The window slides open silently. There is enough room for a slender woman to slip through, and the opening is closed as soon as her booted feet hit plush carpet, years of training and practice muting the sound. Outside the night life carries on with no interruption, and inside there is also no change. Ada Wong has arrived, and not even the ghosts can tell.

The room smells like bleach, stale pizza and alcohol. It's a potent mix, but Ada has smelt worse in her lifetime. A gentle hum of conversation comes from a television that is playing to no audience. Some kind of sitcom or late night talk show flickers from the screen. Ada has not kept up with television for a long time. Her target is on the bed, sleeping. There are empty whiskey bottles and junk food wrappers around him and on the ground, suggesting he's been here for a while. This doesn't comfort Ada, but the wriggling of her insides is ignored. She closes in on the bed, wishing the television was not on so she could hear his breathing.

He looks worse than she thought. There is thick blond stubble across his face where he has neglected to shave for at least a week. His hair is dirty and unkempt, and the sight is so wrong that Ada has to look away for a moment. His bottom half is covered by blankets, but his torso is bare. He is losing the proud six-pack he once sported due to neglect. He is out of shape. Under his eyes there are dark shadows that suggest suffering and inner torment. Even in sleep his forehead is creased, the lines around his mouth more prominent than ever.

Leon S. Kennedy has fallen far, and Ada Wong doesn't like it one bit.

She takes a single step forward, intent on reaching out and brushing the bangs that badly need cutting from his face, but the tip of her boot connects with an empty glass bottle and the sound is sharp, cutting through the room. Leon stirs; Ada freezes. She'd only wanted to come and see him, to check up on how he's doing and to reassure herself that he's still alive, but this sight, this visage of him is so pathetic that it strikes a match deep inside her and now she knows she's not going anywhere.

Leon's eyes open, mere slits as he peers around the room. His pupils are cloudy and unfocused. Ada wonders if he's still drunk. He doesn't see her at first, and Ada has not moved from her place next to the bed. When he finally spots her, he takes a moment to register what he's seeing. Ada can see the gears working in his mind as he fully awakens, pushing up on elbows that barely support his weight so that he can lean against the headboard. Ada crosses her arms. Although it saddens her to see him this way, she's also unimpressed. She hasn't saved his life over and over so he can waste it like this.

"Enjoying yourself?" She decides to speak first when it becomes apparent he's just going to stare at her. She sounds more disdainful than she feels, but that's unimportant. She's actually glad for it. She wants to kick start some kind of emotion in his empty gaze because it's making her uncomfortable.

"Immensely," he replies, and Ada is at least glad he hasn't lost his wit. His voice is croaky, either from disuse or the drink, probably both. There is no change to his expression, so if he's surprised to see her, Ada doesn't know. He seems void of any emotion at the moment. "I'm not gonna bother asking how you found me."

They are in Miami, Florida. Ada was surprised at first when she discovered his location after he defected from the CIA. She didn't think the city of the night would be his preferred place. But he's surprised her many times before and she has to remind herself she doesn't know him as well as she'd like. She's got the basics, a portfolio, a line drawing without color. She's always wanted more, and this might be her only chance to get it, and when the chips come down, Ada Wong is a selfish being when the circumstances regard Leon. This is an opportunity she will not allow to slip by.

"You know me." She obliges his small talk only for a moment before true irritation floods into her veins at his cool disinterest. "What the hell are you doing, Leon?"

"What does it look like?" He replies. His vague gaze drifts to the TV. He grunts, lethargically lifting a hand to scratch his belly. Ada knows he's not paying any attention to the screen and is only using it as an excuse not to look at her. She doesn't want to add cowardly onto the list of his new "qualities".

"Looks to me like you're hiding," she says, trying not to snap. It won't help with Leon; it never has. But he looks at her again. Ada is pleased to see a little more clarity in his vision.

"And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" He states, almost sneers, and Ada feels too annoyed to be shocked. This is the first time he's ever spoken to her this way and Ada doubts (hopes) it won't be the last because even if it's for the wrong reason, she kinda likes it. He's got some emotion back, but he sounds like a moody teenage boy and not a man.

"I know about hiding, sure," she admits coolly, "but I don't really know much about sulking, and that's definitely what I'd call this." Her arms sweep the room in a huge gesture as Leon's lip curls.

"You try being the one left out of the loop on a huge, life threatening and important mission where everything goes wrong and see how you feel afterwards," he snaps, defensive and angry and it's much better than void. Anger lights his eyes up and makes them a glacial blue, especially when he's angry with her. She wants to be on the receiving end of that passion on other ways.

"I know what happened in Vancouver, Leon–"

"Of course you do." His interruption is bitter as though it bothers him she keeps tabs on him. Ada impatiently taps her foot, knowing there is more he wants to add and that this is a topic best left alone for now. Soft pads sound like a muffled heartbeat, the clincher that she's close to losing her temper. She never has the best control over herself around him. "What're you even doing here, Ada?" He settles on saying. He suddenly sounds so tired that Ada's irritation settles as quickly as it began to struggle.

"I wanted to see you." The admission is soft. Ada has decided not to skirt around the point for the sake of shock value, and because she's just as tired as he is. But she's better at hiding it. The statement has its effect: Leon is silenced and he stares at her in astonishment. Ada can see that this little "sabbatical" of his has done nothing towards helping the most recent of his wounds heal.

"It's never that simple with you," he tells her, but Ada can hear in his voice that she's shaken him out of depression. His eyes have softened and he wants to believe her, but after everything that's happened between them, he can't seem to accept that her presence doesn't come with a terrible catch.

"Maybe it is this time," she replies, and finally does what she intended before he awoke. She reaches out, gently pushing bangs away so she can see both of his knock-out blue eyes clearly. They still have the same effect on her, rooting her to the spot and setting her free at the same time. When her fingers trickle down and reach the old scar on his cheek, Leon's hand covers her own, dwarfing the dainty appendage. His skin is hot and rough and his gaze is so intense it prickles her flesh with desire.

"Do you mean it?" He asks. The question is heavy and charged, and Ada thinks this is the most vulnerable she's ever seen him. He's putting the measly remainder of his faith in her like he always has but the difference is, if she turns him away now, he'll be broken forever. It's a scary thought, but Ada knew as soon as she slipped into the room and saw him that this would be one encounter she can't run away from.

"Yeah," she whispers. She's cupping his cheek and he's covering her hand and they are staring at each other as they tend to do when in such close proximity, like they're discovering each other again after years of distance. It's only been a few months since China, but any time spent apart is too long in Ada's mind because she knows this is the only man she'll ever love. She would very much like to lean down and kiss him too, but this isn't the moment. So she takes her hand away after a bit of resistance from Leon and steps back from the bed. "Take a shower," she orders, smiling. "We're going out."

Confusion ripples across Leon's face like a stone thrown into a pond. There's a little color back in his gaunt cheeks and Ada feels proud of herself. She's probably done in five minutes what a psychiatrist would take five months to do. "We are?"

"Yeah, and as much as I wanna say I like the new look, I'm not the biggest fan of facial hair." She's teasing him and he knows it, but he still looks a mite embarrassed when he reaches up to touch his chin.

"Huh, guess I have been letting it go," he muses. It's a far better result than Ada could have hoped for, but he still doesn't seem to care about the empty whiskey bottles that litter the place.

Ada stares shamelessly when he steps out of the bed: he is not as naked below the waist as she hoped, a pair of faded blue boxers covering the goods. Despite not keeping up with his fitness regime, Leon still has a gorgeous body. She has to commend him: he doesn't stumble, or show any sign that he's drunk himself into a stupor. He just kicks some trash away and grumbles, grinning at her. It's a pale imitation of his usual cocky grin, but it's a start. He's wounded on the inside, she knows, but the road to recovery has to begin somewhere and just the fact that he's doing what she asked proves he's willing to walk it with her. She owes it to him to be there: she needs to be there, and not just because she knows there is no one else capable of saving him from himself. A foolish, innocent, tiny part of Ada latches onto this desperately, a once in a lifetime chance at redemption for all the wrong she's caused him over the years.

She watches the muscles in his back move as he walks into the hotel bathroom. When the door shuts, she perches on the bed and ponders her decision. It's a spur of the moment idea but she desperately wants to get him out of bed and away from this stinky room. It's not like there's little choice on where to go: they are in Miami, a city built for night life. Ada has not spent as much time here as she'd like but she knows a few good night clubs around.

Water begins to run. Ada sees steam rise from the crack under the bathroom door moments later and she forces herself not to think about how naked Leon is in there. Instead she racks her brain for any kind of reason why this last mission hit Leon the hardest. She knows only the details printed in the report: there was supposed to be a huge dismantling of a weapons smuggling ring in Vancouver, Leon headed in with a small team and things went sour. Compared to all he faces and has faced against Umbrella, it seems like such a run of the mill mission and Ada can't understand why Leon's life has spiraled out of control since. She wants to know, to press him for details, but she won't because she knows he'll tell her when he wants to. She just hopes that the time comes soon.

Leon takes a while in the shower. The water cuts off after fifteen minutes, and Ada imagines him standing in front of a mirror examining his facial hair. She hopes he'll decide to shave it off. If he doesn't, it'll mean she's not as welcome in his life as she'd like. Ada can't blame him if he chooses the second option. Nobody trusts Ada Wong, not even the woman herself. Twenty five minutes after she sent him in, Ada gets her answer.

He emerges from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and hot air. Ada's fresh blood red blouse fans and she straightens it out, smoothing the ruffled lapels. Leon has put his boxers back on but is otherwise naked: he looks refreshed and more alert, and he is also clean shaven. Ada is ashamed of the relief, hope and pleasure that course through her body.

"That's better," she says. From this angle, she can see his torso properly. On his shoulder there is silvery, knotted scar tissue where he took a bullet for her back in Raccoon City. There are a few newer scars across his chest, from Spain and China alike, but to Ada, none will be as prominent as the one that marks the night he changed her.

For a moment, Leon simply watches her watch him. His expression is guarded and so are his eyes. It's clear to Ada that while he showered, not only did he clear his head but he also took the time to think about his situation. Ada will not pretend it doesn't sting, but it's no less than she deserves. And she hopes that by the night's end, she can melt that wall away and touch his heart again. Leon grunts and the moment is over. He begins to hunt around the room for some clothes to put on, fishing up some black jeans and a skin tight t-shirt. Ada watches him silently, planning the night ahead.

"So," he breaks the silence: his voice sounds a little better, healthier, like he cleared his throat with liquid velvet. "Where're we going exactly?" He slides into the clothes and finds his boots, on their side resting against the mini-fridge. As he ties the laces, Ada answers him.

"We're gonna hit the strip," she says, blunt, enjoying the surprise that flits across Leon's face.

"Seriously, Ada?" It's the first time he's said her name like that tonight, and Ada takes pleasure in how it sounds coming from his lips.

"Yeah." She pushes off the bed and stands two feet in front of Leon. She can smell the soap he used and a minty whiff when he exhales. His wet hair smells like strawberries, and she wants to laugh. Instead she offers him her hand. "Ready for the night, handsome?"

Leon's expression is a mix of amusement, disbelief, gratitude, and a few other emotions Ada cannot name. She hopes she hasn't gone too far, prays he won't turn her away. Even if he does, she'll keep trying, but that first rejection wounds the deepest.

He studies her for a moment, and then places his hand in her outstretched one. Their palms connect like two magnets and Leon allows himself a small, genuine smile. "Sure, why not."

They end up in a club called The Blind Tiger. Their conversation was sparse during the journey, but Leon kept hold of her hand so they didn't lose each other in the throes of the night: this is what Ada tells herself, she doesn't know if it's the actual reason. Perhaps it's because he thought she might disappear on him again, or because he's come this far already and doesn't want to go the rest of the way alone. Or maybe it's because he loves her. She won't ask him.

The air outside smelt like people and the ocean; inside the club it tastes like alcohol, dense crowd, stale sweat and a mix of colognes and perfumes and hair sprays. The music is loud, drowning out everything with its heavy thumping beats and rhythm. The place is packed: the body is one writhing mass of people grinding against each other and pumping their fists. It's perfect. No one will notice the two of them and they can blend into the background, dissolve into each other, and not have to face a stifling empty room full of emotions. It's not the cleanest choice of action, but Ada has never claimed to be good with those. Physical is all she really knows.

Leon doesn't like the place. Night clubs aren't his scene, and she knows it. Men like him don't go to seedy establishments and get involved in sexual music and movement with strangers. But this atmosphere is just what Ada needs, and suddenly her impromptu idea has become a stroke of genius. Uncomfortable, Leon's gaze makes a bee line for the bar. "You want a drink?" He wonders, and Ada can imagine his skin is itching. If he had his way, he'd sit at the bar and drink all night and let her get on with whatever she brought him here for, but this won't do.

"No and neither do you," she says, and takes his hand, intending to lead him into the throes of the club. She hasn't done anything like this in a long time, but when she was younger she frequented places like this all the time. "Let's dance." It's not a request. It's an order.

"Ada…" Leon is unsure, unconfident. Ada wonders if she can hear nervousness in his voice, but it's hard to tell over the music. He offers a little resistance as she gently tugs him to her, but in the end, allows himself to give way and let her worm the two of them into the crowd.

"Come on, handsome," she coos, pressing the two of them together and attempting to find the rhythm of the crowd. Leon is stiff at first, but his hands are on her hips and she knows that their proximity is affecting him. There has never been a time when it hasn't, and even after being dragged through the mud, this hasn't changed. Her hands are on his back, rubbing in small, comforting circles. She really wants him to dance. Ulterior motives aside, this has been a dream of hers for a long time. "You can dance, can't you?"

"Yeah, of course I can," he says. He's talking in her ear, hot breath caressing its shell. Every tenor of his voice is registered in her mind. She tries not to shiver as they begin to sway. "But this isn't dancing, nothing of what these people are doing is."

"Does that bother you?" She wonders, imagining the two of them engaged in a hot, passionate tango. One dream crossed off the list, another added to it. Leon's arms tighten around her waist.

"No."

They are silent then, moving to the music and each other. They are not as enthusiastic about their grinding as some of the younger members of the crowd, but Ada would argue that theirs is much more meaningful. Leon has not asked questions yet, and for that Ada is grateful. He seems to have resigned himself to going with the flow and living in the moment, and she suspects it's because he believes she'll be gone from his life again as quick as she entered it. She won't tell him that this isn't her intention this time, because Ada Wong does not, cannot make promises.

The overhead song suddenly switches to something with a heavier, sensual beat. The air currents change, becoming charged with sexual energy. Almost unconsciously, Leon and Ada's movements mirror the rest of the crowd. It is as Ada hoped. They are beginning to dissolve. She can feel Leon's body tensing and relaxing against hers. His breath is heady and making her head swim every time it puffs around her ear like clockwork. Her arms have looped around his neck: her fingertips tickle the skin there, and locks of his hair caress the digits. Stay, they whisper, saying what Leon never will, just as his body and his hold convey, stay with me.

She wants to, so much that her insides ache. But she can't know the future, only that it is unpredictable. There are no guarantees when you live a life like hers, or like Leon's. The only thing she can do is try. She has tensed against this line of thought: she's unaware of it, but Leon is not. He pulls back, staring at her face, looking for a sign that will tell him what's bothering her. Ada can see he is still guarded, perhaps resigned, and that he does indeed expect her to be leaving soon.

"Are you OK?" He asks, still caring despite this. Ada smiles, reaching up to touch his face with one hand. She strokes against his soft, newly shaven cheeks using the back of her fingers. He cannot hide in his face how deeply her touch affects him.

"I'm fine, Leon," she says, and means it. She becomes serious then: before she gives in and kisses him, she needs to know one thing. She thinks she already has her answer, but before she assumes, she needs to make sure. "I need to ask you something."

Wary, Leon's arms loosen around her. "Ask me what?"

There are a thousand possibilities running through his mind right now, Ada guesses. And she knows that none of them are what she's about to ask. "Are you ever going to go back to the CIA?"

She is right. The surprise on Leon's face confirms it. But he blinks back his shock and answers. "No." The conviction and resentment in his voice tell her this is the truth. He's washed his hands of them, and in turn, the responsibility and restriction they gave him. Ada could not be happier. "Why do you want to know?"

Ada does not reply, at least not with words. Instead her arms clench around his neck, bringing his face down to her height level. His eyes are swimming with emotion and have darkened to a deep ocean blue. He's not sure what she's planning. The shock feels nice on his mouth when she kisses it, sweeping her tongue along his bottom lip. She can taste remnants of toothpaste. Leon begins to kiss her back after the surprise wears off, but Ada parts their mouths with a wet smack.

"Ada?" He asks, a little breathless and confused. But she wants to see it: his guard is lowered, just a fraction, and she is welcome again because it's enough space for her to slip in and he knows it. It feels like coming home, and Ada is smiling when she reconnects their mouths and allows herself to think about possibility.

Club song: Emobody by SebAstian

If there's an audience out there please make some noise. This can be considered a one shot but I might expand it if there's interest. It could also be rated M depending on how people feel about lemons. Tell me!

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