon felt some familiarity, some pattern in Ada’s movements.  The woman couldn’t ever just stand still, could she?  The haze of anger still prevented him from feeling his own busted, bleeding knuckles (punching barrels had drawbacks) or really analyzing anything other than the scant familiarity of this other person in front of him.  

And yet she was here, and then she wasn’t.  She was on a train, hair no more than one percent frizzy and still more unkempt than he’d ever seen it, and then she was back on the ledge in her red dress.  And then back to the train.  Speaking of, the train groaned up ahead as it unwittingly switched tracks.  It would probably derail, that observant and detached part of his brain whispered to Leon.

Damn snowy climates to hell.  She really was weak, he marveled as he saw her gloved hand rise, her other covering her core.  The medic in Leon begged to be loose and go to her, not only in chase of a physical remedy but comfort and reassurance as well.  It was something he was admittedly good at, but that had no bearing on his will to help her specifically.  He would have tried even with a one day cop experience.  He did, he had, he reminded himself.  Who the hell did he think he was?  Leon was actually proficient at tending wounds, even those gotten under pathogenic circumstances that warranted further examination.  Further examination wasn't possible in most of the places he worked. 

Ada's body language sent another cue though.  This one was less fear and more confusion.  What was wrong with him?  Well, what was?  Leon didn't even know.  He was angry, he was afraid.  The present memory--present-present?--of Raccoon City boiled in his mind and he didn't have the proverbial cold water on his face to pull him away from it.  Maybe he didn't want to.  He had never focused on this pain and rage.  He didn't have the time.  

The one time she looked at him, REALLY looked at him instead of dancing around him the way she always did with eye contact, body language, emotions.  The ONE TIME, and his eyes were full of goddamned tears.  Leon’s jaw clenched and he almost bared his teeth, the only expression he could muster against the mental onslaught in front of him.  Inside him. 

When her arm moved, his moved with it in a strange physical mirror.  Her movement was slow and calculated for survival, his was twitchy and overstimulated.  She drew her arm lower, and his moved away, the gun leaving its target.  Leon was beginning to realize that he was holding a gun.  For a few precious seconds the dark backdrop of Raccoon City’s bowels ceased its revolving door appearance.  

Special Agents didn't have time to rest and decompress. It was sleep, follow up, report, study.  Train.  When did he have time to process?  What were his needs in relation to the men he'd lost, the citizens who'd died, the children without parents, the scientists whose good work was stolen just to pump up the egos and wallets of a few madmen?  

"Leon."

18. Trust

LEON

But there was the cold water.  He actually blinked--

///....."She can sense and almost get a slideshow in the brain during a sympathetic nervous system response of laboratory animals.  When fear in an infected host is activated, it transmits to HER nervous system, and it appears instead of just feeling those sensations and having the same neurons fire, she can wield some kind of...intuitive decision making in that state.  But when the fight or flight pattern is interrupted by a soothing or otherwise frontal-lobe engaging experience, the bond is broken and cannot be regained quickly.")).....

Krauser turned his head sharply as the pale fist slammed down onto the suitcase she cowered by, the noise drowned out by the drone of jet engines warming up.  

"What?"

"lost it," she seethed, but wouldn't speak further.  He frowned, knowing her good mood would return soon.  

--and the sound of the train clacking away started again.  What was he doing?  The gun wavered, some muscle memory keeping it up, but now Leon's eyes kept blinking as if clearing away tear gas.  Ada's gaze was so torn and full of sadness.  He didn't understand, but gave what he hoped was trustful eye contact.  

She had to trust him, he had to make her.   (How many times had he said that to himself?)

And as his lips parted, cracking in the frost, he didn't even manage the word before the raven hair flew away from him, the pleading, forfeit-raised hand sliding into a white abyss and silhouetting her again as it had so many years ago.  

Just like that he was alone, and Leon's voice caught in his throat.  "Ada."

What the fuck was wrong with him?  What had he done?  What the fuck just happened?  Was he losing his mind, finally?

Leon pushed away from the open car and his wobbly legs carried him back to the pistol.  In a deft motion he had it holstered.  Leon was not afraid of the weapon, but he terrified himself.  Years of haphazardly drinking whiskey had always led to poor decisions like weekend-TV marathons, late-night breakfast buffets, and the occasional flipped snowboard up a tree.  Not brandishing firearms.  

He pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling the familiar ringing again, but this time he chose to ignore it after several seconds.  He grabbed onto the car’s side doorway, still steadying himself at this recent near-derailment, and he realized he’d already set himself up to jump from here.  And now as he leaned out the door again, judging his own direction, Leon noticed that the strange awakening had left him with more than leftover nightmare rage.  He actually felt different.  

No time to worry about that now.  This train would be stopped by a warehouse, whether it knew it or not, and he had to find Ada.  It was hard to see for sure, but the white bank dropped maybe forty, fifty feet.  Icy fog made the would-be fluffy surface glisten, and Leon doubted very much that he would be cushioned upon impact.

A few steps backward and he took the car’s length in two strides, while grabbing the M4 by the barrel, hugging it toward his torso..  It was a strange moment of clarity, in which he noted the lines and rivers of mold that broke apart the snow.  Some were iced over, some weren’t, but then Leon’s boots grazed the ice.  His right shoulder came down to complete the roll.  

The first patch of muck on the tracks behind him was not the last, and even as the wind whistled past Leon’s ears he could hear more whines and rattles as the behemoth above him prepared for its turn into the loading dock a half a mile away, going far, far too fast to stop.  Stopping wasn’t an issue though, as the growth ate away at the railroad ties and turned the tracks into a coagulated bog.  

Three, two, one, and Leon hit the hard icy snow drift at his shoulder, barreling down as though he were a battering ram.  How high was that bank?  He tumbled a few full turns and finally arrived on his hip, sliding the rest of the momentum away and righting himself as though he’d merely tied a shoe.  

He didn’t feel like himself.  This awareness actually did frighten Leon, as though he were turning into a zombie--one of his most frequent and boring nightmares.  But instead of the physical changes brought on by most viruses he’d seen, Leon felt...better?  Younger? 

He could almost hear Ada’s voice dripping with sardonic wit in response, blaming or commenting on his ego.  And normally Leon would have felt similarly.  He began walking, slowly and carefully, across the plateau of Arctic ground.  It was his whole body--it felt...healed.  That, paired with the strange rage he’d felt earlier, reminded him of the ‘master’ or alpha viruses.  All of the so-called abilities that men like Birkin, Saddler, Wesker wanted, damn the consequences.  Why was he feeling this now? 

Unwillingly he heard Krauser’s voice somewhere in the depths of his mind, silhouetted against a smoky industrial sky.  WITNESS THE POWER . 

Was that what this was?  Why now?  It seemed like it happened in his sleep.  

But, enough wondering.  Leon was gaining ground in the direction the train had come from, and he moved to a light jog when a figure seemed to flit between faraway, barren trees.  The movement was probably just a shadow, all black, black as the mossy goo he was avoiding in spots all around him.  He still briefly glanced at it, and then behind him.  

The railroad crossing signal still alarmed, the gates down, the train passing the forlorn blocky cement structures and now careening to the side.  As Leon predicted, the curve and the muck on the rails were too much for it and it began to derail midway, not even making it to the larger warehouse several hundred yards north before it twisted and lurched.  

He slowed to a walk.  It was deafening, both the screeches of twisting metal and loud crashes from freight car after freight car dogpiling and skidding down the tracks in a lame secondary attempt at delivery.  Someone could comment that it was rather comical the way Leon nonchalantly strode through the snow as the explosions began to sound.  In truth he wasn’t focused on them.  

The empty facility sat on a hilltop, and it bothered Leon even more than the figure in the treeline.  It seemed to be watching him with black, empty window eyes.  

The agent again picked up his pace when he finally saw what he sought; there she was, facing away from him, and he almost missed the shock of hair fanned out among the snow.  “ADA!” he barked again, running now.  It was definitely some kind of record, finding her this quickly and easily, and it probably didn’t mean anything good.  But he didn’t care.  

ADA

Siren lights spun in red, white, and blue. The stench of death permeated the air and clung to her clothes. Three days and she still hadn't found her target. Ben Bertolucci was the sleaziest of snakes, hiding even from her. They'd agreed to meet and now she got to play a game of cat and mouse as her reward. Ada's lip sneered before dropping into a passive expression. She hated these games. His collection of data and dirt on his peers had better be worth the effort. Though, in reality, she sought information only on one. Whatever data would bring her closer to her objective would be considered gold in her books. 

Ada sidled along a car and crouched. She peered through the stained glass of its windows to gauge the viability of her current route. A few of the undead shuffled back and forth or swayed in place. She could get around them easy enough. It was the hordes that she had to worry about. They could overwhelm an unsuspecting person as quickly as a summer storm would sweep in from a clear day. Slender fingers hovered over her thigh, ready to grab her weapon. The pistol had been taken from the corpse of an officer. It wasn't her preferred, but anything was better than nothing in this circumstance.

Blood and drool filled her vision as a previously unseen zombie lunged for her. It crushed her against the car, hungry maw gnashing and drawing dangerously close with every lunge. Ada grunted, bracing against the living dead with her arms and pushing with all her might. Not only were they insatiable, they were stronger, too, with vice-like grips and eternal hunger. The commotion drew the attention of a few stragglers which began shambling her way. She struggled more and finally pushed the zombie to the ground.

"Sorry, not my type." She said, quickly vaulting over the hood of the car and running for her next piece of cover.

She pressed her back to the brick wall of the alley and took a deep breath. That had been too close. She needed to find Ben, and fast. Ada leaned her head back against the cool bricks and sighed. A groan in her ear made her eyes shoot open. She turned to see glistening teeth, soaked in blood with remnants of its last meal dribbling down its chin, and glazed eyes. Hands raised in stiff anticipation and the creature jumped for her…

Ada's eyes opened to crystallized needles. A puff of snow scattered away from her mouth when she coughed from breathing in the white fluff. A groan accompanied stiff motions while she tried to move her neck. Perhaps it was best to just lie here. Let the cold sink in and drift off to the darkness that was trying so desperately to swallow her. What little comfort that it was all a dream— more a memory, really— was lost to the ache that consumed her attention. Maybe she should just lie here. Let her mind drift back in years to that cursed city. Let it consume her.

Let the cold take over her body.

Let the snow cushion her while she slept.

Let life slowly drift away.

"ADA!"

Ada's eyes slowly opened. Pupils dilated as a rush of fresh pain swept through her. Reality smacked her in the face and she coughed again, swallowing more snow on the inhale. She knew that voice. Leon. Leon was here. Pushing up to her elbows, Ada rolled over to seek him out.

There, in the distance, she could see him running towards her.

If she'd had the willpower she would have smiled. A genuine one, rare as it was. Leon; ever the survivor. It took her little brainpower to deduce that he must have jumped after her. Idiot. He could have been severely injured. Stupid boy. For all his personal growth and increased skill with age he still harbored pieces of that young, seemingly-invincible rookie with that infallible spirit she'd met all those years ago.

The snow did little to cushion her as she rolled to her back. The icy layer was hard and unforgiving against her form. The pile of white beside her lie haphazard and broken, her fall crushing her through the layer of ice coating the rest of the drifts and gaps between trees. Somehow, she'd missed hitting one of them during her tumble. Small favors, she supposed. It didn't ease the ache overtaking her body or the buzz in her mind that kept her thoughts at bay. Closing her eyes, she mentally assessed her injuries. Superficial, at best. She needed to get up. To stand.

A shadow fell over her and she assumed it was Leon. Poor mistake. Heavy breaths fogged the air and she heard the rumble of a growl. Opening her eyes, surprise coiled around her heart. Charred fur and a muzzle dripping with black ooze stood not two steps away from her. She saw a razor sharp claws, each an inch thick, rise and rolled just in time to miss the impact where she'd once lied. Ice crunched and sizzled as the gunk-sodden claws crashed through its surface. Leaping to her feet, Ada somersaulted farther away, skidding to a stop on the ice and standing in a crouch. An enraged roar followed her and beat against her eardrums. It wasn't possible. The speed of the creature, and its determination, baffled her. In order to track them this far... It wasn't possible. The thought repeated itself in her mind.

The bear had returned.

Her hand darted to her thigh seeking her weapon... she brushed air. A quick glance around revealed the Beretta nestled against the dipping branches of a pine. It must have bounced clear as she rolled and impacted the ground upon her fall. She wasted no time heading for it. Ada dove for the weapon and tucked herself into a roll, grabbing it as she rose from the tumble. Spinning to her knee, she took aim and fired off three shots in quick succession.

Each hit its mark, leaving wounds in the bear's head that poured viscous substance.

The Kodiak roared and shook its body, fur bristling in the aftermath. It lowered its stance, preparing to charge. Ada narrowed her eyes. The marks across her stomach burned in an ache of memory. This time, it wouldn't be so lucky. She'd make sure of it.

"Shoot it!" She yelled at Leon, uncertain if he'd hear her over the roar of the creature.

Not A Threat

KRAUSER - SIX MONTHS AGO

The ear-piercing wails were not soothed by the old standard of ‘hands over ears while wincing’, but that didn’t stop the lab workers from doing so.   They really had no other recourse; the girl’s strange adaptive biology was inherently different from a human’s, even though she’d started out as a human embryo.  One of those strange adaptations seemed like a sonic range in her vocal chords both super and sub.  When she was tired of testing or perhaps starved of emotional interaction these tantrums occurred. 

Typically the researchers just halted tests, as the studies of this paralyzing scream hadn’t really been studied yet.  Sometimes they clamped on heavy-duty sound protection, but that wasn’t working today either. 

The shift chemist, Dr. Tremblay, also winced as he strode into Lab 4’s office.  “Can’t you give her some sedatives?”

“She’s metabolized all the tranquilizers we’ve tried,” Tiana answered.  

“Isn’t there anything else?  Gas?”

“We....we could try, although--”

“Do whatever you need to do to shut that thing up!”

As the three yelled incoherently together, the doctor wisely motioned to exit the area.  All three abruptly left, but paused in the hallway short of the hydraulic door that would sound proof them upon their exit.  

“Dr., you’re....”

“Dammit Colin, don’t touch me with your---is that blood on your hand?”

The trio surveyed each other, their gaping jaws almost comedic as the screams still filtered out into the fluorescent hall.  

“Your nose is bleeding, Doctor.”

“And your ears.  Look at your hands.”

“Jesus, we’re all bleeding, we’ve got to go to decon NOW.” 

A shadow fell over the three white coats, and they heard the soft hiss of the door closing.  It was a ridiculous scene now as a man clothed in black, face peppered with scars, sneered down at the bleeding technicians from behind a nonchalantly held rifle.  

“What the hell did you do now?”

“You’re that...mercenary....isn’t that right?”  The doctor was having trouble speaking due to shortness of breath.  He clutched his chest, feeling more blood trickle down his nose.  

The muscular man tensed at the word, but then snorted.  “Yeah.”

“The soundwaves don’t appear to affect you at all....” Tiana was similarly gasping for breath.  “How is that possible?”

Krauser looked with contempt from one person to the other, and pointedly slid the rifle back over his shoulder.

“You tell me, you're the scientists.  Guess I’m just better than you.  Now what the hell did you do to get that kid screaming like that again?”

“The subject--”

“She’s a kid,” Krauser nearly spat.  “You know what, never mind.  I’ll fix it.”  

With another look of disgust he pushed past them toward the office, then paused and turned to hold out his palm.  “Your key card.”

“...Excuse me?”

“I don’t have access,” Krauser rolled his eyes.  “But this is the third time in a month that I’ve had to clean up your mess.  Give it to me or keep on sitting here bleeding until you don’t have any blood left.”

Dumbstruck, the doctor clumsily withdrew the badge, and then nodded at his two coworkers to move toward the door.  They could at least reach a safe zone with the tech level access.  
 

LEON

He refused to admit what he scientifically knew; the bold and headstrong and maybe even cocky aspects of his personality fueled a reward center in his brain that begged for more action and impulsivity.  He was often gainfully rewarded by these moments, either in lifesaving maneuvers or some obscure fact-and-treasure-finding.  The train jump had rewarded him with Ada.  Finding Ada would reward him with...hopefully a believable apology for his unexplained stupidity.  And hopefully finding her not wounded.  

The shadow in the trees moved, and his intuition nudged him to stop ignoring its presence.  Leon could no longer reasonably ascertain ghosts from real shadows, and he reluctantly glanced away from where Ada lay, closer now.  

“Shit,” he muttered, seeing the bear, and now he realized Ada was moving fast, faster even than he.  She rolled toward a black patch on the snow--a gun, not another mossy puddle--and he shrugged the shotgun out of its strap.  He knew she would be firing soon, even though the blistering wind would probably swallow most of the sound, and Leon’s thoughts were correct as he saw, not heard, the blood-black goo ricocheting off the animal’s matted fur.  

It was burned, and stank.  But somehow it had caught up with them.  He didn’t understand, but as Leon’s run turned into a full-force sprint he saw its large, scruffy head roll toward him, and then back to Ada.  

It saw him, but it didn’t see him as a threat?  He didn’t exactly have a ton of experience with bear-fighting but Leon saw the animal as the predator it was.  It had to know or at least acknowledge that it was separate from himself.  That he was another dog in the fight.  But the thing didn’t even look twice. 

Leon could have taken this many ways, but he chose to be offended, realizing that even at his speed he could not reach the predator before it reached Ada.  It had no concern or even curiosity about him.  So he shouldered the shotgun and fired.  This resulted in more black spitting from its torso, and Leon realizing that even though the beast was shaking off the shot angrily, it still hadn’t changed its focus.  

Distance was running out.  He planted his heels out and grimaced against the ice on his right side as he slid between the pair in a macabre game of baseball.  The bear’s gigantic paw had reared back, and now Leon fired again as he physically blocked it from the brunette behind him.  

Leon wished, as the bear roared with even more spite, that he had some kind of witty comment to Ada.  Instead his head snapped to the side and he got out a, “You okay?” before another resonating bellow took his hearing away.  Leon scrambled to one knee, then the other as the bear fell to all fours.  He didn’t get the opportunity to see if she would at least manage a snarky response as it bounded and he made the committal decision to unholster Krauser’s knife from his chest strap, plunging it into the neck of the animal. 

This was committal because it did not stop the bear, but instead caused it to rear up.  Even at Leon’s height he realized his boots kicked air.  His other arm grasped burned, molding fur as he attempted to fish for his holstered pistol.  Whether or not he could hold on to the thing long enough to get the spine-severing shot was up to anyone.  Especially since the bear finally turned its focus toward him, and the lazy batting paw that hit him in the side very likely displaced a rib or two, feeling like a small car plowing into him instead of an arm.  

The Next Level of Hell

ADA

Ada watched from her peripheral as Leon charged the bear. Stupid, stupid boy. She briefly wondered if his name were synonymous with danger because he always seemed to rush headfirst into it. How he escaped unscathed (at least, mostly) each time was beyond her, but it seemed as though Leon's tactics worked at least for himself. Another frustrating yet endearing quality of the veteran of bioterror. Ada's lips pursed and she aimed at the bear again, lifting her pistol to level it at the creature's head. They had to down it, now, before it could attack.

All its focus was on her, and all of her focus was on it. The two stood in silent standoff, studying each other, waiting for the first move. She could see Leon running straight for it, his shotgun barking in the howling wind. Try as he might, though, the bear remained standing and focused on her. Was there a personal vendetta here? Perhaps it was insulted from their previous engagement, she mused. She had to believe their bullets were taking their toll on the bear, though. To think otherwise was to admit defeat all ready and Ada wasn't quite ready to give up. It wasn't in her nature.

Suddenly, Leon was no longer aside firing at the Kodiak. He was no longer running towards it either. In one swift motion he had sank his knife into its neck. Ada made a frustrated sound, lost on the wind, and sidestepped to realign her aim now that Leon had blocked her shot. His question of if she was ok was lost among the chaos. The bear reared back, hundreds of pounds of pure muscle and rage, and she could see Leon dangling like a ragdoll. He refused to let go of the knife. She didn't know if it was brave or stupid of him, but she could acknowledge that those two traits went hand-in-hand more often than not. She saw the impact of the bear's giant paw against his side, but there wasn't time to worry.

Ada lined up her sights with the bear's face and pulled the trigger in quick succession. Each shot found its mark, though the third went straight through the thing's left eye. Its eye caved inward and an impossible amount of tar-like substance blew backward from the back of its head. The creature's voice died mid-roar and it swayed before suddenly falling to the ground on its side. The spy hesitated, wondering if it were really dead this time. Seconds passed and there were no motions from it. Not even the slightest rise and chest of a breath being taken. It was dead.

Opportunity didn't often knock twice. Ada rushed forward, slightly hobbling, still feeling the pain of her fall from the train. She squashed it down to the back of her mind until it was a dull roar like ocean waves against the rocks. A quick preliminary glance told her Leon was, at least, alive. Then her full attention turned to the downed bear. It was a shame, putting down such a majestic creature, but it had been her life or its and she wasn't about to feel remorse for her sense of self-preservation. Especially not against an infected one.

Snow blew up and coated her side as the wind kicked up again. The barest shiver swept through her slender form as she kneeled by the massive corpse. Reaching into her pocket she withdrew her compact and quickly opened it. There wouldn't be much time. Ebony strands whipped around her cheeks as another burst of icy wind screamed through the trees. She withdrew a small, clear slide and grasped it tightly. The thin plane of glass-like substance was dipped thoroughly into the black goop oozing from the bear's wounds

"I'm working," she preemptively answered the question she knew was coming, coy as ever, "don't worry about it."

The slide slid into the slot on her compact with ease. Its mirror blanked to a black screen. A cursor flashed, and she fell silent, awaiting results. No sooner had she done this, then did the bear suddenly begin to sink into the ground. Its body began to dissolve and a loud hissing erupted from its corpse. The remains bubbled and liquefied, melting into the ground and leaving only a stain in the snow as a memory of its form. She had collected a sample just in time.

Ada stared at the screen waiting to glean, finally, some details about what she had been facing. This substance was new and could contaminate most wildlife. She still didn't understand its properties, but she soon would. The device chirped once and text lit up the screen. Ada quickly read it.. and just as quickly felt frustration boil within her.

results inconclusive

 no match found

Ada snapped the compact shut and tightened her fingers around it. It seemed she wouldn't be getting answers any time soon. The substance would remain a mystery. It didn't sit well with her and her expression soured for half of a heartbeat. Usually, she'd at least have the pieces to a puzzle if not the entire picture. But this time, she had nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. It was baffling and frustrating beyond words.

Suddenly, Ada remembered Leon. She turned to face him, uncertain if he'd been speaking to her. She'd been so lost in her own thoughts she hadn't heard a word if he had been. Pushing up to her feet, Ada brushed off the tattered remains of her coat. Fresh snow fell from the fabric to envelope her feet.

"We should go." She clipped, deciding against asking him if he had said anything. If it were pressing then she was certain he would repeat himself. While she would have preferred to say 'I should go' she knew it was pointless to try and leave him behind. He'd hound her and stick with her regardless of her efforts. She'd learned that many years ago. No, now was not the time to separate.

A miniature blizzard blew upwards through the trees. Limbs shook with the wind and creaked from the weight of the snow on outreaching tendrils. The serene landscape was marred with boot prints and blood, along with the stain the bear's corpse had left behind. It was a shame. She enjoyed the snow and wished for it to be pristine again. With time, and a bit more of this weather, she knew the evidence of the scuffle and their presence would be wiped away.

Ada took one uneasy step and then another. Her gait quickly returned to normal and she exhaled, imperceptibly, in relief. No lasting damage then. She moved with purpose, heading towards the facility she knew lie ahead. How far away was unknown, but she would reach it. She was determined to reach it. She had a feeling that answers lie within and she needed them, if for nothing more than a continued barter for her life.

MARTÍN

Day three and all of the field crew were sufficiently soggy. It didn’t stop Martín from his typical, uncanny waking pattern. Strangely active in the dusk, he was less working and more contemplating, wandering farther away from the main camp than he’d dared before. 

Part of it was absent-mindedness…this area held so many memories. Part of it was purposeful. He was humble enough to acknowledge that decades-old physical and emotional trauma had made him less able to work with others, less social, and far less energetic. 

Solace was his medicine on any of these field excursions, although…maybe not this one.

He had almost refused upon reading the Agency’s orders. Still, the glaringly plain requests carried a heavy weight.  It was as if each short, rare directive were a novel detailing how his life had been saved in its bleakest moment. 

It was only a week...he could manage that, right?

The researcher contemplated his way toward an exposed mossy tree root, its vivid green trousers an even deeper emerald hue thanks to the consistent rain. The root was not the cause of his interest. He dropped to his knees in a way that belied his pain. “My little angel,” he cooed in Spanish, dropping even further. Now he was eye-level with the bright spot taking shelter behind the root. A snow-white mushroom, its cap still half-closed, seemed to shiver at his sudden appearance. “All by yourself out here? Bah….you must be good luck.”

Less strange than talking to mushrooms was his hidden statement of relief. Martín knew that in this region, no mycelial network was a very bad sign. 

There was a greater foe out here in the dirt, deadlier than the world’s most toxic mushroom, and it had a name equally as unappetizing as “destroying angel.” 

“Plagas,” the lilted British accent said softly, and Martín snapped upright, now wincing at being caught both talking to fungus, as well as needing to use his cane to upright himself. There was nothing to be done about it, and he pivoted, grimacing as he pierced the cane into the soil.  He shakily rose to his feet.  

Amanda was half-dressed, but maybe the rain didn’t bother the British species. Martín gave her a tired, yet somehow still coy, stare. “Little rude, don’t you think?”

Her round face twisted into a teasing smile. 

“Not YOU. I got a few other people talking about this spooky ca-“ 

Martín was an impossibly patient man…sometimes his line of work called for it, not just on the scientific end. Yet he blinked, his greys watering as he felt the woman inching closer to a precipice he refused to follow her toward. Just as his lips parted to interrupt, and do anything it took to reverse her course of thinking, the pair were interrupted by a strange yap.  Maybe fifteen meters away, an impatient barking sounded at the bottom of the hill.

Both paused, turning in unison, the woman taking a defensive stance behind the taller man as he moved rather fluidly to drop the cane and raise, with both hands, a very ornate revolver. He had merely followed the voice in his aim and now he dropped the weapon several inches to gauge the unwelcome interruption.  

Amid the palette of black and green, there it hunched, its teeth exposed, its tail flicking intelligently at them both.  

“Oh!” The pleasure and relief in Amanda’s voice whooshed out, exploding over Martín’s shoulder. “It’s a fox!”

He lowered the weapon a bit more. Now unsure of the creature’s intent, she followed up with far less relief. “Is it…do they normally…do that?”

“No,” he said grimly and ground his teeth. “Probably rabid.”

She put her hands over her eyes at this information, but now Martín raised the revolver and paused with the hammer under his thumb. This animal was clean, thick. Its fur was glossy. Its eyes were a pale yellow, almost glowing in the grey morning light. It looked well kept, almost like a pet. In a trance, he continued to lower the gun until he was simply staring.  

Amanda was resolute in her action, not budging until she heard some giveaway sound that danger had passed. The sound wasn’t the weapon firing; the fox yipped again and pointedly turned, looking back at Martín. The woman’s fingers slid apart and together they watched as the fox hopped into a four-foot-high shadow—an entrance, black and musty, a tunnel.  

“Is that…its den?” She knew how absurd the question was. A fox’s den would only be as tall and wide as the fox, especially at the entrance, but a human could have easily stepped inside the tunnel they saw now. 

“We need to get back to camp,” he said in a very flat tone. Amanda looked extremely uneasy at this and attempted another joke.

“What, did it tell you that or something?”

He now turned back to give what was a strangely sad, faraway look, but it only made her step back in new fear. His eyes had appeared yellow for a moment?

But no. Impossible.  

“I’ll….see you there,” she offered in apology, backing away, glancing down at the mushroom he’d been leering at earlier. Maybe he was too close to the spores…that was all. 

Hell, maybe SHE was too close. 

The fox, too. Mushrooms did some weird shit.  

Martín decocked the revolver, pulling the hammer back and clicking the trigger, using both hands to slowly lower the hammer back to resting position. His eyes didn’t leave her until she turned away, and then it was with an apprehensive stare that he looked down. Down, into that old passageway. The tunnels. 

No  Amanita grew there. No destroying angels.  No angels at all.  Maybe the opposite. 

“You’re not good luck at all,” he chided the little fruit, and stared at the white cap again, unwillingly lost in memory. It was so icy blue-white. Like winter. Like the frozen lake, and the forest around them….

Nochebuena.  

The observant boy felt a prickle traveling along the back of his neck; someone or something was watching him. Suddenly he was aware of his vulnerability without his grandfather’s shotgun at his hip. Stifling his breath, he pivoted, dark hair masking his peripheral vision.  

Startled, he nearly jumped when he saw the royal blue jacket. Higher on the hill, away from the marked trail and now facing the frightened boy, stood a smaller, perhaps younger, child. He was almost hidden in the trees, save for the coat. It looked bizarrely out of place and time. He spoke, sounding quite stupefied. “H-hola?”

The blue-child looked quite skittish. At the benign attempt at conversation, he leaned forward a bit. It seemed he was contemplating answering, his thin lips parting. The boy bristled at a growl sounding from nearby. He took a step back; flanking the blue-child’s feet were two red foxes. Their coats contrasted against the snow just as the blue coat did. 

In unison, the pair had their front paws spread and hackles raised.  

They were growling at the boy, almost protectively moving forward to stand between him and their ward. The absurdity of the scene continued to mute the boy. As his grandfather taught him, he scanned the animals for signs of rabies. If they were rabid, which would account for their aggression, he might get bitten no matter how fast he could ice skate or fall down a snowy hill. 

The boy realized his face carried all of his panic. Now he glanced back up at the child and the other was smiling strangely as though he were proud of the fear he’d struck in someone bigger. This was alarming. The boy continued to stare, not knowing what else to do. Truly this child looked sick, or even worse, like some strange forest ghost. His hair was long, thin and white, but tied back. His eyes were perhaps the most disconcerting, glimmering a candle-flame yellow color. It was the only color on his face. Even in the biting evening wind, the same wind that cut patches of pink onto all the children’s freckles, this child’s face was gypsum and pallid. 

He seemed to take note of the other’s sudden interest in his features and expression, and now the child scowled and cast his eyes downward in what looked like a self-conscious motion, his illusion of power shattered. He glared at the ground, and one of the foxes yipped threateningly. They would attack soon.  

The boy had no explanation for what happened next. The sick child gave a pointed stare at each fox at his ankles, the duo quieted. Both ceased their aggression and sat, unruffled, at the ward’s feet. Appeased by some supernatural force, they stared at the boy with the same golden eyes as their human charge.  

This was even more disturbing than rabies. He was unwisely now more curious than alarmed. He pondered over the strangeness in front of him again, perhaps staring too inquisitively at the peculiar scene. After several seconds the pale child moved again. Just as the boy opened his mouth to give a hopefully kind word, the other turned and fled, lost in the trees as a spot of sky among clouds, a blue blur that maintained great speed up the snowy hill. The foxes followed suit, their tracks in the snow their only proof of having been there. The brush rustled behind them and snow crunched as they departed from the terrified boy.

“Not good luck at all,” he whispered, pulling away from the lure of the tunnel.

???????????

They were high above the Atlantic, which wasn’t visible beneath the sea of clouds. The young, thin blond girl could not guess what her guardian was dreaming about, and had no desire to force her way into his mind. He rarely slept peacefully. Perhaps it took 42,000 feet for him to let his guard down and rest.  

She was truly isolated—not isolated like in the lab, but isolated in a warm cocoon, with no outside stimuli to tear her from her decadent thoughts. Sure, the pilots were here, but even closer to her was the stack of books she’d amassed. The originals were safe in her luggage, of course, but photocopies of every detail on every diary page and medieval record-keeping letter were made en masse for her to attempt translation in her free time.

The girl was a better memory learner—looking at the language, sketches, and ink colorings and feeling those old tomes did far more for her than her broken, uncertain Spanish. At this point, she could probably speak 18th Century Spanish better than the modern version.

The photocopy of this illustrated text was a favorite. Though the memory was not imprinted in a scan, she had already relived it time and time again. Rocaille-style, impossibly detailed borders proudly displayed a two-leaf illustration, now faded to a rusty orange. 

Women danced across a magnificent marble floor, their wide panniers taking up more room than a dancing pair on their own. 

Pagoda sleeves opened like lilies, the dainty hands all holding their partners securely. The men’s coats were almost as ornate as their partners, white stockings ending in pointy heels—no version of manly she’d ever witnessed, but somehow still quite dashing.  

The memory, not the paper, filled in the blanks as she lovingly stroked the edges of the paper. It was a birthday celebration, extravagant, unnecessary. 

So many candles. So much wine. The birthday boy, with dark locks and a firm jawline, wore a deep velvety blue coat. His hair was not in the fashionable ponytail of the time. What was it with the men in this family and their cascading dark locks? 

So many opportunities for love, the teenager mused. So much time was spent getting into the carefully chosen clothes. Nibbling at the table. Making proper conversation. She would make it that way again. 

She didn’t have a birthday. Or a name, like Fernando Salazar. But she would have both, soon.  She would even have a ballroom.  A dress.  

LEON

He forgot everything after the blast that rendered the beast’s head nothing more than a large, exploding smear of black. 

It was as though the shot had some extra force behind it or the mass that it hit expanded; Leon was thrown from his spot, the knife still in his hand as he dropped like an apple from a hairy burned tree.  

The agent was briefly knocked unconscious, and a strange memory floated into the space dominated by blinding white snow. 

He and Ada, incognito. Their game. It was a foreign affair and he did not tell her how much he spent diverting his flight to go into town that night. Or how much the suit cost. After spending the entire day training private military a specialized weapons martial arts class, Leon was an older, sorer Jack Dawson once the sun went down and they met in the high rise.

The real surprise of the night was his waltzing skill, as several of the drunken stateswomen sent their assistants over to request a turn. Ada laughed behind a fan every time, hiding her wine-colored lips--his only solace—while he scowled into the premium whiskey. Luckily, Leon’s sour attitude and unwillingness to kiss ass with rich delegates meant that each woman was not as curious as she was shallow. There were a few moments where he got to spend time with his date, a few precious bouts of laughter. Dancing with his chin pressed on the side of her cheek, his lips close to her ears until it was time to move with the music again.  

Perhaps his brain had offered a pittance of happy memory to combat the throbbing feeling of displaced ribs.  

He heard, maybe felt? Movement, and turned his head to see Ada moving toward the corpse. It was dead then, after all. He didn’t have the energy to move just yet, and he warily eyed her as she withdrew something. Enough subterfuge and he was wary of anything leaving her pockets, but Leon sighed when he saw the glint of a round mirror. 

His knuckles were sore, bleeding. Though he didn’t know, he had blood trailing from both sides of his lips as well, another byproduct of the odd blast-effect that propelled him away from the bear. He winced as he rolled back toward the ground, fumbling with his cold and bloody fingers to sheath the reassuringly heavy knife.  

“I’m working. Don’t worry about it.”

“Sure, makeup,” he breathed as he flapped uselessly on the bloody, blackened snow. “Perfect sense at a time like this.”

Leon closed his eyes again, but the ballroom did not return. He didn’t even flinch at the strange hissing noises emanating from Ada and the corpse of the bear.  Maybe she was doing its makeup too.  He didn’t try to understand Ada anymore.

The moments before the train exit re-entered his mind and now Leon did wince, wondering what the fuck was happening to him—to THEM—that made him pull a weapon on Ada. Maybe that was the reason for the memory-interruption. Reassuring himself that she was not the spy who broke his heart on the worst day of work he ever had. That Ada was dead if she had ever been alive. That Leon was dead, for certain.

He contemplated apologizing, but her aura was pretty curdled, he decided as his barely-colored eyes peeked open and rolled toward her. Ada’s body language sent the clear signal as she gazed into the compact – do not test me.

This was no time for an apology.

Leon lay supine, facing Ada now. “What a KODIAK moment, huh?”

The wind whistled around him, feathering his hair. 

He licked his dry lips, noting the taste of blood.

“We BEARly made it through that one.”

Ada snapped the compact shut.  

“Maybe we should take a PAWs.”

She was moving to stand. 

“Or do you beg to diFUR…. HONEY?”

Her coat fell in bloody pieces, and Leon raised an eyebrow, suddenly gaining the energy and strength to sit upright. He glanced away long enough to pull his shotgun back onto his shoulder, and she finally spoke.  

"We should go."

Leon grunted and moved much more akin to his natural age as he found his feet, glancing past them to the shadowed building ahead. Waste of humor.

Ada took her time moving back into her usual walk, and he was content to follow. Slower than usual, he nursed the side that the bear had hit, but it seemed mostly blunt trauma. One hell of a bruise tomorrow. The view ahead, and his shame, kept him feet behind the brunette, but slowly Leon’s resolve built as he found footing in the somehow decaying snow. He used the time to brush what tar, soot, and blood he could away from his face.  

They walked in silence until he could stand it no longer: with one more furtive look ahead and behind, Leon strode at his true capacity toward Ada. Before he passed her he reached out, sidestepping her instead and grabbing her arm, just the way he was pretty sure she hated.  

“Hey.”

Her propulsion and general fatigue caused the move to work. She was halted, now facing him. As if to reassure her, Leon put his other hand over hers and squeezed with both, pushing her away to widen the space between them. A ‘this is serious’ pull. Not a move he made often. But it was sincere.  

“Whatever that was up there—“ his eyes wandered in the cardinal direction of the tracks, the cliff. He shook his head. “I don’t know what that was. I’m sorry.” 

He hesitated with the next part, but after a pause, went for it anyway. “Something is happening, to me, to us. I don’t know what it is. But,” his eyes darkened suddenly, even in the bright snowscape. “If you ever need to take that chance, if I lose it completely.” 

He dropped his hands away. “Don’t hesitate.”  

The half-smile that followed the stark warning was less Leon-like than usual. Now he turned back toward the facility, the next level of whatever hell they were currently wandering. 

Wait…

ADA

"Hey."

The sudden voice didn't even make her footsteps stutter. But he had grabbed her arm and momentum caused her to swing around to face him, stride grinding to a halt in an instant. Ada stared coolly at him, eyes never betraying her emotions.

"Whatever that was up there... I don't know what that was. I'm sorry."

Her expression remained placid, never giving anything away. They didn't have time to dwell on the past, recent or not. There was something wrong with them and the sooner they got to the facility the quicker she may have answers. And yet, she couldn't pull herself away from him.

Even now, as it had always been, he was a soft spot.

"Something is happening, to me, to us. I don't know what it is." His serious expression darkened. "If you ever need to take that chance.. If I lose it completely.... Don't hesitate."

Her heart jumped to her throat and for the briefest of moments her eyes glimmered with unspoken emotion. Then it was gone. Back to the ice queen without reaction.

"Don't be daft." She said, trying to lace some humor into it but failing to do more than sound forlorn. She pulled her arm free of his grip.

Ada turned back to face their path forward. A bitter wind bit into her cheeks sending them an instant rosy color. The longer they lingered the more they risked being stranded by the weather, or worse, hypothermia. Snow kicked up around them in violent tufts, leaving visibility to drop by the second. Ada brought an arm in front of her face to shield her from the worst of the screaming winds.

"We should hurry," she cast a glance over shoulder, shouting over the whipping air, and gestured in front of them, "it looks like another white out."

As if on cue, snow and wind combined creating a white wall in front of them. The frigid temperature was enough to send chills down her spine and to make all her aching parts spark in reminders. She pushed forward through the thick snow, knees pushing aside the weighted powder. The terrain had gone from ice packed snow beneath their boots to two feet of powdered dust through which they'd have to wade.

It was difficult to appreciate snow, much as she loved it, when it had some sort of black growth spouting along its top, weaving its way across the surface. It seemed as though the more they walked, the bigger the patches became until she was wading through the black substance more than silky white snow.

"Disgusting," she complained, under her breath though probably just loud enough for Leon to hear.

Unconsciously, she took a step closer to Leon, only an inch keeping them apart now, as if he could somehow shield her from the sickening growth. Ada Wong was not one to keep company with grit and grime. The substance threw steam into the air, the vapor milking off its tendrils in pulsing puffs equivalent to the span of a heartbeat. And, to top it off, it smelled awful. The gunk held a stink that she couldn't place, the smell foreign and invading.

She trudged through the rest blocking her way, picking her steps gingerly and feeling it squelch and squish beneath her boots. The wind died down, allowing snow to fall to the ground again, and her vision was no longer obstructed by white.

There, in the distance, lie a building, much larger than it had been before now.

They were gaining ground, slow as their progress seemed.

"There," Ada pointed, breathless in the cold, "we're almost there."

Stiff joints protested further movement but Ada forced them to keep going. Otherwise, they were going to freeze out here. A storm threatened overhead, clouds pregnant with snow that had yet to drop. The weather was not on their side and she hurried more than she had been.

Soon the building was looming in front of them. Its glass windows stretched along the exterior, framing the double doors. She stumbled forward, shaking the last remnants of excess snow from her boots as she climbed the ice-covered stairs leading to the doors. Her black boots were stained white now with the thin layer that clung to them. Slender arms reached out, long fingers gripping the door handles.

Ada tugged.

Miraculously, the doors opened. She pushed against the wind to open one side fully and waved to Leon to rush in. Once secure, she darted in herself letting the door whoosh shut behind her. The frigid winds died down, blocked now by the building itself though the interior wasn't much warmer.

Ada hunched her shoulders and rubbed her hands together. Warmth slowly seeped back into her fingers, the gloves she wore doing little to protect from the cold. Snow still clung to her tattered coat and boots, her legs coated in the white fluff. She took a deep breath and stared at their new location.

It wasn't much better.

The black goop had overgrown here, too. In fact, based on the way it flowed from hallways unseen it seemed to have originated from here. Ada tucked that thought away into the back of her mind for later use. She didn't have all the pieces yet and assumptions would get her nowhere. The lamps overhead sat silent. Electricity wasn't buzzing through them. She moved to the reception desk situated on one half of the wall. Slipping around it, she checked a terminal. A cursor blinked against a black screen awaiting input commands.

"Hmm," she drew a finger to her chin, "the power is on... but looks like nobody's home."

She shot a glance at Leon wondering how long it would take him to try and flip the light switch on the wall next to him. It was moments like this that brought a smirk to her lips. He was intelligent when he tried to be and the act would be just like him. First thing in the door, flip the switch. But maybe not this time. She'd have to wait and see. While doing so, her attention fell back to the computer. Ada began typing with speed, but ultimately stood up with a defeated sigh.

"The system is on lockdown. We'll get nowhere like this." A shake of her head to fix her bangs.

She didn't see a point where she could insert her chip to decode and stabilize the system. Looked like this would need to be done the hard way. Dainty steps moved her to the nearest hallway. May as well start exploring then. She didn't wait for Leon as she moved down the dank hallway alone, disappearing into its greedy shadows that swallowed her whole the deeper she went.

The first several doors had knobs. Each was locked securely when she jiggled them, testing them. The last three had slots for keycards. Farther ahead were a pair of staircases leading both up and down respectively. Ada hesitated near a door and eyed its keycard slot. More often than not these types of things could be found lying around if one was thorough enough in a search.

The farther she went down the hallway, the less infectious moss covered the floor. By the time she reached the stairs the area looked pristine. Her nose wrinkled once, switching from heavy infection-filled breaths to clean air. It was strange how the pungent smell clung to the substance and made it almost unbearable but seemed to dissipate quickly the farther you got from it.

"Well, which one?" she asked, sensing Leon behind her, "Up or down?"

LEON

The memory of the dance lingered as he bore down against a blizzard, clenching his teeth against the biting wind.  Leon knew that they were one set of bad clothes from hypothermia….even in their expensive Arctic-ready wear, they had minutes before the exertion was too much.  Now he had to dance with Ada again in a far more frequently-utilized fashion: he allowed her to make the first move, stepping toward him, and then shouldered his rifle to drape one arm behind her.  Stubborn pride would have allowed him to just carry her had she ever asked, but he knew better.  With Ada there was always an element of unspoken independence, which he supposed by now he was okay with.  Or at least used to.  

Sometimes he moved his arm too close or draped it too casually—she would move away, that was the dance.  Over the years, Leon perfected the dance—his steps were getting as close as he could without detonating the bomb.  What Ada didn’t know was that he was leading, and by now it was natural and without more than a few seconds’ thought.  He protectively shielded her until the facility was in range. 

“There, we’re almost there,” her voice tore through the wind, and he nodded, his bangs brushing his cheek.  

“Doesn’t look like they expected any visitors,” he quipped, eyeing the black windows warily. 

He worried about her torso, from both self damage as well as bear, but stolen glances told him nothing.  Ada’s clear discomfort opening the door was worrisome though; Leon did a quick sweep of the darkened interior.  Quiet and still.  His shotgun was raised, flashlight gripped in his steadying hand as he continued to aim into the darkness.  Nothing.  

Quiet. 

Soon it was even quieter as Ada entered, the heavy industrial door shuddering closed and dulling the sharp wind.  Leon’s ears rang, and for a moment both of them simply stood, instinctively quiet and appreciative of the temperature difference.  It wasn’t superb, but anything was better than losing body heat to humid air.  

His flashlight panned over the smooth resin-coated welcome desk that sat empty.  In large brushed metal letters the name ODAN LABORATORIES adorned the front of the desk.  Leon sauntered toward the opposite wall, shouldering the weapon and trading it for his radio phone.  Signal wasn’t good enough to get a direct call with Hunnigan, so he opted for a voice recording.  “Place is cold, but there’s more of this contaminant here.”  His light swept up to a wall panel, where green-black had overtaken the door and probably the contents.  “Any ties leading back to Krauser from a company named Odan Laboratories, let me know.” 

He eyed the slime, wondering if it had specifically targeted the electrical panel.  Could a bacteria do that?  Leon knew the answer, but had no intention of admitting it.  Now he raised an eyebrow as his flashlight illuminated the egress/fire alarm panel higher on the wall. It looked destroyed; even the alarm lights, only ever noticed by responding personnel or perhaps security if they were alert, were blackened.   No wonder the generator wasn’t helping.  Guess the emergency power had been targeted.  Where the hell was the control switch for the emergency lights? 

He panned the room with the light, his face blank as the light beam landed on Ada.  She’d moved behind the welcome desk.  Over her head was a shelf with an innocuous black box, its buttons flashing and blinking feebly.  As if intruding on his thoughts specifically to tease him, she spoke, “The power is on... but looks like nobody's home.”  

Leon’s lip curled in what almost looked like displeasure, but it was his tired version of a smirk at the finger on her chin.  He swayed forward with all the sass of a first-day cop.  “You should be nicer to me,” he snorted, and flipped the light switch behind him without looking at it.  Nothing happened.  “The infection’s in the emergency system.”  He knew that they shouldn’t be here without full HAZMAT gear.  He knew they were in danger from even inhaling whatever had cleared out a whole lab and warehouse.  But then here they were, neither feeling the danger, neither calling backup.  He certainly was getting stupider as he aged.  Reckless.  It was not a choice anymore.  Leon was losing rapidly, the time and energy to play by the rules.  

Now he strode over to the wall with the control switch and kicked a chair toward the shelf.  It was standard height for these backup OSHA lighting systems, about eight feet from the ground.  The chair gave him the height to reach it while standing.  He blindly swept his hand along the top—mold free, small blessings?—and pulled the switch toward him.  The battery was not dead, and now the area faintly glowed with the room’s emergency LEDs.  Leon hopped off the chair spryly, landing inches from Ada.  Now his smile was triumphant, and he turned the flashlight under his chin menacingly.  “Like I said,” he teased back, moving his face closer, “you should be nicer to me.”

Leon’s high school teasing was interrupted—at the peak moment of his leering, inching toward Ada’s face and pulling the flashlight away, it was as though an electric current did in fact make its way through the room.  But only electrifying them.  He heard….felt?  A sizzle, a flicker of darkness, and there she was—not in snow gear, but in her “FBI” coat.  A line crisp and her ebony hair reflecting the neon lights of the VHS Stop in Raccoon. 

In the same static flicker Leon wasn’t tired, hair damp with snow, his grey eyes hauntingly colorless—he was in blue, he could feel the uniforms restricting, old-school shoulder pads and elbow pads.  His badge pulled on his collar, irritating him, his thick boyish buck cut fanning into the crease of his eyes.  Eyes that were a deep navy, almost the same color as his rookie suit.  He saw this, he felt it, he sensed it as though he wasn’t even himself anymore—just a bystander.  Just a moss on the wall, observing a cop and a spy with too much chemistry between them. 

He knew his expression had moved to one of frozen horror, staring at Ada, but the flicker passed and was gone.  Now he just stared at her, still frozen, a quip never making its way past his lips.  Had she seen that too?  Had she felt it?  What WAS that?  It was more than a memory or a flashback.  It sent a chill down Leon’s spine, and he moved to lean against the wall as Ada went into the dark hallway on her own. 

Was he sweating?  He’d been out wallowing in the snow and then hiked a solid mile in it—-there was no way he was sweating.  Leon second-guessed his recklessness as he moved to walk after Ada.  Being killed by a mutant?  Sure why not, anything was better than drinking alone for ten more years.  But being killed by slowly infiltrating, festering memories of an innocence he could no longer hold space for?  That was too cruel.  

He paused to peer into a room, searching for—well, anything, but it was empty and seemed to merely be a conference room.   He knew the layouts of these buildings to a sickeningly familiar degree by now. The first few floors and offices were for the “public” or more correctly, the “customers.”  Big nice oak tables, flat screens, polished floors.  Handshakes and deals made in suits.  Samples and projected sales presented by the men who could make business out of science.  They were depressing and sinister, but typically far safer than the hermetically sealed laboratories or processing facilities where the white coats clocked in to spend time every day.  Those were the bowels of these places.  He hated them.

The main hallway showed signs of attempted fleeing.  Bloodstains by a set of lockers.  Leon tried the only one that didn’t have a combination lock on it and was pleased to see a hard hat, and in it, an employee badge.  That warehouse slacker who never remembered combinations and always got in trouble for not being “safe” with company property.  Nice.  Probably a kid on a forklift.  Leon didn’t look at the name or picture on the badge.  Things like that hurt too much anymore.  

As he pocketed it, he listened to the soft footsteps echoing, getting farther away.  “Bet she won’t wait,” he muttered as he re-entered the hallway.  Leon kept his senses trained on the shadow that was Ada, leading the way down the corridor, but when he got to the floor’s first keycard door and tried his badge, the LED blinked red back at him.  Not a high enough clearance to access it.  Well, if they could get into the internal system, he knew he could reprogram the badge or any badge…but that was Ada’s forte.  He was just the lantern boy after all.  

The next door beeped red again.  

He was almost by Ada now, and he swiped the badge just as she asked a question he’d never heard her ask before.  

“Well, which one?  Up or down?"

His hand was very near the door and he turned, startled.  Both at the unprecedented question, and the ‘flash’ that arrived the same time she spoke.  He saw, at the door, a tall blond.  Taller and broader than Leon, with more scars and nothing but scowls.  He was exiting, a large metal box in his arms.  Frost issued from the sides—it had just been pulled from a freezer.  

“YOU CAN’T TAKE THAT SERUM! THAT’S THE ONLY THING KEEPING THE SUBJECT STABLE—-“

A voice was panicked on the other side of the door.  Leon took two steps back, still startled at this ghost, which …couldn’t be real, could it?  The door was closed.  It was locked.  Yet this scene played out in full technicolor, sunlight from the room behind them glinting off Krauser’s blond hair.  The latter turned back, withdrawing a long silenced pistol, and with a muffled ‘ting’ the protestor protested no more.  A loud thud followed, and just like that, the scene was gone. 

Leon was breathing heavily, eyes wide, and now his gaze went from the door to Ada.  And back.  And back again.  “Listen, I know…I know it makes NO sense…but,” he pointed to the door, licking his lips.  “Krauser—he was here, he took….”

Now his excitement dropped completely.  Leon squinted and tilted his head.  “Wait, WHAT?”

He looked in disbelief at the door again.  Then back at Ada. 

“You don’t want to split up?”

Trust Us Now

ADA

"Listen, I know... I know it makes NO sense... but.... Krauser— he was here, he took... wait, WHAT?"

The look on his face brought a smile, however brief, dancing upon her lips.

"You don't want to split up?"

There he goes, being daft again, she thought.

Instead of answering him, she moved towards the stairs swiftly. Fine, she would choose. Palm braced against the railing leading down into the depths of the facility and she took the first few steps without hesitation. If this facility were anything like the countless others she'd visited then the lower floors were exactly where they didn't want to be... and were precisely where the answers they needed would lie. Ada didn't relish the idea of what may be hidden below them but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to get some answers.

"The lights are on," she called back to Leon when she'd reached the first landing.

Peering down the next staircase she could see the hall illuminated brightly from overhead fluorescents. The power may not have been working in the main area but it was certainly still working here. It made her wonder what else was functional along this strip. She willed herself to ignore the pain in her side and took the stairs two at a time, breathing every so slightly heavier when she reached the bottom. At least the cuts hadn't reopened much more. She could be thankful for that much at least.

Ada didn't wait for him to catch up. She continued down the stairs at a brusque pace. Heels clipped the tiled flooring beneath her feet. She clicked along the hall stopping at the first door. Another one wanting a keycard. But the second door... the second door was ajar. It was partially open having slid halfway into the side-wall. The light above the door panel blinked in staggered patterns and the door itself hissed and jerked as if trying to open then shut repeatedly. Ada reached up to her ear-piece and thumbed the button to turn on the flashlight. The room itself was dark, all light coming from the hallway only and not enough to light up the interior.

The beam shone over desks and chairs, some overturned, some not, revealing a bit of chaos. Ada slipped herself against the half-open gap and slid sideways. She fit through easily, her slender frame not even touching the broken door. She disappeared beyond its borders, out of sight, and began to comb over the items left behind. Unfortunately, she came up mostly empty-handed. But of what she could find, a few things seemed like they could possibly be useful: a post-it note with a code scribbled on it and a screwdriver. She carried both with her back to the entry point when she noticed a line of lab coats hanging along the far wall.

It couldn't be that easy, could it?

Though she knew very well that it just could be. Digging through their pockets turned up nothing... until the last coat. From its white pocket she withdrew a keycard. One Dr. Bing, looking to be in his mid-thirties. It didn't bother her to see another soul lost. Usually, these people lost their lives to their own abhorrent creations. They didn't always deserve sympathy, at least to her.

"A doctor, huh? You should have clearance." She cooed to herself.

Pocketing the card she carried the screwdriver in her hand back to the entrance and slipped outside into the hallway again. She turned to Leon and held out her hand, dropping the screwdriver into his palm like a gift.

"May be useful." She noted and turned her back on him.

Eventually, along the corridor, there came a steel door with 'CONTAINMENT' stenciled across its shining silver exterior. There was a small spying window in its upper half, the plexiglass fogged and smeared with what was unmistakably blood. Ada tried to see through it but quickly gave up the effort. She eyed the door panel debating whether to reveal she'd found a keycard yet. Best not to, she decided. Moving on from the containment area she pressed on seeking an alternate route.

She took another step forward.

"Find anything intere—" words died as the floor fell away beneath her in a symphony of crashing tile, plaster, and wood sending her plummeting into the dark. One moment she was there, walking down the hallway, and in the next she was gone. Leaving behind only the echoing sounds of the collapsed floor and a whisper of her words bouncing off the sterile walls.

LEON

Leon made a noise at the face Ada made in his exclamation over not splitting up.  He flared his nostrils as she turned and swiveled toward the stairwell in the back of the hallway.  Oh, but she wanted to lead, clearly.  Leon turned back to the door, wondering if her ignoring his statement meant she already knew more about Krauser being here.  

He was hallucinating.  That much was clear.  Was it the Mold?  It had to be, he argued to himself, unsure what the implications were for the future if he were infected.  But what was it showing him?  Why Krauser?  Why now, and here?

Leon looked at the door, and back at the hallway where the brunette had gone.  Krauser WAS here.  He had the man's knife.  Leon opened his phone, recording a brief note for Hunnigan.  "Hey, Hunnigan.  Can you get me a machine-readable fingerprint for Jack Krauser?"  The note sent immediately, but he didn't expect an immediate reply--she'd have to find and scan the print, and then convert it to what was needed.  He tucked the phone back into his pocket and dragged his feet after Ada.    

"The lights are on," rang down the hallway, but he looked over his shoulder again, as his phone vibrated, surprising him. 

ON IT, the message read.  Then another.  I HAVE CONCERNING INFORMATION ABOUT THE MOLD. 

Well, that was good timing.  Leon considered hanging back to hear whatever Hunnigan might have to say, but the invisible tether pulled him toward the stairwell and the clicking sounds of Ada's heeled boots.  

He typed as he jogged to catch up.  I'LL CALL SOON.

Leon looked with distaste at the landing, Ada still too far ahead for him to use as a visual distraction.  He hated basements, he hated anything below sunlight.  But--he shook his shoulders, bracing himself against a likely torrent of more flashbacks--down he went, jogging the stairs two at a time and landing abruptly beside her.  

"Aren't you injured?" he offered as she stopped at the first door.  "Slow down." 

She dipped into one of the malfunctioning doors, and Leon rolled his eyes.  He eyed the room and adjacent rooms.  He wordlessly decided to sentry whatever she was doing, and held his handgun up, prepared to wait.  Leon was yet again interrupted by Hunnigan.  This time the special image was downloading.  He holstered the pistol and Leon changed programs on the device, inputting the fingerprint data and clicking on his UV penlight.  With the camera's scanner and the added UV, he panned the fingerprint identifier over the doorjamb, keycodes, and along the door itself.  It didn't take long for a match.  Then another.  Leon walked down the hallway, passing other doors and high-touch areas--phones, lockers, wall switches for lock/unlocks, finding matches on most of them.  Leon realized that Krauser had been down here likely many times.  

Ada reappeared and approached him; he snorted at the screwdriver and moved close to her as he clasped it.  "Useful," he mocked as she moved to another door.  He figured she had more intel, or more tools, and was keeping them to herself.  Typical.  Leon shook his head and walked down the adjacent hallway.  

A utility closet with no fancy locking mechanism gave him a lucky break; the screwdriver was an easy pry bar.  Once inside, he saw an old medic bag with several ambulance and mechanic tools, and then --"Bingo."  Leon held up the old Halligan as though it were a trophy, and he made his way back to one of the hallway doors labeled SECURITY.  It didn't take him long to pry the top hinges away and Leon kicked the door, surprised at how loud and hollow it sounded--these doors were made for medical protection, not force or strength.  Well, that hadn't worked out for them, had it?

He laid the Halligan on a work table and approached one of the larger computers in the dingy room.  Mold was in more abundance down here, and it seemed to seep into the rooms before making its way into the hallway...maybe it didn't like the light.  The darkened room proved useful.  The black stuff was on the walls and floor, but hadn't found a use or reason to grow in the hardware yet; the computer turned on.  Leon pulled the little chip from his phone and inserted it into the flash drive.  

While he waited, kneeling, Leon looked at the phone screen thoughtfully and then made good on his earlier promise.  "Hey.  Get any sleep?"

"No, I've been gathering so much information...Leon, things aren't adding up."

He scoffed, giving a halfhearted shrug.  "You mean the agent that came here and told you things looked great --"

"Was probably under some influence by this pathogen.  Leon, have you been having any hallucinations?  Sweating, nausea?" 

He blinked, willing away the image of pointing the gun at Ada earlier.  

"You could say that." 

"I want you out of that area.  If there is a chance of contamination, the problem isn't the affects on the body.  This mold is able to exert influence on the mind." 

"Why would an organism care about covering its own tracks like that?"  

"That's what isn't adding up.  Everyone I've interviewed who came into this case before you has some kind of memory lapse or they're just...void of details or memory.  Everything's 'great' like you said."  

"Well," Leon stood, turning to the monitor, which was now on thanks to the protocol of the chip.  "It's not great.  Something definitely happened here, and I know that, crazy as it seems, Jack Krauser is involved." 

"I looked up everything I could, and didn't find a trace of him, but if my theory of another party being involved and covering their tracks is right, then I would imagine they'd shield him as well."  

"I just need more time," Leon shook his head, his bangs hitting his cheekbone.  "If I can find out where Krauser was going, we'll have the element of surprise."  

"Leon," Hunnigan's face was taut.  "When I said I had...news about the Mold...it wasn't just on the dangers of inhaling spores." 

"What is it?"

She was not good at hiding a crestfallen face.  "I think I'd better just send you the file." 

----------------

The security footage was all he needed.  His head was spinning as he watched in extra-fast timelapse, Krauser move around the facility, communicating with what looked like a waif of a young girl, who appeared to be a bioweapon due to the label on the cameras and the way she was handled by other staff.  
There was no audio on the footage, but dialing back several months Leon watched the agent hand the child something.  A book, with a familiar insignia.  Leon's stomach dropped as he watched the footage after, the girl flipping through the Los Illuminados book.  More visits from Krauser.  And then, Krauser walking in armed, shooting personnel as black streaks of mold began to make their way around the facility.  Eventually the footage glitched, probably when the main power went down, and the backup file ended.  

As he turned to leave, his mind buzzing from the video he'd just witnessed, he turned his attention to the file.  He could give it attention later, while he showed this to Ada. A voice whispered to him to keep the information to himself, but he would judge that later.  

Leon had his gun drawn again when he approached the end of the hallway, unsure if this was the area where Krauser had entered to engage with the bioweapon.  The girl.  Ada was ahead of him, and abruptly--"Find anything intere—"

"ADA!" Leon skidded forward, and then paused, watching the hole that swallowed Ada writhe with mold on the edges.  Great, he thought, the shit was taking over the farther down they went.  "HANG ON!"

He couldn't see her; he clicked the flashlight on his gun, aiming down.  Still nothing.  Leon sighed and backtracked.  He could go to the security office and unlock the doors from there, or else generate a key code.  He would also need to look at a map of this place, and that office would have it.  If any cameras were online he could get a find for where she was at.  

Leon doubled back, and as background noise, he opened the file Hunnigan sent him and set it to auto-read.  

The pleasant female AI voice droned smoothly while he entered the security area and began typing.  

THIS REPORT REFLECTS INTERNAL, SENSITIV---

He touched the screen, skipping forward several minutes.  Disclaimers. 

---BELIEVED THAT INVOLVEMENT OF ADA WONG AFFECTED THE INITIAL CONTAMINANT, ALTERING THE MOLD'S STRUCTURE FROM ITS ORIGINAL FORM AS IT WAS TRANSPORTED. 

Leon froze, fingers still in midair.  ---WAS NOT CONFIRMED, BUT A REPORT FROM CHRIS REDFIELD CORROBORATES THIS DUE TO INFORMATION FOUND IN EASTERN EUROPE EARLIER THIS YEAR.---

--------------

He'd unlocked the doors and gotten a handle on her location thanks to the active security system alerting him when a key card had been swiped.  Now as Leon rounded a corner where most of the walls were mold, his flashlight cut through the humid, foggy air and landed on the figure.  He didn't bother turning the light off, keeping it on the figure he'd yelled for only ten minutes ago.  

"Ada," he said, his voice ragged, and he reluctantly raised his pistol, as though it weighed a thousand pounds.  "Tell me what you did with the mold sample.  TELL ME," he yelled, "You WEREN'T involved!" 

Gift for the Queen

ADA

"ADA!"

She could hear him but his voice was faded. Whatever she had landed in was muffling all noise. The fall had sent her skidding down collapsed debris and through a thick sludge of muck. She pulled her hands free of it with a puckering sound and visibly cringed. Disgusting.

She spun to stand pulling the rest of her body out of the filth and looked around. There was no way to see down here. It was pitch black with only the occasional shadows moving... if those were shadows. Ada reached up to her ear and thumbed the light attached to her headset again. The beam trickled down a long hall, walls covered in black and pulsating. The floor was no different. She shuddered and yanked one boot free of the stuff.

Turning in a slow circle she opted for the only path that was viable. The other half of the hall was overgrown and blocked. The smell was overwhelming... and terrible. It made Ada think of an infected wound though ten times stronger than it should have been. A fog drifted across her beam of light, hovering all around her. The moisture in the air was thick and heavy.

She approached the first door she found. One that demanded a keycard for entry.

"Let's see if you work," she spoke aloud and withdrew the card.

Swiping it once, the light over the card reader blipped green and the door slid open for her. She panned left and right before stepping through. A quick gander and she realized it was a records room. Floor to (almost) ceiling file cabinets lined one wall and more, all regular sized, were spread out in the main area still in orderly lines. A few desks were piled high with folders and envelopes, easily the thickness of a good book. Ada wandered inside, leaving the disgusting environment behind. The room in here was clean as a whistle. Well, save the dust that coated everything.

She approached a desk, the beam of her flashlight reaching it before she did, a dinky little thing that stood on wobbly legs. It looked to be the oldest thing in the room, unlike its sturdier brothers situated at two-feet intervals. There were only a few files littered along its surface. Ada reached out and grabbed one, bringing it up in the light.

Along its front was scribbled 'Test-0482 Subject: 03'

Dust fell from its cover as she opened it. Eyes scanned its hand-written contents.

Subject-03 shows remarkable speed at which it can recover. It creates specimens 652 and 398 at remarkable speed and can control them via telepathic brain waves. Subject-03 spreads Mold sample D-10 at an alarming rate, and has been noted to use spores to influence those around it. The subject can induce hallucinations that seem real enough to have caused several suicides this past month. We have moved it to a new cell, on level 4, and placed Krauser on protective detail. He is brusque and often rude, but I have faith he will keep Subject-03 in check. He is a good soldier. The subject seems to respond to him best.

At Krauser's name, a chill crept up her spine. So, he had been here. Krauser was involved. He was still alive after all these years. The bastard. Ada shook her head, hair softly swaying against her cheek, and set the file down. And the Mold.. so it was, indeed, Mold that was spreading everywhere. She had encountered it once before but it had been nothing like this. That was why she hadn't recognized it at first. She picked up another and was startled to see the Los Illuminados emblem stamped on the front. There was a symbol she would never forget and could go her life without seeing again. Memories of Spain tickled her senses but she shut them out to start reading.

Specimens 652 are hostile and resilient but share an aversion to light. Containment must be properly conducted and---

The images paper-clipped to the file told Ada all she needed to know. She would recognize those spindly legs and warped bodies anywhere.

Plagas.

So, that thing in the motel bathroom had been a plaga after all. She'd been right to assume so when she'd confessed to Leon that she hated the sounds they made. Ada's skin crawled and she absent-mindedly brushed at her arms as though trying to rub away the bad feeling that overtook her. Turning on her heel, she left the room to continue down the hall.

She didn't get as far as she would have liked before another beam of light came bounding around a corner. It shone in her face and she lifted a hand in reflex to shield her eyes momentarily. Her arm dropped, recognizing Leon immediately in the darkness, her light falling on blond bangs and a strong jaw. She actually felt herself smile, meeting up with him again, thankful for the extra presence. The walls around them made slithering sounds.

"Ada," his voice gave her pause and the smile vanished when she saw the barrel of his gun pointed at her. He lifted it slowly, deliberately. Ada's arms slowly raised in a gesture of surrender, hoping to talk him down this time. She thought he may be hallucinating again but then he continued. "Tell me what you did with the mold sample. TELL ME you WEREN'T involved!"

All humor and delight swept from her expression. Caramel eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments before returning to their almond shape and she tossed her head as if he'd made a joke.

"Leon," his name held sad affection on her tongue. She flicked her wrist, palm twisting in the air as if brushing off his accusation, arms still raised. She held his stare, her own speaking volumes. 'If you're going to shoot me, then shoot' it said.

Something moved in the shadows. It skittered forward, Ada's eyes moving to it and her flashlight moving with the cant of her head. The beam hit something that looked like an overgrown spider, but a flattened body and tan in color. Ada knew that creature. A plaga. They were here.

She looked the other way and saw two more shy away from the light. And then it dawned on her where they were. The excess of Mold, the gathering of it in corners, the way it coated everything in sight... and now critters, many of them, hiding in the shadows.

They stood in a nest.

All at once the nest burst into motion. She instantly recognized the sound of their skittering now.

"You must have woken them." She scolded him, voice low and keeping her arms raised but stepping closer to him.

She was putting her faith in the fact he wouldn't shoot her... at least, she hoped he wouldn't, though her actions seemed confident. Her light bounced back and forth catching motion every second but none of the plagas stayed in the light long enough to be truly illuminated. She couldn't grab her own weapon without risking Leon firing his, so she stood in the havoc hoping against hope that he would make up his mind soon.

"We don't have time for this," she hissed in a whisper, trying to keep quiet so the nest would settle back down. "We have more pressing matters to attend."

LEON

The hair flip caused Leon to narrow his eyes.  He realized he was breathing raggedly and internally warned himself to calm.  Leon knew losing his temper could cost him the entire mission; that was never an option. He registered the strange hissing, soft 'voices' in the walls around them.  But his rage was building in a way it rarely did.  

"Leon," she began, but he uncharacteristically interrupted her.  

"How can you justify what happened in Dulvey?" he pressed.  In reality, the record he just listened to hadn't stated specifically what Ada's involvement was, beyond the transport and possible tampering--though Leon could guess that a sample of that mold made its way into her organization's hands.  One of Miranda's officers or some entity had worked with her, according to Chris's report.  Leon's hands were shaking, he was gripping the pistol so hard.

As usual Ada didn't answer, a routine that had caused him to stop asking questions long ago.  In fact, he could count on one hand the times he'd asked her to explain herself since Spain.  That one had landed him a corneal flash burn from her exploding glasses.  He quickly lost the taste for it.  Instead, Leon preferred to employ a certain loyalty and naivete, but always with a barrier of invulnerability.  Ada's presence or actions never stopped him from doing his job.  

And they couldn't now, he reasoned with himself.  Her stare was challenging in itself and he loathed it.  He had to get his anger under control or he'd never find Krauser's intentions or whereabouts.  Once again he felt the world turn, vertigo causing him to sway, and the pair were in the bowels of Birkin's lab.  Not again.  Her red dress.  His gun on her.  The walls rumbled and the floor tipped.  Leon willed the hallucination away.  No.  Not again, not now.  When he blinked hard, his brow furrowed, the real room swam into view.  Leon sighed, but he heard the soft voice whisper somewhere behind him.  

"Take care of yourself, Leon."

Ada's flashlight panned, so too did Leon's pistol, following the most immediate threat.  He would have recognized the twisting undulation after a full barrel of whiskey.  A plaga.  

And then another, and more.  So that's what the slithering sounds were.  He glanced up, noting their presence on the ceiling here, likely what had caused it to cave under her.  Ada's flashlight kept moving, but Leon hesitated, keeping his gun on the large parasite nearest them on the wall.  Ada's posture reflected fear, but not from Leon.  That was pretty typical. 

"You must have woken them."

She stepped toward him, and Leon reluctantly raised the pistol away from her.  But he pivoted, turning to survey their options, even as he hissed bitterly, "I'm not the one who crashed their party, that was you."

From threats of violence to petty insults and blame, he didn't care.  Leon was not calm, but the parasites were almost a welcome distraction.  

"We don't have time for this," Ada sounded agitated, which he would have normally enjoyed had they not been in a literal plaga pit, "We have more pressing matters to attend."

"Yeah, like whose fault this is," he nearly spat, slowly panning with the handgun toward the path he'd made earlier.  "It damn sure isn't mine."  

He would have to turn his back on her to leave in that direction, but Leon mentally counted Ada as one of the hissing things in the room he could not trust.  His raised voice did indeed tickle the senses of the plagas, and they twisted as if stirring, or trying to hear what he was saying.  Leon's vision swam, and he saw nothing but blurry white.  Not the goddamn voices again. 

Childlike, frail, dainty.  "No, they're family.  Don't be afraid.  They listen to us."  

The next moment he blinked again, realizing Ada hadn't moved or pulled a gun on him.  Was the voice talking about the plagas?  Was the voice the plagas?  Family? Us?  Before he had time to unpack the meaning, one of the juvenile plagas, skittering around on legs similar to a scorpion's, exited its coccoon of mold.  It was covered in the stuff, looking like a dripping nightmare, but still recognizable.  It moved fast, with intent and almost curiosity; Leon could barely keep his light on it as it skittered past him--and toward Ada, now hissing.

Another two appeared from the darkness her light didn't penetrate, and Leon slapped the plate carrier on his chest before realizing he had no flash weapons on hand.  He hadn't prepared to fight a horde of light-hating parasites.  He should've known better. 

He took two steps back, hoping Ada would follow his lead.  The parasites were focused solely on Ada despite Leon being far louder with his motions and voice.   There was something in the creatures hissing, their whiplike tails slashing out, that he...understood?  He supposed it was like reading body language of other animals.  One seemed to decide and moved into a pouncing position.  Leon stupidly found himself blurting out a, "No!" and letting his pistol hand drop in favor of holding his left hand, palm out.  He swung his arm in front of Ada at the creatures. 

Astonishingly, the plagas...listened?  They shrank at his palm, seeming to pause, the hisses and clicks coming from their carapaces stuttering to a stop.  Leon remembered Saddler similarly holding up a palm and commanding others, and he recoiled, withdrawing his gloved hand into a fist, holding it in front of his abdomen.  A blank, almost horrified stare was on his face now.
 
Mendez's same blood.  The whisper of family.  Nope, it was the mold, something was affecting him still.  He couldn't stop himself from thinking aloud, anyway.  Leave us alone.  If the creatures could communicate back, they didn't.  He would have felt stupid, if not for the collective response.  There was a hesitance, a pause, and then clear 'body' language of submission.  The juveniles ducked and skittered back into the darkness.  Leon's grey eyes followed them, wide and confused in a way they rarely were anymore.

The moment they backed off, he turned, blinking, rounding on the other human in the room.  Now he stepped closer to her, and stared angrily.  There was a strange sentiment of no mutual communication between them.  This was rare, since most of their communication was through stares--but hostility was Leon's only silent sentiment.  After a few seconds of staring at her, his jaw ticking, his eyes flitted down past her still empty hands and to her waist, where she'd clipped the keycard.  He stepped forward and yanked it from her, grasping it and shoving it into a vest pocket.  

"Left," he said simply, backtracking and holding a ready position with his pistol.  Carefully and quietly, they wound back to the utility stairs, and Leon only turned to run when he saw the fluorescent lights at the stair landing.  He didn't stop, not until he saw the containment holding cells, and withdrew the keycard.  Useful. 

ADA

He sounded bitter and hurt. It made her tongue dry and her throat close up. Outwardly, she kept her face neutral and only lowered her hands once his weapon was aimed away from her. It was the second time she'd stared down the barrel of his gun lately and she didn't enjoy it. Not one bit. But perhaps this time had been worse because he hadn't been in a daze. No, this time he'd seemed in full control of his faculties... and he had known what he was doing.

Slithering came from the shadows to her left and she side-stepped until she was behind Leon. And then the hissing started. They scurried towards her, seemingly ignoring him, and Ada's muscles tensed prepared to jump out of the way. But then Leon's palm was raised upward and he commanded with yelled "No!".... and they stopped. Ada's light shone on two of the plagas, their tails whipping the air. They hesitated. And then scurried back into the shadows away from them.

Ada was at a loss for words.

It was almost as if he had controlled them for a moment. Ada studied the scene, mind whirling with thoughts, data, and memories.

"Left." And then he was moving, headed for the corner ahead. He wasn't waiting around for her.

Oh, yes. He was definitely mad.

She crept behind him, boots squishing in the Mold, until she reached the corner. The lights farther down the hall were beckoning and she took off at a run behind him, only stopping once she was safely in their glow. They were too brilliant for the plagas to approach without being hurt. At least, that's what she gathered based on the lack of a chase.

How can you justify what happened in Dulvey. His words replayed in her mind now that she had a moment to breathe.

What Leon didn't know wouldn't hurt him. And assumptions could only get him so far. Ada took a moment to catch her breath, feeling safe in the glow of the lamps overhead. The skittering couldn't even be heard now. The growth stopped several feet back from their position, only tendrils reaching towards their feet.

She owed him an explanation. After everything they'd been through thus far, after their strange actions towards one another, and the battles they'd fought... she owed him that much.

Guilt made her stomach flip and she bit her tongue. This version of the Mold was too far changed from what she had encountered originally. She hadn't known what this substance was until she'd found the notes upstairs. She hadn't known what would happen. Ada could say it all, could explain it to him, confessing and setting the record straight. All she had to do was tell him the truth.

One last look at him and she walked towards the stairs at the end of the hall. It took all of her willpower not to simply stand and stare at him with guilt in her eyes. Her stare was indifferent, emotions blocked by discipline. Boot falls were soft on the tiled floor. Reaching the stairs left the same option as before; up or down. Ada stepped to the downward path without hesitation. She could still feel his anger somewhere behind her.

Down she descended, into the pits of the laboratory. And a laboratory it clearly was. Plexi-glass walls lined the next hallway giving full views into the rooms behind them. Lab coats hung on every wall and tables lined the interior covered in vials, test tubes, and steel trays. Medical equipment littered every surface. Blood was smeared along the glass towards the floor as if something had hit and then fallen. The hall was pristine otherwise. The lights overhead flickered randomly, pitching the hall into darkness for extended time before stuttering back to life.

Ada didn't linger. She turned the corner of the railing and continued to descend. One more level and she would be where she wanted to be. Level four.

Boots hit the landing and carried her forward. Another immaculate hall... well, almost. At least the Mold wasn't growing here. This one was lined with sturdy looking doors, five in total, made of some type of metal. Each door had a card reader next to it. Ada almost reached for her waist but then remembered that Leon had nabbed her card while having his hissy fit in the plaga nest. She almost sighed in frustration.

"This is where they kept the subject." She finally spoke softly.

Turning, she presented a hand, palm up and fingers outstretched. "I'll need that keycard back."

If there were one thing she was certain of, it was that the usefulness of the card had yet to run its course. It had belonged to one of the doctors and therefore probably had higher clearance than most. If anyone could get into the rooms of test subjects, it would be the doctors. Ada ignored the blood smears on the walls, bullet holes ripping into metal and leaving behind evidence of battle. Her interest wasn't in what had happened here, but what was in the room of the subject mentioned in the notes... but which room, she wasn't sure. She would have to try them all. 

LEON 

Leon was shaking again, he realized as he pocketed the card.  But this time, it wasn't due to Ada.

Just what the fuck was going on with the plagas down there? And him?  

After returning from Spain, so many years ago, he'd had nightmare after nightmare.  The burning light in his chest, the pain.  The needle in his neck.  Turning into a ganado.  Back then he'd put his hands around her throat, something that he still cringed in memory of, though they'd long ago put that behind them.  It was behind him.  He'd been given clearance, he was poked and prodded enough for ten men after most missions.  Right?

He was storming without purpose, until he looked back at his phone.  The maps he'd uploaded were there, and as he studied them, memorizing the turns even as Ada moved toward the same area, Leon heard the popping of several fluorescent bulbs, before all the lights flickered.  Maybe they were getting into the wiring, finally.  He hesitated before descending another staircase.  The sarcastic part of Leon's mind reminded him that he and the plaga were friends now, no big deal.  

His levity, even internally, was out of control when he was angry.  

As he landed, glancing at Ada's silhouette in front of him, Leon's brows rose again.  He had seen too many steel-lined egress-impeded doors with biohazard symbols on them to want to go any further.  No.  He subconsciously took a step back, his boots nearly silent on the still-polished tile floor.  Ada said what he was thinking, but she was obviously annoyed more than hesitant.  "This is where they kept the subject."

His upper lip threatened to curl, but Leon held his composure, inhaling when she turned toward him.  She didn't make eye contact, at least not really.  Was that guilt? Detachment?  Was she really holding out her hand?  His lip did curl now, imperceptibly.  "I'll need that keycard back."

If he'd had a window nearby Leon would have chucked the card out of it, but naturally they were underground, so there was no such option.  He contemplated throwing it on the floor and shooting it, but his ever-present attempt to wrap up and stuff down his emotions was winning.  Instead he stalked past Ada, rather confidently for someone so loathe to be in this area, pushing her hand away.  He knew which door to enter, thanks to the camera footage.  There were also signs--smear of blood here, bullet casing there, around someone--probably Krauser's--exit.  Leon turned back to Ada and very pointedly swiped the card on the reader before turning to face the door again, pocketing the card and shrugging the shotgun off his shoulder.  

He would give it a look around, but Leon had already made his decision, he realized as the door opened and he held the shotgun up warily.  The hiss was nearly silent, the room even more silent.  He crept closer, and the mystery of the missing staff revealed itself.  Leon turned to look at a large, glass windowed observation room, where complete carnage had occurred.  He remained steely as he trained the gun on the area.  The lights flickered here, more signs of the battle--uniformed staff, doctors presumably...men and women in lab coats, were mostly dead in a large pile of sickeningly black mold, large tendrils snaking from pockets in the corner.  Plagas.  

The mass was moving though; Leon blinked at what he realized were random torn limbs and other body parts stuck to large plaga-like insectile bodies.  Several were moving, flickering as though they were randomly-firing nerve pathways.  Others were trying to jolt forward or stand.  Some of these people were still alive, Leon realized, but beyond hope as they were completely eviscerated in half or missing all of their limbs, plagas writhing around the pile of discarded limbs as though testing out their livability.  

He forced himself to look away from several pairs of horrified, still-staring eyes, and realized there were two messages in smeared blood.  One was on the inside of the pit of horror, and the other was on the glass in front of them, but written backwards--meant for them to read, not an outsider.  The inside message read "Gift for the Queen."  On the mirrored window was a less regal note.  HOW DO YOU LIKE IT?

Leon heard Ada behind him, and this propelled him forward.  He was already transferring the shotgun to one hand, to remove his phone from his pocket.  He only hoped there was enough reach down here to get to Hunnigan.  He pressed the quick call button, a button that went straight to paging her and a video call--all she had to do was connect. Now he turned the corner to a familiar-from-the-cameras-area, the 'holding chamber.'  It was written on a little plaque beside another sturdy door and large viewing window.  The viewing window where the camera was located that pinpointed Krauser, coming and going....and then finally Krauser going, likely with his bioweapon companion.

There was a pause and Leon actually dropped his hand to his side when he saw what was visible through this large viewing window.  Perhaps it shouldn't have been more disturbing than the other room, but it was, somehow.  His grey eyes flew from one side to another, then back.  His mouth was agape, and he fumbled for words, finally finding, "No way."  It was a near-whisper, not at all his usual self-assured quip.  

The walls were ornate with designs patterned on in mold and blood.  They had a baroque-esque look to them, flourishes and flower patterns and repeating designs.  They reminded Leon of Salazar's flags, gold-leaf embellished and reeking of laborious craftsmanship.  Those had been illuminated by buttery candlelight; these were harsh under the bright never ending florescents.  The light was blinding, but more blinding were the symbols woven into the patterns.  The Los Illuminados insignia stared back at him.  A huge one in the middle.  Smaller ones on its sides.  Words scrawled rather immaturely into the gaps in the details.  Morir es vivir.  Sometes.  A large phrase he didn't recognize.  Verum invenire, in sacrificio, et eius principia.  

He heard footfalls behind him and didn't care if it was Ada or some monstrous entity yet undiscovered.  It took Hunnigan's "Leon?" before he actually stumbled back into reality. Leon didn't even look at Hunnigan, holding the phone up as he would a radio.  "Hunnigan, I want a DSO unit here immediately.  Full gear, this area is contaminated."

"Leon, the Canadian bor--"

"I don't give a damn, contact the Prime Minister, call the Queen and wake her ass up if you have to.  They're going to be making house calls anyway.  I want that team here now, and I want this place cleaned.  The staff that was left here are already turned..." or worse, "or they're dead.  But it needs to be stopped, while it's here."

He knew that wasn't true.  He knew that the path that led him here was led by Krauser and his companion.  Likely they were going, while Leon and Ada were en route.  But Leon would figure that next step out after this.  

"I'm on it," was her only reply.  Then, Ingrid paused, and caused Leon's attention to flit to her on the screen.  She looked tired.  "Leon, are you all right?"

"No," he said honestly.  "I'll be on standby here.  Leon out."  

....MARTIN????

The man called Martín had hiked far above the outpost area.  He had a pair of binoculars in hand, and a worried expression etched across his dark brows.  Now he gripped them as he leaned against a tree, punching the number in from memory.  Having that number was risky, but at this point it was his only lifeline.  His employers were....not forthcoming in their information.  Only what they wished him to do.

But this was important.  He pulled the phone up to his ear, his arm aching.  Everything ached.  The cane he used was against the tree, stuck in the mud.  Around him the morning fog was nowhere near lifted, but it was thin enough this high to allow him a clear look through the mountains.  To where, days before, he'd ruined Paola's campfire tale of El Castillo de Salazar.  

It was her voice that jolted him back to himself.  He blinked, tearing his eyes away from the formidable structure in the distance, silhouetted against the fog.  "Hola, chica, I hope you're having a better morning than me."  

He didn't pause, as every communication that wasn't through company time was a risk.  "You remember a certain ehhh, antique building, you know, historical landmark, you visited back when you went on that date with me?  Remember how it was evacuated?"

He eyed the smoke swirling up from one of the turrets.  "Not anymore.  Seems there's some squatters."  Several windows now had flickering candlelight behind them, the stained glass still pristine, still diffusing what was inside.  Yesterday, it had been one light.  And one fire.  Now it was all slowly coming to life.  

"I could be wrong, but I don't think there was any lease signed.  You...want me to stay in the area?"  

He had a duty, and a right, to know what was going on in that miserable place.  If he had the money, he'd just buy it and raze it, but that would involve giving far too many people far too much information.  

Her Version of an Apology

ADA

He pushed her hand away and she withdrew it as though she'd been burned. It clutched against her chest, body slowly turning to follow him as he approached one of the doors. He glared at her as he swiped the card himself and Ada felt another pang of guilt. She didn't like it. Long ago she'd learned to bury the sensation but here it was rearing its ugly head. It felt like rocks were in her throat when she swallowed but she casually sashayed towards him, well, as much as she could with the pain in her abdomen screaming for attention. The bear's claw marks were starting to burn again.

The door hissed open, mostly silently, and he marched through with weapon drawn. Ada kept her own tucked safely in its holster. She followed him, footsteps light and airy, nary making a sound on the polished tile beneath them. But once she was through the door, she stopped much as he did.

The pile of bodies on the other side of the glass writhed and she could see plagas darting around various carcasses. The Mold overtook the room weaving its way around severed limbs and half-torsos. Ada noticed, before she could look away, eyes still moving in some of those heads, their mouths opening and closing gasping for breath.

Stomach flipping and air choking in her throat, she couldn't bear to look at it. It sickened her beyond words and she quickly turned her head away, ignoring the scene and the words scrawled across the glass.

Ada was still recovering from how ill she felt when Leon continued forward, grabbing for his phone.

"Hunnigan, I want a DSO unit here immediately. Full gear, this area is contaminated."

"Leon, the Canadian bor--"

Ada carefully stepped well out of view of the screen, her winter coat rustling as she did so. She let the two speak, knowing that a full team would only help part of the problem. Krauser was still out there, somewhere, with a bioweapon in tow.

"Leon, are you all right?"

"No. I'll be on standby here. Leon out."

Sympathy rang in her heart and mind. It took all of her control not to step to his side and grasp his arm gently to offer comfort.

Standby? Did he really mean to hang around here, waiting for the team to show up? Ada had other plans. She would be nowhere near the place once the coats started stomping around and cleaning up. She mentally prepared to dip... only to forget everything when she circled around him and saw what he had already encountered.

A Los Illuminados symbol stared back at her, threatening and pushing memories to the forefront. The rest of the details and designs were taken in by slow turn. The insignia on the wall was a center piece, ornate and well-constructed; an obsession by the way the lines were carefully drawn.

Memories flooded her. Violent townsfolk pursuing her, cultists in their flowing robes chanting behind her. The almost-sacrifice she had been, the scar on her thigh a reminder of the close call. And Saddler. The power-crazed mad man that had proven almost too much for her. She could still feel the pain of his tentacle piercing her and knocking her unconscious. The grotesque form he had taken in the end skipped through her memory but she shunned it. Much like she shunned the memories of her heels clicking against the stone floors of the castle and the large bug-like creatures that inhabited its lower levels.

Spain came rushing back in a flood and Ada couldn't hope to stop the cringe that formed. She snuck a glance at Leon, noticing his expression, and feeling the same though her face was mostly expressionless. She read the text on the walls and shivered; she could hear the cultists' chanting in her mind's eye, their voices echoing off the castle walls and following her down every hall she ran.

Her phone chirped on her thigh and she unconsciously pawed at it. The screen set her face aglow, the name on it breaking all thoughts and giving her reprieve. It had to be important if he was calling her number from his own phone. She swiped the answer icon and held it to her ear, for once not a video call.

"Hola, chica, I hope you're having a better morning than me."

His melodic voice was a forced cheerful but still held that spirit from years ago that she remembered. One of the only fond memories she had of Spain. The voice of Martin, as she knew to call him now, was unintelligible without the phone pressed to an ear and Ada knew Leon would only hear half of the conversation. The less he knew, the better.

"Debatable," she replied dryly.

He didn't pause, immediately describing a location she knew all too well and had just been thinking about. But his choice of words brought a genuine smile flashing across her face.

"Of course I remember our date." she said, amiable as if there weren't disturbing images surrounding them, ignoring Leon and turning away from him. "It was... an experience."

Her voice never wavered as though this phone call were the most natural thing in the world.

"Describe them." She demanded, voice dropping. If he had seen the squatters it could help immensely.

"I didn't get a clear view," came the accented response, apologetic, "the fog was too thick... but it looked like a man whose shoulders were as wide as he was tall. Blond. With a smaller figure beside him."

"Perfect." she muttered, and then her voice changed back to a conversational melody. "Yes, I'd prefer if you stayed... I'll be seeing you." And with that, the call ended and she dropped her phone back on her thigh. The sooner they finished the better considering it was a private call. She stood and silently mulled over the new information. She put the pieces together and didn't like the final picture.

Ada sighed and turned to face Leon. Her eyes held anything but joy.

"I know where Krauser is." She admitted, monotone.

LEON

After the call ended, Leon reluctantly used his phone to take a photo of the cell.  His head was tilted, still studying it, as Ada approached.  It pained him to know now in hindsight, with all the contempt he had for her at the time, and how he’d later learned (half through her, and half through others) that she was actually helping him.  What if that was the case now?  Was it though?  Had it ever been?  Ada was pretty damn good at making Leon feel like he could trust her.  She was getting better at it through the years. 

And now here they were, looking at a made shrine for the same cult they’d faced together, what felt like a lifetime ago.  Over a decade.  A different world.  Were they both different people?

Now she took a call, and he raised an eyebrow; Ada, daring to communicate in front of him?  That was rare.  At the mention of a date, he coolly turned his cheek, staring back at the insignia on the wall.  It looked like open arms, the hooked edges pulling him in.  

He needed some air.  Leon backed away, wondering if he needed to send more photos—it would work to get the cleanup crew here faster, wouldn’t it?  But he had no desire.  He was sick and tired of it all.  He could not have cared less about reports or files or labeling the incident or sending coordinates or anything that he’d be expected to do while waiting around.  Only Hunnigan understood his sense of urgency, and her reach was limited as well.  They were constantly bombarded with red tape. 

Maybe he didn’t need air.  Maybe he needed to buy ten bottles of whiskey and grow a beard and leave the country.  The planet.  

The insignia beckoned, but he hadn’t moved yet.  Snap out of it, he chided himself.  It was the Mold again.  It had to be.  Now Leon realized he didn’t know what emotions were real and what emotions were fed into him through some strange outside pathway.  But his grey eyes finally slid to the side when Ada faced him, looking for once, slightly upset. 

“I know where Krauser is.” 

He had ten planned responses, and ignored all of them, pursing his lips and eyeing her suspiciously instead.  He waited for more, but there was nothing, and Leon finally turned his shoulders toward her as the lights around them flickered again.  Ignoring the foreboding sign, his eyes narrowed at her.  “Is that your version of an apology?” He asked in a near-whisper, acknowledging the spy’s penchant for moving forward with everything left unsaid.  The lights snapped off, and then back on, and Leon’s face was changed.  The emotion wrung into it was gone, the hurt and disbelief back behind his tired, drawn expression.  He half-sighed, and then took out his phone, tossing it on the floor and swiftly firing into it with his pistol.

He couldn’t chance anyone on his side hearing him cooperating with her, not after all the trouble it caused him every time he did.  Not a question, he stared expectantly, still holding the pistol aimed at the floor.  “Where.”  

ADA

“Is that your version of an apology?”

HIs words stung, more than she was ready to admit. A rift was forming between them. It wasn't the first time. And it hurt just as much as it had each time before now. Ada's carefully neutral stare locked with his, trying not to reveal any emotional wounding from his question. She was successful, but at what cost. She didn't respond, letting the question hang in the air.

Then he did the unexpected. He offered a restrained sigh and destroyed his phone seemingly without second thought. Ada studied the broken piece of tech with an immediate understanding. He wasn't taking any chances. She knew what he was going to ask next, though it came out as more a demand. And she dreaded the question.

“Where.”

He sounded as tired as he looked, suddenly sunken-eyed and haggard to her in the lights as they came back on. Even his scruff seemed more prominent. Ada felt her own exhaustion hovering just at the edge of perception. Teasing her with the hope of rest and finding none.

She debated answering him. Not that she wouldn't. She planned to, but the answer was one she didn't want to utter. It was emotional for her and not something she was accustomed to feeling. She worked to control her emotions, causing a lengthy pause in her response.

It was bound to dredge up more memories, none of them good. Pools of amber slowly climbed from the ground to his face. Slowly she met his gaze. There was no humor in her eyes, no mystery, no hidden agenda. Her demeanor still calm, despite their surroundings, there was an underlying sense of unhappiness. And it was real and raw, even veiled as it was.

"Spain." she said never looking away. It felt, to her, as though she had just reached out and slapped him across the face. "He's holed up in the castle."

She didn't bother specifying which castle. She knew, without question, that Leon would understand. Of all people, he would understand. He would remember its chilled stone walls and its dangers around every corner. He would recall the sense of oppression within its interior and the reek of death and infection that clung to the air. She could almost smell it now if she remembered hard enough. She tried not to remember.

"My contact saw him." She added, a final nail in the coffin. She left out who her contact precisely was. Secrets were a part of their dynamic and she wasn't about to break that now. Her shoulders squared, physically reacting to her own news, and she looked away from Leon unable to suffer his stare any longer.

A full body shudder threatened to bloom. The cultists' chants echoed in her mind. Wooden shields and gleaming blades moved closer in her mind's eye. All of it waiting for her back in that cursed castle.

"I can have our transportation ready within the hour." An apology came in the form of 'our' hinting that this adventure was a 'we' endeavor.

Ada didn't sound excited. In fact, she didn't sound like anything. All emotion left her, deflated by the thought of returning to the fog-ridden land. She didn't want to go to rural Spain. But she knew, without question, where they were headed next. It was time to get some answers... and theirs lie in the past.

LEON

When Ada’s eyes met his eyes, Leon’s shoulders dropped.  He sensed something in her expression that told him to listen, that there was no guard needed.  It was not a perception he often had access to over the years, so he acknowledged it when it occurred.    

She kept her eyes on him, and said a word he didn’t expect…and yet somehow expected.  

"Spain.”

Leon chuffed, a jock-sounding scoff that would have been a more appropriate reaction if her response had been Disneyland.  His lip was in a grim non-smile, almost a grimace, but he looked away from Ada when she continued, "He's holed up in the castle."

Now Leon’s chuff turned into a laugh, and he stared into nothing, shaking his head in disbelief.  No, “the castle” were not words he wanted to hear right now.  It had to be a joke.  He laughed again, a dry and empty sound that did nothing to remedy what she’d just said.  

After the laugh escaped, he shook his head again and met her eyes.  He waited for more.  There was a warning look in his almost-glare, as though he were waiting on her to add even more absurdity to the situation. 

"My contact saw him." 

He licked his lips and raised his brow, threatening to tease her about the date.  Leon always shied away from any questions he truly didn’t want the answers to—well, the last half-hour excluded.  But he found himself too overwhelmed with a flood of memories, of flashes of that damp anachronistic place, to care about Ada’s contact. 

Still, he said nothing, too perturbed by her information, as well as the un-Ada-like way she was being open and honest with him.  Leon crossed his arms on his chest, bringing one gloved hand to his chin, swiping at his stubble.  Leon actually closed his eyes, hoping to somehow guard against the onslaught of visual, visceral flashbacks of one of his longest nights. 

"I can have our transportation ready within the hour." 

His eyes popped open as though he’d been abruptly woken.  Leon’s palm was still over his mouth and chin.  He studied Ada for a moment.  

There were so many risks.  Going back itself was a risk, let alone deal with whatever Krauser had decided was worth going back for.  Bio weapons.  He’d come here, targeted this place.  Had he given them the plaga?  Why, if so?  

But now Leon was again going rogue, something that would always have its potential consequences.  This time, he was doing it while being possibly contaminated.  Whatever paranoia and hallucinations were his own, some of these weren’t his own.  He didn’t know if he would be himself when he was in Spain.  Remembering being infected with the plaga, remembering the feeling of a constantly draining hourglass, Leon knew that he might not make it a day or more before he couldn’t trust himself or his actions.  That time was already rapidly approaching. 

“Okay,” was all he said, a dull and equally lifeless response to her hollow-sounding reach for helpfulness.  He’d uttered the same phrase so many years ago when they ventured out of the castle together.  Ironic that then, too, she was the one offering transport.  

The Snow is Clearing Up

ADA

"Okay." He sounded as dead as she felt.

Ada would have rather done anything in the world than return to Spain. That horrid place held a similar spot in her memory as Raccoon City did. They were the two most trying and most awful memories out of her life... which said something, considering the missions she had undertaken throughout her career. There was something special about both, though, that designated them as such. She couldn't even really place her finger on it but they had been what had partially shaped her into who she was now. Nothing could ever wash away the quirks that had formed from them, or been influenced by them.

She repressed a shudder, remembering Spain's muddy trails littered with fallen leaves and the dry, dead shrubbery she'd had to slip through on her way. Getting that damned Plaga sample had been a chore and a half, to put it mildly.

It wouldn't do to dwell on the past though. Now that she had said it aloud, it made it somehow real. There was no going back. Wherever Krauser had gone, she would follow, if for no other reason than to put an end to his ongoing game of survival. Besides, if word ever got out that he was still alive, it would tarnish her reputation.. not to mention all the paperwork she'd have to file. Ugh. No. He was a dead man walking. This time for certain. She'd see to it personally.

Much as she wanted to blame the trip on pursuing Krauser alone, she knew it wasn't true. Spain likely held more answers and was the next step in their journey, surprisingly together. Usually her missions allowed her the chance to flutter into Leon's life and then back out. Always appearing at the most opportune, or inopportune if one paid attention to his usual moodiness at her appearance, during his missions which often coincided with her own. But this time she had a feeling that he would be by her side more often than not. Their mission was too personal. It hit too close to home. She would need to protect him from her part of the journey, but for now it was safe to travel together. Provided her alternate contact didn't flake out on her.

Luckily, Ada had earned an owed favor several times over during her career. She'd have to call in a few in order to make this work but the effort would be well worth it. Anything to ease the endeavor of traveling back to nightmare country. She studied the floor as she considered which parties to call and who was attached to whom. It would take a bit of finagling but she was certain she could provide transport without all the questions that they were trying to avoid.

Ada left the room behind, still having avoided Leon's gaze. She didn't let herself look at the massacre or the scrawled words on the glass. Even the wall with the dreaded insignia was ignored in favor of a quick exit. She had spent enough time in there. There was nothing more to see. She reached for the pocket on her tattered coat only to remember that he was the one that held the keycard. A smile brushed her lips thinking of his stubborn glare as he had swiped it. So cute.

The smile didn't last, the thought of Spain still at the forefront of her mind. Ada, for once, was almost glowering, facing away where Leon couldn't witness the emotion written on her face. She approached the stairs at the end of the hall again and took a path without consideration. Her boots fell on the stairs with purpose, taking her up a floor. There was no reason to linger on this one. And she had a hunch that going further down would simply take them to more bioweapon research and development. Ada had no interest in running into whatever creations these people had made.

She backtracked up the flights of stairs until she reached the first floor again. Her flashlight on her ear bounced across the walls and tile flooring. Tracing her steps she found herself back at the main desk. A sign on the wall held directions to different sections of the facility, obviously meant for the general public seeing as access to the lower floors required clearance. She saw one line that read "parking" and an arrow to the left. May as well.

At least now she had an idea of where she was going and why, even if she despised it. She didn't wait around for him to follow. She had no idea if he even would, considering his mood. But, she wasn't going to linger any longer. She'd had enough of this facility and its secrets.

The door to the parking garage opened with a high-pitched squeal, its bar across its center collapsing only with a heavy push. The area was smothered in darkness, no lights overhead shining their dim glow on the pavement. Ada took a step out into the cold air, reminded once again how frigid this area got during the winter months. She could see her breath before the door had even opened fully.

An SUV sat in a parking space among the other vehicles. A few delivery trucks were parked next to it. She made a beeline for the vehicle and tested its driver door. Locked. Ada sighed at the paranoia of people nowadays and reached to her coat. It was an older model. It would take a bit of effort but would be the easiest target. Withdrawing needle-thin tools, she jiggled them inside the lock until it popped free. It took only a minute or so. Climbing in, she would be driving this time, the air was just as cold inside the vehicle. She began to search for keys, checking under the seat, and around the dash. But it was when she flipped down the overhead mirror that they fell into her lap.

Grateful for some people's idiocy, she turned the ignition and let the car run. It sputtered to life, coughing, having sat in the cold for some time. Its engine was loud in the otherwise still and silent air of the parking garage. The vehicle had a set of decent snow tires and was well-weighted for a journey through snow. It even had a guard rail on its nose. Ada sat back on the cloth seat, thankful for once that it wasn't leather which would have held the cold even more, and let her arm drape across the center console between seats. The fur of her hood tickled her neck and she snuck a glance at Leon. He was still there, beside her, maybe disgruntled but present.

There was something comforting in his presence even if it seemed like he didn't want her company. She suppressed a smirk and carefully kept her eyes from his in case he turned to look at her. There were too many things she wanted to say and if she met those grey hues she didn't know if she could keep it all in.

Thoughts turned back to his question and to Dulvey, Louisiana. Which in turn led her to thinking of Romania. Guilt washed away as fond memories took their place, particularly of an engineer. She should visit soon. It had been at least a month since her last escapade there and she found herself missing it.

As if to interrupt her thoughts she heard a throat clear and glanced back at Leon. He was so close to her, yet emotionally so far it seemed. The rift was ever forming.

"I know a place." She said, voice still lacking its usual sultry tone. It was the only explanation she offered as to their destination. As tempting as it was, especially when he was in such a mood, she didn't feel like being flirty or coy... at least not to her usual extent.

Ada reached for her phone and input the coordinates. The GPS came up with a travel time of two hours. Two entire hours together stuck in a car. This was going to be 'fun', considering her company's mood. She set the phone in the dash after checking the route and put the vehicle in drive. They pulled out slowly, the SUV's headlights shining on their path. Soon they were pulling into falling snow and bitter winds.

The road was hard enough to see but Ada followed it just fine. Snow mostly covered it but there was still a clear enough path to travel. The road was iced in some sections but the tires barely slipped. Ada maneuvered the vehicle with practiced ease, both gloved hands on the wheel. She considered saying something more but found herself without words. What was there to say? She wasn't one to apologize for the unforeseen consequences of her actions. She had been following orders. Others had been the ones to abuse the Mold and experiment with it. Not her. Greed and ambition were two sides of the same coin, one that others had flipped. That was the way of the world. Even if it did hold heavy on her heart, her mind wouldn't let her focus on it. She continued them on their way, silent while driving, her eyes on the road except for the occasional glance she shot towards him.

LEON

Leon wondered, as Ada left him to stare at the markings on the former cell.  "Containment area"...it was a fucking cell.... Was the data he'd uploaded on the cloud?  How much of it had been stored before he destroyed the phone?  Hunnigan might catch up to him, digitally.  Hunnigan wasn't the problem, but Leon doubted even she would be able to stay away once she realized where he might be.  That was where he'd met Ingrid after all...so many years ago.

And a place where so many lives were lost.  Leon's vision blurred and the prisoner's words on the wall swam into red and black smudges.  He hadn't blinked in awhile.  Now he recalled a conversation he'd had with Chris, after the other had returned from Dulvey.  Like most of their confessional talks where they both expressed emotion, it had been in a quiet bar over too much alcohol.  He remembered how upset Chris was over the concept of a bioweapon child.  Leon had only raised his eyebrows knowingly, choosing to not interrupt the man's spiel about Eveline.  

"...you could say, all this, HORROR.  Because of some what, ingrained need?  To have a family.  To play puppets with people's lives.  A toy mommy and daddy."

"Why not," shrugged Leon, tossing back another, "She'd been a puppet herself all along.  How's she supposed to know any different."

Chris's glare told Leon he didn't approve of devil's advocating, but it was all Leon did anymore when not shuttered into silence because of the trauma of his work.  

"Are you suggesting that validates the Bakers suffering?"

"No," Leon said tiredly, pushing the empty glass around the wooden bar.  "I'm saying, kids need to feel safe.  They'll justify anything to feel safe.  They don't reason when they fear."

Chris scoffed.  "Oh, so she tortured and murdered people because she was afraid."

Leon gave a shrug-nod.  It was soon after that Chris changed the subject, getting riled over the blond's deadpan answers to questions that Chris clearly thought warranted outrage.  Leon had considered interrupting to tell Chris he should work with a few more panic-stricken young girls in his career (as Leon had seen over and over again) instead of the ass-kissers on Chris's team, and he might see things differently.  More whiskey won out over that tempting zinger.  For his part, Leon was full of experience, and distaste, of children put in harms way over greedy adults.  Sherry.  Manuela.  Ashley. 

The memory of the bar faded, and he contemplated the words on the wall again.

Morir es vivir.

He backed away, following the sound of Ada's footsteps and still lost in his head.  This time his contemplation was over Spain itself.  More than any other mission, it was the source of his terror, his distrust, his consistent feeling of being a lonely outsider who no one understood or wanted.  For months after the mission was over, Leon pored through the investigative notes, what few remained.  Spain's government had done a fantastic job of covering up the kidnapping incident, and they had authority to disallow any more curious poking by the American Government.  But still, a few aerial images remained, a few reports from agents around the area.  

The land was so remote and its resources so few that no one other than concerned family members returned.  Testing may have been conducted on key points, for the plaga spores or other evidence, but these too were kept under wraps.  It wasn't profitable or habitable, and had turned into another forgotten ghost town as far as citizens were concerned.  With nothing to do but obsess over the area, Leon had finally slowly detached from it, busying himself with other work.  But detached didn't mean gone.  It was a huge part of his psyche, a strange burden he would change shoulder on, but never drop.  

He kept his mind from wandering where Ada fit in with all of this.  He knew Wesker craved the plagas, as had other organizations.  Apparently she still had someone keeping tabs on either the land, or Krauser, or both.  He didn't want to know, really.  Exhausted, he mutely followed her across the parking lot and into a vehicle she blatantly broke into.  He didn't even question it as he slid into the passenger seat.  Owner was probably in the basement.  In pieces.

Leon wondered at her silence as he fumbled to pull the seat back, making room for his long legs.  When Ada still said nothing, he half-sarcastically cleared his throat.  She said rather matter-of-factly, "I know a place."  He raised an eyebrow slowly at this.  

"What, the backseat not good enough anymore?" he shot back, turning to look out the window coolly.  As if to confirm, she operated the GPS on the dash.  He looked at the coordinates, trying to assign meaning to them and failing.  For awhile it was quiet in the vehicle, but after a few minutes of snow, Leon made a halfhearted attempt at communication.  His voice was almost humorless, but retained a hint of his youthful sarcasm.   "Remember the boat?"

ADA

"What, the backseat not good enough anymore?"

Ada turned the wheel, guiding the vehicle around a curve on the road. They still hadn't reached an actual road yet, at least not a fully visible one.

"I remember you needing the extra leg room." Her voice was subdued but still held a playful tone.

It was the first flirtatious thing she'd said in the past hour. Thoughts threatened to turn to the time he was referencing but she clamped down on the memories. There was still too much to consider with the mission. And she would need to call her superiors soon. It dampened her mood to think of making one particular call. But if she wanted her neck to remain bruise free, and to keep breathing, she knew she'd better call...and soon.

"Remember the boat?"

His voice cut through to her and she didn't miss his sarcastic tone. Well, someone was bitter. Ada almost rolled her eyes but kept her eyes on the road.

"Don't worry. You won't need to take the wheel this time." She teased with a sideways glance.

She remembered a similar situation back then. Leon, riding shotgun, his eyes on her with suspicion and confusion while she deftly steered them towards a destination, trying very hard not to look at him. It was funny how the past caught up with someone. History loved to repeat itself, she supposed.

It felt good to banter, even if he was doing it begrudgingly. It helped shake the unease she felt at the previous room and all that lie ahead of them. But it didn't last. Soon her expression fell and she was staring out the windshield again with a somber look.

Ada hadn't prepared to take him to her safehouse. It was only one of many, scattered throughout the world, but it was still a sanctuary to her. But her hands were mostly tied. They both needed a reprieve and she wasn't one to refuse the chance at a shower. Especially not with how she felt. Blood caked her abdomen beneath the bandages and her skin felt grimy beneath her clothes. All the Mold and dirt seeping in, not washed away by snow.

At least they'd be somewhere safe. No one had access to her safehouse, or was even aware of its location. She kept them all under lock and key except for a select few.

Only a few seconds had passed since she'd answered him. Ada shot him another sideways glance, pulling onto the first road that appeared and heading east. Its black asphalt was covered in a dusting of snow but had recently been plowed. Snow continued to fall, quickly covering it again.

"What about it?" She was curious as to why he'd brought the boat up.

He clearly had something on his mind, though whether he would share it had yet to be seen. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, worried at what he might say. She wasn't ready for him to dredge up memories, even semi-fond ones.

 
LEON

He smirked at the leg room comment.  Leon's eyes drifted as the trees melted into one another.  

"Don't worry. You won't need to take the wheel this time."

Oh, was that an apology?  He actually moved his gaze from idly staring out the passenger window to stare sardonically at her.  Sounded as apologetic as she'd get.  How many years had it been? He wasn't even remembering that part, either, which somehow made the comment more insulting.  Maybe he would spare her that information; he turned back to the passing trees.  

"What about it?"

He tapped his fingers on the windowsill.  They were caked with blood.  He looked away from them.  "Well," he began in an unmistakably smug tone, "Mostly the leg view."  He paused, still begrudged with the idea of honesty, but well, he was here wasn't he?  Leon tossed his hair almost defensively before speaking again.  "But I remember thinking, what are the chances?"  He cut his eyes toward her.  "That you were actually there to help. You know."  He sighed, now staring intently at the digital map.  His eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly as he stared at nothing.  "Wondering when you'd hold a gun to my head again."  

Silence became thicker.  He rubbed at his stubble, grimacing internally.  "Mostly though, the leg."  

There was more that he wanted to say, but Leon knew talking into the quiet around Ada would last for hours if he didn't just give up. 

ADA

"Well, mostly the leg view."

Ada smirked, eyes sliding to him.

"But I remember thinking, what are the chances? That you were actually there to help. You know." Her smirk vanished in the blink of an eye. Guilt threatened to turn her stomach. "Wondering when you'd hold a gun to my head again."

He had held a gun to her face twice now in recent times... within the last day or three. Ada bit her tongue from pointing this out. It wouldn't help anything. And she didn't want to start another argument. Oh, but it was tempting to remind him that she wasn't the only one that had taken aim once or twice before. Especially when she had never had the intention of pulling the trigger. Leon was a weak spot for her. Always had been. Always would be. She partially hated this fact, as it made her life a lot more difficult at times, but she also embraced it knowing full well what he meant to her. But all her thoughts would go unsaid, flickering through her mind in milliseconds.

"Mostly though, the leg."

Ada couldn't bring herself to smirk again though her voice did retain its humor.

"I remember a lingering stare." She punctuated her sentence with a click of her tongue.

Seconds passed and it became clear that she wasn't going to comment on his musings. But then, much to her own surprise, she actually did.

"The chances are higher than you may think," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice playful even though she was admitting that she wanted to help him more often than not, "but it's not always a luxury I can afford."

A quiet settled over her, as if depression were taking hold. She quickly wiped it away with a sly grin, her shoulders squaring in her seat.

"Never know. Or a knife to my throat." She was quick to remind him of the threats he had posed, though she kept from bringing up the time he had nearly choked the life out of her.

"You were the only highlight of that trip." She murmured, fighting the threat of history swarming her mind. Seeing Leon in Spain had been the one thing that had brightened her mission, even if she'd had to save his ass more than once. It had also been a curse, being as his presence made him a liability and she had purposely avoided him at times to keep him alive.

She quickly changed tactics, the threat of actual feelings showing through too threatening to her psyche.

"The snow is clearing up."

The Sinful Ancestor

LEON

"I remember a lingering stare." 

He wanted to turn and look at her now, could even feel old hints of a threatening blush start to rise under his skin, but Leon's faded smile remained out the window.  He had definitely stared. His gaze dropped to his hands, and he finally removed his gloves.  They were filthy, and the vehicle was starting to warm up.  Leon flexed his fingers.  Stiff.  From the cold?   

Her silky, teasing response would've been enough for him, but Ada surprised them both when she gave an answer that held a glimmer of honesty.  "The chances are higher than you may think," that she was there to help... "but it's not always a luxury I can afford." 

The statement left him stunned, and for a moment Leon did nearly-blush.  When she continued, reminding him of holding his knife to her throat, Leon finally turned his head toward her, still rendered speechless.  

"You were the only highlight of that trip." 

Oh, he had so many smartass comments for that one.  He would have normally shot back.  So many good ones.  Leon could never miss the opportunity to turn a lighthearted compliment into a sardonic joke.  But his mind was too close to Spain.  And he was still taken aback by her admission that she was--at least when she could afford it, apparently--sometimes there to help him.  

Leon knew that, but still.  They didn't openly discuss it.  He figured even admitting to it could cost Ada greatly.  Just one of the many topics they danced around, when they danced.  His eyes were still on her.  His left hand was less grimy than his face or coat, having been covered by the gloves, but he still hesitated before he dropped his palm over her thigh.  

The urge for a jockish, half-smiled quip was burning, but Leon's face remained serious as he raised his eyebrows when he spoke.  "So were you."  The deepening realization that they were returning--he, going rogue yet again on a 'mission'--wove some unexplainable, unreadable expression on his features.  It muted the quip and even the smile he'd normally give when breaking the 'rules' to touch her.  
His palm was warm on the cool fabric--Leon didn't want to think about what was on it.  He gave a reassuring squeeze and then pulled away, dropping his elbow on his armrest and sighing.  She spoke again, confirming the change of pace and conversation.  

"The snow is clearing up."  

The strange, concerned expression slid away from his features and Leon blinked.  He wondered where they were going but knew better to ask.  Besides, the fact remained--they would eventually end up where they knew Krauser was.  A place they both wanted to avoid, and had probably thought they'd never see again. He had another few quips in mind to respond to the snow comment, but Leon had already quelled the compulsion once.  It wasn't hard to resist a second time.  

He ran his right palm across his face quickly.  Leon could have spent two minutes slowly dragging it across his features instead, but he never allowed himself that kind of emotional kitsch.  However, he did rub at the stubble on his chin longer than he would've liked; he needed to shave.  He didn't dare pull down the visor and look for a mirror.  His ego couldn't handle it.  

Leon had to find another mental path or he would collapse.  His blond head hit the chair rest as he reclined.  Detective work.  What was even happening?  His exhaustion fogged his cognition, but he spoke aloud in a way he rarely did.  Leon could piece together the puzzle on his own, but if he and Ada were going to be a team--despite her hand in the Dulvey incident, whatever it was--they needed to brief together. 

"So."  It wasn't an answer to the weather comment.  Ada knew him well enough, he was comfortable launching into his thoughts.  "What we know so far...Krauser is alive."  He raised his palm as if this were enough.  "He was some kind of...bodyguard, or something, who had interactions with a bioweapon that..." the images of the workers, fused with plagas, writhing in blood and guts, threatened to take over his brain.  He pushed forward.  "...had some connections with Las Plagas."  There, he said it out loud.

"Maybe that's what brought him to the facility."  He tossed his hair almost impatiently.  "We don't know that part.  But...he was bringing her something.  Books."  Leon remembered the hastily stacked pages of printed journals in the ransacked hotel room.  His eyes widened.  "He was...teaching her, maybe." 

Enough with Krauser.  The man's intent with the parasite had always been clear.  Well, clear to a psycho, but clear enough to put on paper as motivation.  Leon changed his thoughts, remembering the grainy footage of the child.  "Originally she was kept in this cell, until he got her out, and they went south.  Her having some kind of connection with the Mold means she was able to affect others' memories of her."  The hotel manager.  The people he'd interviewed.  "The only civilians who remembered seeing her were the ones who brought her to the hospital.  Maybe she was really injured or maybe they needed some kind of supplies before..." 

He turned to her, biting another impulse to hound her for questions.  "Did your source say anyone was with Krauser?  Did he take her there?"  

KRAUSER

Krauser sighed over the modest meal he'd cooked and went yet again to tell the girl to eat.  She had been obsessed with the library and art gallery since arriving; it was endearing, the way she brushed dust from the portraits and pulled books from their shelves, even though she hadn't learned much Spanish.  

Before he could get the words out, she had slipped her hand over his forearm and was tugging him toward a large portrait, freshly cleaned, a candelabra nearby burning its converted incandescent lights.  

"Do you know who these are?"  The portrait was of three...siblings?  all with the same dark brown hair and rather steely expressions.  Two were men, one woman, and she had a gleam of something rather insane in her eyes.  

"No," Krauser said a little glumly.  He truthfully wasn't interested in the past--the future had always been his point of focus.  Maybe to a fault.  

"These are the three Salazar siblings who revived the Los Illuminados for the second time.  This was in the 1750's."  Her pale finger pointed delicately at the oil-painted clothing.  "Rococo era.  They dug up so much history and converted the village again.  It must have been so wonderful to see their balls and their gowns and--" she let go of his arm long enough to do a very childlike, graceful twirl in imitation of an apparent Rococo dancer.  

Jack smiled despite his sour expression.  He was happy that she was enjoying herself.  It was wonderful, he had to admit.  To be here.  Away from that fucking facility.  Away from playing nice to the doctors and security.  They'd paid.  It had been a long time coming, but they were home.  It didn't feel real, he realized, taking time to admire the paintings himself.  All of the faces on the wall looked as though they were hiding secrets.  Some were frightened, some sly.  Some curious, but all with something behind the eyes.  

He nodded as if to reaffirm something to himself.  It wasn't just about power, strength, order.  It was for these peaceful moments, too.  She had latched on to the more spiritual history--Jack was too utilitarian for that, but he believed it strengthened their strange bond.  Also, the girl had powers that eclipsed his, and anyone else other than other E-series models.  The plaga gave her the stability to age somewhat normally, or so it seemed.  Her recognition of her abilities made her relate to the concept of a plaga Queen, and well--here they were, in a castle.  He could appreciate the poetry, even if he didn't feel like a knight or some other protective figure.  

She ran through the long art gallery, gathering the small pieces of jewelry that she'd begun to find and carry.  Her bare feet made no sound on the carpeted marble.  "I know, I know, it's dinner time."  Their eyes met and they both smiled this time, Krauser's looking more like a nostril flare. She clutched a few strings of pearls, dripping with gems, to the silken nightgown she'd chosen to wear. 

"But can we please come back aft--"

"Yeah," he said in his deadpan tone, nostrils still flared. Jack spun on his boot.   Unlike the girl, he hadn't changed his manner of dress.  She had been a prisoner since birth, relegated to ugly hospital gowns and nothing nice.  Krauser chose his prison of soldier, donned it without a second thought.  There was no other way to him.  

But he stopped when he noticed a curtain that was almost purposely neglected.  It surrounded one of the largest paintings he'd seen so far.  The painting itself was in a recessed wall, as though hiding.  Jack tilted his head at the strange sight; it was as though the painting were being punished, or shunned.  Even its placement seemed off.  He pointed with a gloved finger, stepping toward the wall almost automatically. 

"What's this one." 

The curtains on it were halfway open, but he saw the large drawstring on the side--ornately decorated, despite the shame at whoever hid in the shadows--and tugged.  When the remaining curtains fell away, the light in the room was enough to show--not what he'd expected.  It was a well done portrait of a man standing under a stormy sky, dressed ornately, a sword in his grasp.  The painting looked older, Karl realized.  It also had several gashes across the canvas--it had been stabbed at some point. 

Mila was at his side like a pale ghost in moments.  Her rosy cheeks were moving into a frown.  "The first castellan." 

Jack's gaze snapped back to the face.  "No way."  

Even he knew enough Los Illuminados history to recognize that name.  

Ramon had called him, what was it??  the sinful ancestor.  The one who...

"He sealed up the plagas under the castle," Krauser semi stated, semi asked.  

The girl nodded, eyeing the painting with disgust.   "Such a stupid, cruel thing to do." 

Krauser shrugged.  "Guess he thought he had more power than he did." 

She tilted her head, as if considering this.  "Well...but...he did have power." 

His blond head turned down toward hers.  "What do you mean?" 

"He was part of a ceremony."  She paused, as if trying to convey what she knew to Krauser.  The girl closed her eyes, long lashes casting shadows on her cheekbones.  "I saw it.  And read about it."  

Krauser didn't inquire to the accuracy of any non-Mold consciousness...he wasn't interested.  He was interested in what she had to say.  

"When they gave him the Gift, he got to go to the original home, here, of the Queen."  Jack knew in theory what these words meant, but she apparently had a much more clear picture of the rituals of the old cult.  The date on the painting's plaque read 1481, and that was Jack's only clue to this man's relevance in time. The cult had been around far longer, as he'd seen on his own at the island and its prehistoric carvings. 

"And she gave him something else.  He wrote about it in his diary.  I could barely read anything, it was too hard.  I saw it though, in dreams." 

"She? The...plaga--...?"

"The Queen," Mila corrected, assuredly.  "She saw his devotion and wanted to make him devoted to her.  She gave him the power to choose, to wield his own mind." 

"So no one could control him after that," Krauser guessed, peering up at the hardened expression on the brunette man's face.  Krauser was almost in awe.  To think that a parasite could sense loyalty, and then...give someone a chance to prove themselves.  Bizarre.  But it followed with everything he'd seen in his strange life.  

She was nodding fervently.  "And he controlled the others."  

Jack's blond eyebrows raised in surprise.  "Wow, she really handed over the reins." 

"Instead of converting, he came back and sealed them all up under the first castle.  He killed loyal servants.  And converted everyone to Christianity." She was offended at the memory of it, her voice dripping with anger. 

Jack's mouth drew up into a strange line, as if he were at peace with the summary.  "Guess these curtains make sense then." 

"The disgrace of the family," she agreed, turning back toward the dining area.  "Come on!  I'm actually hungry now."  

He watched her zip through the gold-trimmed hallway and smiled one more time before heading back after her.  Every family had its failures, he thought as he left the room without glancing again at the portrait of the First Castellan.  

Chapter End Notes

Go on, read my other fic, about the first castellan. You know you want to.

Untouched Realities

ADA

The drive was uneventful, thankfully, and time passed quickly.

"So. What we know so far... Krauser is alive."

"Unfortunately."

"He was some kind of... bodyguard, or something, who had interactions with a bioweapon that... had some connections with Las Plagas."

"Mhm."

"Maybe that's what brought him to the facility. We don't know that part. But... he was bringing her something. Books. He was... teaching her, maybe."

Ada tapped one manicured index against the top of the steering wheel in response. She turned the vehicle towards the right, taking an exit off the main road. Another right led them down a path that had barely been plowed, the snow getting deeper the farther they traveled though not so deep as to be a problem for their transportation.

She wasn't completely ready to talk about Krauser, but it wasn't often Leon shared his thoughts so she bit back any disgust she felt at the man's name. A subtle clearing of her throat was the only indication that she felt slightly uncomfortable discussing the power-hungry lout. Thankfully, though, it would seem Leon had had enough of the topic as well because he changed tactics quite suddenly.

"Originally she was kept in this cell, until he got her out, and they went south. Her having some kind of connection with the mold means she was able to affect others' memories of her. The only civilians who remembered seeing her were the ones who brought her to the hospital. Maybe she was really injured or maybe they needed some kind of supplies before..."

She wouldn't have the chance to insist that he elaborate before he was diving into pressing her with questions instead.

"Did your source say anyone was with Krauser? Did he take her there?"

Ada's lips parted to answer him when her phone began buzzing. A sideways glance, furtive and discreet, revealed the caller ID: Karl. She reached down to silence it with a dainty motion, her hand quickly returning the wheel. The screen continued to glow with the name for several more seconds before it went dark.

"Yes." She answered both questions in one, though she felt it would appear cryptic to Leon. "We're here."

Ahead of them, snow no longer falling, lie a small ranch style house. Ada pulled up the road, which revealed itself to be its driveway, and parked just outside of the garage. She turned off the engine, unbuckled, and exited the vehicle, snatching her phone from the center console in one fluid motion as she slipped out. Feet sank several inches into uncleared snow along the path leaving apparent footprints as she approached the front door.

Ada pulled at her right glove, sliding it off her hand and pressed a single finger to the lower left corner of a window pane on the storm door. She kept it there until she heard a chirp and a click. Turning the knob she pulled the door open and then opened the main door. She didn't wait for Leon, instead stepping into her safehouse and immediately feeling grateful for the little warmth it provided. Making a beeline for the thermostat she set the heat and listened to the air that immediately began blowing out of the vents situated around the main room and hallway.

"Home, sweet home." She tossed at him, offering a half-smile. In truth, it was a safehouse she didn't visit often but it was kept up to her standards by the housekeeper she'd hired. The woman had her own way of entry and kept her mouth shut.

Shrugging out of her coat, Ada let it fall to the floor on the tile near the front door and ran the fingers of her bare hand through her hair, untangling it and fixing her bangs. Without pause, she moved to the kitchen circling around the island and stools set to the left. Her phone was deposited on the island and left alone. A bit of rummaging in a cabinet and she pulled free a bottle of liquor and a single glass. She was in no rush to open the bottle, taking her time with it, and then poured the amber liquid into the glass filling it about halfway. Then Ada gently slid the glass of whiskey across the counter towards him. If she drank whiskey, she'd join him, but it wasn't really her style. It was, in sorts, a peace offering. She didn't have ice so he'd have to take it or leave it as it was.

"The shower is in the back, to the right. Master bedroom." She explained, urging him to go first. Whether he finished the drink or not, or even took a sip at all, was entirely on him. "Razors are in the third drawer from the top, center." She had noticed his lingering touch on his stubble and took a guess that he may appreciate the opportunity to clean up fully.

Already, her attention was elsewhere as she flitted about the room. She stood by the door, where a square of tile was instead of carpet, and removed her snow-soaked boots. Peeling off her socks next, she held them in a hand and disappeared through a door to deposit them in the dirty laundry. Bare feet padded against plush carpet when she returned. It felt good to be in a place she knew was secure. It was freeing. No parasites to haunt her. No Krauser to hurt her ego or ruffle her feathers. Just a sanctuary, bought and cleared and well-tended.

The furniture was a dark grey, seeming all the darker against the pristine, thick, beige carpet. A scarlet red blanket was expertly folded and thrown across one corner of the three-cushioned couch. The chair set to the side looked overstuffed and beckoning... but she didn't sit. She stopped by the area only long enough to reach under the lampshade of the light set on the glass top table between the two and switch it on. A clean glow fell across the room, scattering the shadows that were slowly creeping in from the setting sun outside the windows.

Ada grabbed her tattered coat and then peeled the other glove off her opposite hand. She eyed both and sighed. They were not only ruined but contaminated. She didn't have the proper tools or resources for disposal. The trash would have to do. She threw both away and then washed her hands in the kitchen sink, pulling up her sleeves and soaping her arms up to the elbows. A few paper towels saw her dry and ready for the next step. But before that...

She wandered down the hall, feet guiding her without light, until she stood in the master bedroom. She could hear the water running in the bathroom. Ignoring it, she went to the closet and began pulling and pushing clothes aside on their hangers. A pair of slacks with cargo pockets and a fitted shirt were flung to the king sized bed. Then, after a little more commotion, she pulled free a jacket. It was dark brown, leather, with grey stripes winding around the wrists about two inches from the cuffs.

Ada was a woman well prepared for any scenario and now was no different. Long ago she had, to herself, broached the subject of Leon possibly being in one of her safehouses and what it would mean to her security. It was a topic she'd dwelled on and for which she'd reached several conclusions. None of them had ever come to fruition though, at least not until now. Had he not destroyed his own phone already, she may have done it for him once she'd decided this was where they were headed. And by 'may'... she definitely would have even at his protest.

She laid out the fresh clothes for him on the bed where they would be visible the moment he stepped out and then deftly closed the bedroom door behind her as she returned to the main area. There existed no question they would fit him and were his style. She had known him for years and was a perceptive person. Her own change of clothes would wait until she was showered and clean. She longed for the softness of her skin after a spray of hot water and thorough scrubbing. All of the mold encountered had left her feeling like she was ready to crawl out of her own skin, and that wasn't even counting the wounds and having the chance to clean and bandage them.

Ada wasn't sure how long it would take him but guessed that she had enough time for one more thing. She quickly dug through the cabinets and fridge after turning on a burner on the stove. The pan quickly heated while she mixed ingredients. The housekeeper kept the kitchen well stocked knowing that the owner could return at any time. Cooking helped clear her mind, sort her thoughts, though it was another luxury she was only allowed in between jobs. Soon the concoction was nestled in the pan and bubbling until it was time to flip.

Several minutes later she heard steady footfalls from the hall. Ada turned, plate in hand, and set it on the island. Fingertips pushed the plate piled high with pancakes toward one of the seats. A clean fork, butter, and syrup quickly followed set around the plate in easy reach. Whether he wanted to or not Ada was suspicious that he needed to eat. Without a word, or a glance, she rounded the area, and him, and disappeared into the bedroom and into the bathroom. The sound of rushing water quickly followed and the bathroom door clicked closed.

Ada slowly removed her clothes and stood in front of the mirror. Fingertips gently rubbed along her injury in her abdomen. The skin around it was puckered and an angry red. It had stopped oozing blood but had yet to scab fully. It was tender to the touch but no longer had the black substance eking out of it, if it ever had unbeknownst to her.

As she climbed into the hot water, instantly relaxing, her phone left behind on the kitchen counter next to the plate of pancakes began to buzz again. The name 'Karl' lit up on the screen but Ada would never know. She was too busy bracing against the shower wall with her palms, fingers splayed, letting the hot water rush down her back and soothe her aching body.

---

The door to the bedroom opened and Ada stepped out. She had opted for another set of black pants, fitted and slender to the ankle, and a button up red silk shirt. She remained barefoot as she approached the living area. Her hair was still damp and her bangs clung to her forehead. Caramel hues sought him out and found him quickly enough. She had had plenty of time to think while showering and dressing. And she'd come to a conclusion. If they were truly to work together, and the situation was making it more and more obvious they would need to work together, she could afford to share a little more information.

She'd debated telling Leon who her source was but the possibility of a confrontation was not something she was ready to face. Best to keep that tidbit of information off the table until it was absolutely necessary, considering the past. With any luck, the two would never need encounter each other even if they were going to be in the same location. She wasn't betting on luck holding out but it would have to do for now. A lot of things would 'have to do', but she'd make the best of it as she always did.

LEON

"Did your source say anyone was with Krauser? Did he take her there?"

"Yes."

This exchange reverberated in his head. She announced their arrival to an unused summer home, situated at the top of a large, weaving driveway. Leon's palm attempted to support his chin, but the scratch of stubble bothered him. He dropped his arm to the windowsill of the SUV.

Yes.

His detective skills and rapid conclusions were often praised. But Leon found himself hating most of those conclusions as time went on. He thought back to his conversation with Chris, Chris's disgust at the girl in Dulvey. His eyes drifted past the billowing snow and toward the darkened mountains. How would he have responded? How would he treat a child that was both abused and murderous? Leon had hoped to never find out. Chasing down Krauser was one thing. He instead chose to mull on the choice Krauser had made. Kidnapping a bio-weapon. Taking her...there. What were his motives? Who was he working for?

When the vehicle stopped Leon's internal monologue paused. He blinked, staring at the house as though it appeared out of a fog. He could appreciate the irony of always hoping he would end up at one of Ada's treasured secret places. Mostly he watched her departures, knowing she was going somewhere hidden. He always wanted to follow, or a part of him did. Now they were here. Both cold, exhausted, filthy, and feeling at irreparable odds with each other. It was not the idealized scenario he'd hoped for.

Leon side-eyed the house as Ada unlocked the door. He turned to the SUV, gathering his weapons and shouldering them. Maybe it was paranoia. But by this time in his career, he anticipated everything. Walking even into Ada Wong's house without his own backup could be suicide. Ada disappeared in front of him and he paused on the entryway to turn with purpose, surveying the area. Nothing but trees, forest, blackened mountaintops, and a canvas of fresh snow. No tracks. No sounds. Nothing on the horizon.

"Sorry, Hunnigan," he muttered, turning away and pulling the door closed behind him.

-----------------

Leon figured Ada would immediately take ten bleach baths. The woman couldn't even handle dirt under her nails and was more finicky than most knew. He felt surprise to see her instead in the kitchen, pouring whiskey. His grey eyes dropped to the bottle, and then back to her. Leon's lips parted--she wasn't rolling in pine-sol. She also looked very domestic.

So that's all it took, huh. Decades of near death scenarios and secret rendezvous. A very uncomfortable amount of time spent wondering if she were human. And yet in her own home, she looked ready to don an apron and a feather duster. What a transition. and yeah, that'd be a look.

His eyebrow raised, and he realized the whiskey poured was another apology attempt. Leon fought the bitterness of that notion. Instead he glanced behind him, not wanting to ask if he could hose off grime and mold. She might have noticed this subtle questioning glance and said, "The shower is in the back, to the right. Master bedroom."

The urge to again flirt rose. While he pondered a reply about joining him, she added, "Razors are in the third drawer from the top, center." Leon's face abruptly fell and he rubbed at his chin. The sound was sickening. Okay, yeah, no flirting. His expression darkened and he reached toward the whiskey.

Could he...handle it here? Leon's dependency waxed and waned based on his missions and their aftermath. While he wasn't facing aftermath currently, he sure was staring down a hell of a path. Guns didn't scare him, even death didn't usually rattle him. His dependency was a different story.

This was Ada's territory, not his--this was her safe place, not his. And he wasn't exactly singing her praises right now. It was a rift, but how deep did the rift go? He knew if Chris could appear to offer advice, Leon would be in a headlock getting punched repeatedly. Leon couldn't even trust his own judgment anymore.

His frown deepened as he reached forward for the glass. Had he ever trusted his judgment of Ada? The agent downed the drink in one inhale. She'd only set out one glass. He warned himself yet again against trusting anything. The glass clinked against the granite-topped island as he slid it away. Ada wasn't paying attention to him, instead ridding herself of mud, blood, and mold infested clothing.

"All right," he offered far too late. "Thanks."

He followed her example by peeling off his coat and boots at the foyer. Weapons still slung over his shoulder, he headed toward the bathroom. It did feel surreal, he realized. But not at all like he'd hoped. The whiskey still tingled in his stomach, bringing with it a reassuring feeling of warmth. Leon finally let go of the rifles and shotgun, depositing them in the space under the bed out of sight. His handgun stayed on him until he was in the bathroom.

He continued to listen intently for any unexpected sounds. He also avoided the mirror--no need to destroy his psyche right now. Leon's countenance lifted when he turned the product bottles around. Everything was feminine. Dainty. Overly descriptive, pink and gold hued, fragrantly scented bath items. Lavender rosemary spice, or strawberry white tea? He scoffed but didn't hesitate--anything to get the grime from his skin.

He felt a jolt through his body--Leon stared at his hands, which abruptly turned black. He stared, not daring to cry out. The water turned black. Cascaded down his front. His feet blackened.

Tear away your flesh--a voiceless thought, appeared in his mind.

Leon stumbled, blinked, and now his hands looked chapped, reddened. Normal. Water flowed in clear streams around his neck and shoulders. He glanced at the bottom of the pristine white shower stall. What the fuck? The blond scanned the empty bathroom, and then inspected under his nails again. Needed more scrubbing. Then he had a strange thought. The mold doesn't like a clean host. Can't grow as well.

As bizarre as that thought was, he realized it was even more bizarre to consider he was a host. What did that mean for him? Was he fully infected? What was he even infected with? Mold? What about the plagas?

The passive realization of Spain being his last mission hit Leon with only the accompaniment of hissing shower water. He tilted his head back to rinse the soap from his hair. Well, that was fine. Sad, but fine. He remembered Luis, how Luis had helped Leon and Ashley while they were hosts to the implanted eggs. What he'd give for Luis to be around now. Even though Luis would have way of knowing about Miranda or her mold.

He felt a similar urge rising to be around Rebecca. She could have likewise comforted him. It wasn't often that Leon wanted or even could tolerate being comforted. Conversely, the option of ending up like anybody in Chris's report was chilling. The blond tried to reassure himself as he stepped out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist and fumbled through Ada's bathroom storage for the razors.

Chris himself was at the property, for months after, in fact, Leon mused. He had been decontaminated like normal and had no ill effects. Maybe it took more for the point of no return. Maybe it took a vessel like Eveline to actually bond parasite to host. A purposeful manipulation by a conscious entity. Saddler came to mind abruptly.

The pathogens weren't always the bad guy. The human element, though...Always.

Taking a breath, Leon swiped the mirror and braced for the worst. In the still-foggy, water-dotted glass, he examined his torso, then face and hair. He purposely ignored making eye contact with himself. Bruises, a huge laceration down his side. His skin was battered, but clean. Nothing that would need stitches. He moved gently, feeling the cracked ribs and internal bruising. But no sharp pain, no warning sirens from his body now that the adrenaline was gone. Good enough. Satisfied, the agent approached the mirror even more closely. His right hand gripped a razor handle. Pear-scented-shaving-lotion was across his left fingers.

He had to face the stubble, even if he couldn't meet his own eyes. So while suds appeared as he rubbed across his jaw and chin, Leon glared at the hated patchy grime of hair. Intrusively, he considered bearing down hard with the razor and peeling up his own skin. Like a cheese slicer. He blinked rapidly.

His hand was shaking when he finally made contact, razor to skin. The lightest, but most confident, brush. This caused his breathing to quicken in shock-- he wasn't actually hurt. Leon had all the finesse in the world, even when his mind was against him. His body, as it always did, took over. Took care of him. Muscle memory. He shaved expertly, his hand never wavering or moving harshly.

When his hand dipped into the sink a second time to clean the blade, he finally--accidentally--shifted his eyes and caught his own gaze. Terror-stricken. Panic in his eyes. They were blue. Leon was hyperventilating. Memories of Raccoon City were soon filtering past his mindful focus. He could hear voices, sounds, see rain-blurred taillights reflected on asphalt. The razor appeared back on his cheek, moving softly down his face and the memory vanished. Leon was able to look away. His eyes scanned back down to his jaw. The side littered with lines of shaving lotion, but was otherwise bare. He continued staring, blinking at the tears that cascaded down his face and into the sink.

---------------------

He recovered by the time he left the bathroom, and Leon paused at the clothes on the bed. They hadn't been here before. Ada. He'd almost forgotten she was here somewhere. He lay the tattered, blood-soaked tactical vest on the blanket (she was going to kill him) and then paused to look at the outfit. It was his style. She always knew. Impeccable.

It wasn't the first time Ada had brought him clothing, but it was the first time it had happened during a mission. Was that what this was? Their mission. Again, not what he'd had in mind. As he contemplated taking the clothes, a smell caught his attention. Before he could comprehend it, Leon was in the hallway, still dripping wet. He sniffed, as if in disbelief, and his eyes widened at the sight of Ada behind the tall plate of pancakes.

This had to be another hallucination from the mold. His lips were apart again, an open expression of wonder crossing his face. She swiftly approached, passing him without a word, causing Leon to stumble against the wall. As she passed, he realized how unclothed and still-humid he was. All was silent and he stared at the closed door until he heard the shower start.

Leon gripped the towel and his lips twisted into a smirk. Yeah, there was the reaction he'd awaited. With a shake of his head he left the hallway and moved into the kitchen. It may not have been the dream he'd had, but this trip--mission?--was a fever dream all on its own.

------------------

Maybe it was the comfort of the pancakes, but Leon became lost in another memory while he ate.

Her first contact with him after Lanshiang was as cryptic as any other contact. An invite--optional--to a private gala where she would be engaged in political espionage. Leon had long since pieced together the situation with Simmons forcing Carla Radames to spawn into a clone of the spy. Leon had smugly noted the depths of obsession that far overwhelmed his own.

And yet after he accepted the invite and booked his flight, it was still not spoken of. It took hours with Ada in an informal capacity, while dressed in a tuxedo, for him to broach the subject. While it had been traumatic for him to see, he read disgust and disdain across her face when he mentioned it. She'd almost shuddered. Like everything else 'work' related, she seemed repulsed by the idea of discussing it with him. So he'd attempted reassurance instead.

"There's only one Ada Wong," he'd said with a boyish, too-wide smile. "But it's not that hard to see you as something more. Not like a bioweapon. Not a...creature gone wrong. Just something more."

He hadn't elaborated, hadn't needed to.

Now here in the safe house, the other side of the coin was showing. Finally. Quarters together. Taking turns in the shower. Pancakes. Playing house like normal people. That night, they'd had that conversation too.

After the dancing and speeches and unlimited bar, the two returned to her hotel room. They said everything they needed to, physically. Leon assumed after, as he always did, that she would change gears and go do her work, leaving him to his own devices. He left the bed to stand at the balcony outside, his eyes scanning over the town's warm winter lights below. His bare arms rested on the cold metal railings and a glance at the building's balcony faces showed that he was alone on this freezing, snowy night. Other hotel guests had the sensibility to stay inside their rooms. He allowed his eyes to drift back toward the landscape.

She did appear, to his surprise, after several minutes. Also to his surprise, she had changed clothes but was barefoot. Red-bottomed heels were in one hand and when she felt the bite of the cold, he saw her slight frown. She glanced around him as if to confirm no one was holding him hostage out here, shirtless and broody. Seemingly satisfied, she bent to slide one shoe on. His favorite. Well, second favorite, first favorite was when the heel came off. But he smirked back at her, wondering if Ada was actually letting her guard down. Checking on him without being fully dressed? Unheard of.

He looked up toward the sky, seeking what few stars were in the gaps of the clouds. "You know how they say there's parallel universes," he mused. He could almost feel her raised eyebrow on the back of his neck. "Every different decision creates a new world."

She was still listening, but he knew she was cold. He wanted to approach her, wrap his arms around her, put his face next to hers, Leon continued to lean on the rails. That was for another world's Leon, he supposed.

"Wonder what we're like there." It wasn't meant to sound scornful, but maybe it did. He turned to look at her again to show his sincerity and lack of malice. His eyes almost had a tinge of blue in them, as though just thinking about it could change his age, his path.

"No need for a midnight undercover. No need for the heels." At this, Ada had balked, and he grinned. "You'd be in...slippers. Pink fuzzy cat slippers." Her reply was a deeply disgusted noise. Still, she canted her head to the side as though she found this alternate reality intriguing.

He did turn now, stretching, the cold settling across his skin and head. When he exhaled, he could see his own breath. "You can keep the silk robe."

When she scoffed, he realized her lips were turning blue. Leon stared at her lips for a moment and then moved to the door, gesturing them both inside.

"And you?" she countered, still sounding insulted. "Let me guess. Moccasins, and flannel pajama pants."

"Oh yeah," he nodded. "In front of the TV. Keeping up with reruns." He slid the balcony door closed and returned to the bed. He stretched out, knowing he would be alone until the late hours of the morning. "While you make pancakes and eggs for dinner."

"Those are breakfast foods," she argued, reaching for her coat.

"Not in that world."

"And where am I going, in that world?" she humored, now gracefully donning a coat and laying out her gloves in front of her. She pulled one on and Leon paused to stare at her slender fingers before answering.

"Grocery shopping," he decided, and chuckled as soon as the words spilled out. Her nearly-crimson lips turned upward as she considered it. Humor danced behind her eyes. When she lifted the other glove, he continued, "You wouldn't leave until daytime. Normal person. Groceries and then a PTA meeting."

Now the silky smile slowly faded. Leon's focus on her hand went somewhere else, somewhere deeper. "You've got a bone to pick with the principal about how he's handling...."

Leon trailed off, knowing nothing about what bone someone would pick with a principal. What righteous parental anger would feel like. He felt the familiar pang of an emotional knife through his own heart. Surprisingly it was Ada who spoke while his eyes misted.

"But you're coming with me...for backup, right?" There was no hypothetical humor in the question. Ada didn't complete his sentence; she also didn't know what arguments to bring to a school authority. As if he'd heard fingers snapping, his head jolted back toward her. He saw the glassy look in her eyes as well. Leon had to swallow the lump in his throat as he answered while Ada put on the second glove.

"Oh yeah. I'm showing up in my flannels." He decided, ever witty, but with no smirk this time.

-------------

Leon ate, dressed and moved to recline in the quiet, warmly lit living area. His eyes did their familiar scan, finding nothing important. He did realize with some sadness that this home had never and would never be truly lived in. Very reminiscent of his own living spaces.

Living wasn't done at home. Maybe living wasn't done at all. He often felt like he had a purpose. A greater set of ideals that moved him through the slog of death after death, decay after failure. He would feel up to harnessing those ideals later, but for now, he just wanted to rest.

She was silent when she exited the bedroom, but he still sensed her presence. From the angle he sat, he could stare down the hallway and smirked when she appeared. Hair damp and no shoes? This was absolutely a fever dream. He propped his temple on his fist, trying to read her expression. Failing. Again he sensed with no real source that she was contemplating telling him something. Not wanting to tell him anything. A familiar sensation.

"Whatever it is," he began, more steadily than he had spoken in what felt like days, "I'll let you tell me when you're feeling up to it." Leon moved from a recline to laying on the couch, lacing his fingers behind his head. He pulled one knee up to drape over the couch--legroom, as she'd put it earlier. He could feel no safer than he currently felt, especially with the handgun wedged in a waist carrier at his side. His body was screaming at him for sleep, and he could trust it.

"You don't mind if I take the couch."