Chapter Text
“Ada?” It barely sounds like her name — as if she were underwater, sound doesn’t travel right to her ears. Instead it’s distorted, distant, and warbling. A record playing in the other room. Only the bass carries through the thick walls. “Hey — Ada.”
The floor is solid white, easy to get lost in — and that’s what she’d call it — getting lost. As if her mind could divorce from her body and float in a pool above her. Unaware, unattached, and free from the confines of the form. Nothing to keep her here, nothing to hold her down. She floats.
It’s been a long time since she’d done it — never on purpose. It began happening when she was a child. She'd watch herself from above often then, and she would never look quite like herself. Her small body, underneath a man old enough to be her grandfather. No, that's not her. Her small body, beaten and bloodied to the precipice of falling unconscious, left splayed out on the damp, cement basement. That's not her either. Her small body, wringing the life out of another small body, her hands tightening around its scrabbling throat. That’s not her.
Yet, it is.
She recognizes the memory, sees through her eyes in first person. This is not an embryo implanted in the womb of the tormented mind. That is her body. These are her hands.
"Ada."
Why does it keep calling her name?
Ada watches herself, her eyes unnaturally wide but unalert, staring forward at a single point on the ground. Her arms wrapped around her knees. Her body locked in a highly secure cell made for the worst of the worst and whatever lies beyond that. And that voice, that comes from beyond her scope, something moving in the corner of her eye.
She watches herself blink, and even separated, she feels her eyes sting with the strain of dryness. Ada can feel the gravity of her body, beginning to pull her back into orbit — but she's not ready yet. She doesn't want to go back.
"Ada — Can she hear me?" The voice spits with frustration, but not at her.
It’s clearer now, familiar to her ears and clearly familiar with her. She's not ready. She wants to stay away. She wants to float — but the drain has been tugged from the tub and Ada is nothing but a victim to the force of the current, swirling around her and taking her down, down, down, back to her body.
Her body – Ada tilts her head to her side.
"Yeah, she ignores us too," A second, similarly gruff voice comes from behind the panel.
On the other side of thick plexi glass is Leon Kennedy, nearly pressed up against the observation panel, his expression tightened with concern but level with professionalism. Chris Redfield loiters behind him, leaning against the back wall, it might even seem casual if it weren't for the deadly glare pointed her way.
"Hey," Leon's voice is still underwater, but she sees the word move out of his mouth and the relief washing over him. She blinks out the slight blur to her vision and he comes into better focus. "Hey…” He says once more, tentative and perhaps a little sad. He's dressed himself in a suit, Ada doesn't know why he would be wearing one. Maybe she does, she can't quite place it yet. The lapels are unironed and by the state of his scruff, he hasn't shaved in a while. On a positive note, his skin seems clearer, maybe he hasn't been drinking recently.
Recently — when did she see him last again? How long has she been here?
It's dangerous for her to be losing track of time like this. She held out as long as she could, which was — long, she assumes. Not good. This isn't good for her. She needs to stay aware enough to see an opening when it ultimately presents itself.
Each of her joints creak when she finally moves, evidence of the time that must have passed in this position. It sets her on edge, but she doesn't show it. Ada knows her weaknesses, leaving her body has been both a blessing and a curse in the past. She cannot show it now — this is a stage for her to perform. If not for Chris Redfield and his team of idiots, then for Leon, who is more destructive than any galewind when he puts his mind to it.
Clarity returns in waves through her mind's eye, the tide washing out, asking questions, the tide washing back in, carrying answers. Imprisonment, Injury, Trial, Carla.
That's right. She'd been caught. Plain and simple.
How long has it been? More than a few weeks. She lost count at three. The artificial sunlight does not tell time here.
Ada stretches her arms above her head and tenses all of her muscles with a groan before releasing and breathing out a heavy sigh. She had been taking care of her body — for a long time actually, she remembers that — but the longer she waited, the further she seemed to drift away.
Leon braces himself when she saunters towards him, deliberate and daunting. She towers over him in the plaformed cell, and there's not a single sign of weakness in her posture. Her appearance tells a different story. A nasty stitched wound on her hair line, half covered by her bangs, but not enough that it hides its severity. A bruise spanning the length of her forearm is painted in faded dark purples, and surrounded by aged yellow edges. Underneath her white tanktop are thick bandages, swaddling her waist completely.
Ada stops in front of him, as close as she can get to the thick glass between them. She glares down her nose at him, that unknowable and pensive look. He may as well be her enemy as long as he stands on this side of the glass.
"If I knew I was having company, I would have freshened up," She says without her usual light-hearted lilt. No, she sounds more serrated than her words suggest. Leon is brutally aware of the tension in the room, whether from the guillotine Chris is hovering over them, or the frustration wafting off himself, or the — whatever — is going on with Ada. He wouldn't expect her to be afraid, and she doesn't seem to be. Angry, likely, but there's more. There's always more with her.
"Ada—" His words die in his throat. She's never looked this ragged to him before. Not even in the sewers of Raccoon City.
"Something you want to say?" Ada squats down, sitting back onto her feet to level her eyes with his, even without her heels she can balance perfectly, "Want to ask me how I've been, handsome?"
"You look like shit," Leon blurts out.
Ada sighs and turns her head to glance to her side, the way she usually does when he's annoyed her. "You really know how to make a girl feel special."
He scolds himself for being so thick in the head. It's not even true. Even bruised and battered, she's still stunningly beautiful.
"Have they not been taking care of you?"
Anxiety has been wafting out of Leon’s pores ever since he received the call from Chris giving him the heads up that they've gone ahead and actually captured Ada. Even though it's been over a year since Lanshiang, even though they both know she probably isn't the guilty party. How? — Leon has no idea. But he knows. He knows it wasn't her. And Chris had watched someone die, watched her be shot off a rooftop and lay lifelessly at the bottom in a pool of her own blood. Yet, when Ada came back on the radar, still alive, he still believed it was the same person. That or he didn't care enough to figure it out. Ada is far from innocent even without the Edonia charge, and Chris is nothing if not a stubborn bastard.
Rotting food sits on a tray near the far wall behind Ada. It makes Leon’s stomach twist. Chris had told him she hadn't been eating.
Ada follows the path of his gaze behind herself and notices the tray too.
"It's not the Ritz, but it'll do. I admit I always imagined my accommodations to be a lot less laboratory chic."
She flares her hand like it's nothing and it ruffles Leon something bad.
"Jesus — cut the shit, Ada. Please," He snaps at her. She'll play off anything to avoid addressing it. "Chris says you haven't been eating — or moving hardly."
Ada’s eyes narrow at him. She steels herself — spitting venom, “What should I be doing then?”
“Taking care of yourself until I figure out a way to fix this!” You don’t give up, is what he really wants to say. He speaks with such conviction that Ada wants to believe him. She doesn’t respond with words, but she does stand, walking over to her old tray of food and pushing it towards the seamless panel on the wall with her foot.
It’s a small relief that she can hear him now.
“Ada, explain to me what happened in Edonia. Make a case for yourself.”
Ada stares down at the tray, a mystery meat that’s hardly recognizable now, vegetables that have become akin to goo, and rice that looks perfectly the same. Ada’s stomach turns but not from hunger. Her hands flex in and out of fists. Her heart is beating too fast — dehydration.
“I know there were two of you then,” Leon interjects her thoughts.
“Not two of me. Just me and a genetic lookalike Simmons created.”
Ada turns back towards the two men and defensively crosses her arms over her chest. The eyeline between Chris and her is electric with loathing. Leon glances back to him, confirming his side of the standoff.
Chris senses an accusation in the way Leon looks at him. “I’m not just going to take her word for it.”
“Chris — I saw the footage of whatever that thing was being created, but when Helena and I tried to go back and find it. The whole place was blown to shit.”
“Convenient," Chris sneers.
“I destroyed it.”
Leon’s head whips back to Ada in abject disbelief.
“You — what?”
Ada slithers back to the glass, standing squarely above the both of them again.
“I destroyed it,” she enunciates, “All of it. I burned that lab to the ground, along with everything in it.”
Ada can toe the line between softness and severity unlike anyone Leon has ever met before, but this — You’re up against the real people who run this country. Leon is so out of his depth, he can feel the salty water choking him as he struggles to breath.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“I’m not going to explain myself to you,” Ada’s glare flicks back to Chris, “To either of you.”
Ada surrendered her ability to clear her name of this crime in order to destroy all of Simmons' and Carla's work. She had to. For the thousands of women who were unwillingly sacrificed. For herself. For Carla. For whoever they were while they both existed in this world.
“I told you this is a waste of time,” Chris grunts.
“I didn’t fucking ask you, did I?” Leon bites back at him.
Chris lifts himself off the wall, his glower now directed acutely at Leon. Ada pretends the two of them aren’t still coming in and out of focus. She has to stay on the front foot, weakness is a sign of defeat. Leon and Chris’s squabble tunes itself out, Ada needs to sit down.
“Let’s not forget who’s doing who a favor right now —“
“How could I forget when you keep bringing it up?!” Leon raises his voice another decibel, right into Chris’ face, his hands balled tightly into fists at his side, teeth bared. Chris might as well be arguing with a live wire with the way Leon’s whole body itches to throw a punch. At least it would give him the chance to do something.
Chris is about to fire back when a hard thump yanks them both from their bubble of aggression. Leon sees Chris’ expression first, the twinge of surprise when he looks past Leon. He doesn’t miss the clear signs of concern on the soldier’s face even towards someone he hates.
Leon whips around towards the sound to find Ada crumpled over on her hands and knees, a pained grimace scrunching up her face. She groans lightly and Leon forgets what he was pressed about.
“Chris, let me in there,” Leon demands.
“You know I can’t do that, Leon.”
“Son of a bitch — you’re just going to leave her to rot in there?”
“Leon,” Ada warns, her voice strained and severe. She hears him bitching over the throbbing in her skull. Her eyes squeeze closed in hopes that when she opens them, her vision will have returned.
“Leon, I’m not going to put the whole department at risk because your girlfriend has low blood sugar.”
“She’s not —“ Leon begins but Ada is too quick to cut him off.
“Chris is right. Leon, you can calm down.”
Ada doesn’t need Leon to burn the BSAA down for her. She doesn’t need him to ruin his career fighting for someone who’s objectively guilty. To go scorched earth for someone like her … it doesn’t matter how things used to be between them. Ada is safe here. Safer than she’s ever been technically.
It’s simply not worth the struggle. If her people come for her. She will go. Until then, she is more than capable of waiting. Even if it feels like she’s breaking out in hives sometimes, she can manage the discomfort. She’s more than capable of staying calm in times of high stress, doing so has always been a key factor in the rare length of her life. Leon, on the other hand, he’s flammable, quick to set aflame, and he’s been that way since the night they met.
Ada opens her eyes and thankfully she can see her pale hands splayed out on the smooth white floor, holding her body up. She shakily stands back up to her feet.
Leon takes a deep breath, Chris all but forgotten.
“At least that we can agree on,” Chris sighs.
Leon's eyes follow her as she heads unsteadily to the corner by the glass and warily lowers herself down to take a seat, her back against the wall, she wraps her arms around her knees again.
Naturally, Leon takes her lead in a trance, ignoring Chris completely and walking with Ada to the corner. He leans his shoulder against the glass next to her. Behind him, Chris takes the hint and heads towards the exit. “Fifteen minutes,” he states impatiently.
“Yeah, yeah,” Leon waves behind himself. Ada raises an eyebrow at him.
“Cost me a lot of favors to get in here before I give my testimony.”
“Hmm, hope it’s worth it,” Ada jokes offhandedly, offering him a small, lukewarm smile.
He’s jittery. His whole body is alive with anxiety, pale, and high-strung like he’s sweating off a nasty hangover, yet his eyes speak another tune. A quiet longing, apprehension, and frustration.
“Of course, it was worth it,” His brow furrows. He sounds offended. Ada always thought of herself as an unfortunate blindspot for him.
“So, what brings a handsome guy like you to a place like this?” She trills, trying her best to keep it light to offset how heavy he seems to be carrying whatever’s on his shoulders. Maybe she also wants to lighten the load on her own.
“I wanted to see you,” He says earnestly. Ada ignores the way it makes her chest ache. He can’t be doing this now. “Shit, Ada. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be,” She replies candidly, “I’m a big girl. I’ll be alright.”
“Nothing about this screams alright. When I came in here you were unresponsive, and then when I finally got your attention, you practically fainted. So, don’t bullshit me. What was that?”
“Low blood sugar.”
“Low blood sugar doesn’t make you zone out like that — You were somewhere else.”
“Sounds like you already know then,” Ada replies dismissively. Her eyes wander off into her cell.
“You told me that wasn’t happening anymore.”
She shrugs, “Things change.”
Leon looks absolutely dejected. He’s only seen her like that once — more accurately, he’s only noticed her like that once. Most of the time it could be chalked up to her being lost in thought, and it’s similar to that, no doubt, but definitively different. Ada isn’t choosing to do it. It’s an affliction — something that’s happening to her.
Ada hadn’t explained it to him then, when he was inside her and she was floating above her body. He had looked frightened — thought he had done something wrong and wanted to make certain he could prevent it from happening again. Ada only told him it had nothing to do with him and dismissed his concerns. It wasn’t very kind of her, and she knew that, but her desire not to speak about it was stronger than her desire to be gentle with him.
Most things she doesn’t talk about are stronger than that actually. Ada doesn’t linger on whether or not she’s being kind enough. It would be a waste of her time under most circumstances, but with him, she finds herself noticing it. All the ways she’s willing to be cruel instead of honest.
Ada believes wholeheartedly that Leon wants to be treated the way he would treat himself. A product of his self-loathing. That’s why he tolerates her — it’s also why he thinks he’s in love with her.
“Don’t look so grim, sweetheart. I’m not up for the executioner’s block.”
“Can you not be so goddamn nonchalant about this?”
“Leon,” Ada sighs out his name. He’s handling this worse than she is, which is to be somewhat expected.
“Why aren't you just telling them what happened?”
“I don’t have anything to prove.”
“Ada, I’m on my way to give testimony at your trial right now. Give me something I can use.”
“Just tell them the truth.”
“You're not even trying. I don’t know what the truth is with you.”
“You know what you saw.”
“I want to know your version of things. What do you remember?”
“I remember saving your ass,” She reminisces, her lips stretched into a thin smile, her chin tilting towards him. “You saving mine. The usual fare.”
Leon leans his head against the glass with a soft thump. He struggles with her clemency of the situation. Another thing he’s challenged to accept about who she chooses to be. It doesn’t matter, he still smiles sadly back at her.
“I'm trying to save you now,” He says and bats those sweet, sad, expressive blue eyes at her. Even bloodshot and tired, he still unwittingly uses them against her. "Tell me what I can do to help you."
She can’t tell him not to do anything, because she knows well enough he won’t listen. Ada thinks on it for a moment, but Leon is quick to get ahead of her. “I could bring you something to read? It might help you stay grounded, at least till I figure out what comes next.”
Ada’s eyes wander her empty cell, drenched in white, if she had worse eye sight it might be impossible to distinguish the sink from the wall. Everything is as smooth and as shapeless as possible. To prevent suicide, she thinks, as much as escape. The climate is carefully controlled, Ada doesn’t often feel cold in here, but even if she did, there wouldn’t be anything to cover herself with. No risks. No baseline comforts. Just her stringy, grease heavy hair and a hard bed. It’s a good thing she hasn’t had a menstrual cycle since her early twenties, maybe that would have been enough to convince them to give her something.
“I’d like that …” Ada nods absently, “You might have some trouble getting it past the warden.”
“I still have a few more favors I can call in,” Leon smirks but it quickly fades. The fluorescent buzz of the lights is too harsh a reminder of where they are.
“Thank you. For coming. I know it’s been a while.”
“I would have liked to see you again under different circumstances.”
“I’ve been a little tied up.”
That gets him to chuckle, if only a little.
“Don’t make me smile, ‘s not fair.”
“It’s not fair to me if you don’t,” It’s a moment of well deserved sweetness. She wouldn’t lie and say she didn’t miss him, but Ada was technically dead. That alone gave her advantages over her enemies that she could only dream of having before. And if she were honest, she didn’t want to see him for a while, still in the same state of mind as before Lanshiang. They were too close and Leon … undoubtedly too in love.
“Who gave you those wounds?”
“I don’t think telling you would change anything.”
“It might. If it meant I could do something. Was it Chris? I swear to god —“
“It wasn’t Chris,” Ada rolls her eyes.
“I kinda wish that was a relief.”
“It wasn’t Chris’ team either. I was already in dire straits when they reached me.”
Either she's been stuck in a cycle of bad karma, or she’s just getting sloppy. Ada doesn’t typically find herself blindsided. She operates on prediction, and she isn’t too fond of gambling with her life. Maybe she’s been taking bigger risks ever since Lanshiang. She would never admit that things really are different now.
Too many versions of one woman converging into an analogous cluster of selves, chasing her through a sinking ship. Her own body lying in a pool of her own blood, like a nightmare she must have had before. Warping, squelching, transforming. I am the real Ada Wong.
As if there is such a thing.
“Don’t think too hard about it, handsome. I’ve fought my way through worse.”
“That’s not even remotely reassuring,” He gripes.
Ada can’t help but laugh, “Who says I’m trying to reassure you? I think you’re making a mountain out of a mole hill. You should go home.”
“Ada, how can you say that?”
“I’m just being realistic.”
“You’re giving up.”
“Apples and oranges.”
“Don’t piss me off,” Leon scoffs.
Ada stifles a smile.
“You make it easy,” She coos.
“You’re making this hard.”
“Only for you.”
“Fuck me for caring about you then,” He mutters, his eyes flick down to check his watch. The second hand click, click, clicks. Every sound, an omen of what’s to come next in court. His grimace buries deeper into his chin.
The two rooms fill with the aching sound of silence, seeping in through the soundless HVAC. Ada’s stone-like expression fading into something he recognizes, despondence.
“Your mistake. Not mine.” Ada wavers, despite her scathing choice of words, she smiles at him, real and yet somehow unconvincing. Like she’s hiding something different behind it this time. It’s the closest thing to vulnerability she’s shown today and she’s doing it only for him. He’s more anxious than she is — that must mean something, right? He can feel confident in her and her skills, right? He doesn’t have a reason not to, right?
He can. He does.
Leon diffuses. His grimace softens down to a frown and he chastises himself for wasting their only time being such an asshole. He’d fallen for it again. The mask she wears to pretend everything is always alright. Obviously, it’s not real. Obviously, she’s stressed out. Obviously, she’s not just taking it, she’s surviving it. It’s just … it’s not like her to lay down and learn helplessness while she waits for rescue. It’s not what Ada Wong does.
Even if this wasn’t all terribly out of character, something feels off. Beyond Ada, beyond Chris. The length of time between her capture and her trial. The secretive nature of the tribunal in general. The rushed process as if they hadn't purposefully been putting it off, suddenly they're giddy to get it over with. It could all be explained by plenty of minor coincidences, so Leon puts his doubts on the back burner, but it hardly negates their simmering.
“I hate feeling this unprepared.”
Those dark brown eyes cut him right down to the core.
“Whatever happens, I’ll figure it out,” She assures him, then pauses for a moment. “Trust me?”
The food tray catches Leon’s eye again, his jaw clenches hard enough his teeth ache.
“Can you trust me?” He asks.
“Leon, I trust you more than I trust anyone who isn’t myself,” She says easily. It rolls off her tongue like it had been practiced, scripted, scrutinized, and understood.
His mouth falls open and his shoulders droop. It feels like a confession. She looks like she’s being earnest. How would he really know? Well … he wouldn’t but — he trusts his gut more often than not these days when it comes to believing her, and this time he really does.
It washes over him like a lapping wave, coming back to him every time his heart beats. The reassuring yet devastating thrum of a promise — because isn’t that what the truth is between them? A promise?
“You know I can’t just — not try,” He responds after his pause, he’s deflated some, lost a little of his initial vigor. His watch tells him he’s running out of time, which again, summons restlessness.
Ada spent a lot of time thinking about what to do before she started losing time. Every conclusion comes back to opportunity. To wait. Beyond that, she isn't all that sure what comes next.
She could play dead.
She could bash her head into the wall until it cracks open and grey matter leaks out.
She knows Leon will fight Chris like hell on this, but it won’t be enough. The only way out is to escape, and to aid her so visibly would make him a criminal too. He’s bound by his code to help, but this is different. She’s alive and she’s not technically in any danger. Leon doesn’t need to help her at all, but he will. He might even damn himself to do so.
“I know,” Ada squeezes her legs closer to her chest, resting her cheek on top of her knee.
“Ada, why did you clear my name and not yours?”
It’s a good question, but simple. At least it is to her. Ada is already dripping in red, and Leon, he has to keep doing what he’s doing. She likes him the way he is. She’d grow to hate him if he turned into someone like her — and God knows the world doesn't need anyone like her. “You wouldn’t survive a day doing what I do, and red doesn't suit you.”
“But red is my favorite color,” Leon grins at her but he’s clearly disappointed in her response. Ada almost cracks a smile in return. He sighs, “I wish you could be straight with me right now.”
“My actions speak for themselves. You shouldn’t be looking more into it. You’ll get lost.” He already looks lost. He likes to look into bottles for answers. Ada would never question it, or pretend not to understand in her own way. He’s in pain. He has been since Raccoon City. As much as she cares for their time together, she wishes he had found a nice girl and settled down with a dog and a picket fence. It makes sense for him, but it doesn’t make sense to him. Ada had warned Leon a hundred times when they first met to get out while he still could. He never seems to take the hint. Even now.
There's so many things he wants to say. None of it comes out of his mouth. There’s too many things they just don’t speak about. He gave up a long time ago trying to change who she is, and she hates explaining herself. That doesn’t mean he’s any less himself – and part of him is always going to try and understand her. He’s come a long way since they first met, but he still gets frustrated that she can’t be straight with him.
“I need you to take care of yourself, ‘kay?” She adds after a lull.
“If you do the same,” Leon replies.
“I always do.”
That’s what he’s afraid of. Not that he’s allowed to complain about her hyper-independence without taking a long, hard look in the mirror first. He didn’t think this day was going to come. It was supposed to be a distant chance. The kind of thing you joke about happening but you never expect to see yourself.
Now he’s reaping what she’s sown. Pretending she’s okay, like he’s an idiot who can’t put two and two together. Don’t get him wrong, he’s an idiot more often than not and she’s an incredibly skilled actress, but even fine paint dissolves when a thinner is left on long enough. He doesn’t have the time to get back into it with her about their respective sides of the same coin. He’d lost that fight a long time ago, realizing he has enough to be pissed about — like how she used to keep him at an arms length for all but ten percent of the time.
How every blue moon she allowed them to be just two average people who wouldn’t feel the weight of the world crushing them down. They’d stay together, share a home for the weekend and she’d seem happy — and he’d be happy that he’d made her happy. Then either something would happen that changed her mind or the weekend would end. Whichever came first.
In 2011, for reasons he will likely never get to understand, she left — and it was like the stolen life they lived never happened. How she could look at him like he was a stranger and nothing more? — He didn’t know.
He does know that she has her reasons.
Even if they hurt in the way a bullet never could.
He knows she’s always protecting herself, and he’s committed to that too. Even without an explicit agreement. He hasn’t always been so mature about it, but dumbasses grow up too. He’s always felt as long as she’s safe, he can continue on without knowing — yet now she isn’t.
And neither of them have any control over it.
He trusts her. With this, he does. She can take care of herself, she’s been through the worst of it and come out the other side — but Leon would never trust the BSAA, or any government organization for that matter, with an asset like her.