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Not for the first time, Leon finds himself wondering how in the hell he’s managed to land himself in this predicament.
But his attempts to retrace his decisions, trying to find where it had all gone wrong, soon snowball into a full-blown re-examination of his entire life, upon which he realizes, also not for the first time, that it’s not so much a singular choice that led him where he is than a series of closely interconnected unfortunate events, each spilling into the next like an unstoppable domino effect that he has no choice but to roll with.
He quickly stops himself. He can’t afford to spiral down that existential rabbit hole, not here, not tonight.
Desperate for something else to occupy himself with, he quickly scans his surroundings, looking for potential blind spots, searching for any suspicious individuals. As expected, no change since ten minutes ago. Just a too bright, too fancy ballroom filled to the brim with unsuspecting partygoers dressed to the nines, all chattering and laughing and clinking their glasses together. In the background, a string quartet draws quick, upbeat notes, adding to the cacophony of it all.
Standing in his own little corner, shuffling his feet and nursing a completely untouched champagne flute, he feels like he’s just landed on an alien planet. But if he’s being entirely honest with himself, it’s far more likely that he’s the alien here, floundering out of sync with the rest.
Which brings him back to why he’s at this ridiculous party to begin with.
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Patrick in a semi-circle of similarly smartly-dressed men, laughing at something one of them said like it’s the funniest, most brilliant joke he’s ever heard in his life. Leon envies him, the way it all seems to come so naturally to him, like shedding his own skin and shrugging on a different one. Politics has never been Leon’s forte, and he certainly doesn’t fit in this world of pressed silk ties and perfectly shined shoes and fake smiles and daggers hidden behind handshakes. But Patrick needed “someone to watch his back” while he turns his charm on to dig around for remnants of Wilson’s corruption within the cabinet, and Leon was the perfect candidate for the job.
Ever since the whole ordeal with Wilson, Patrick has taken to him rather quickly. To be honest, Leon still quite doesn’t know what to make of the man and his starry-eyed admiration. A part of him thinks he ought to be flattered, but all he feels is awkward and even somewhat uneasy. Still, Patrick seems to be a good man with no ill intentions, and working with him has been rather pleasant, so he can’t complain too much.
His train of thought is abruptly cut off by loud laughter that he realizes comes from Patrick, who seems to be enjoying himself just a tad too much. He shakes his head. He really hopes Patrick hasn’t forgotten the real reason they’re here.
He brings the champagne flute to his lips before lowering it again. God, he doesn’t even have the privilege of getting drunk, on account of babysitting this man and keeping a lookout on things. Which means he has to experience every excruciating minute of this in clear, sharp focus.
It’s going to be a long night.
Without any warning, his earpiece buzzes to life. Patrick’s voice is low and deliberate. “Hey, I might be onto something. I’ll just be a second, don’t go anywhere.”
“What?” is all Leon manages before he catches sight of Patrick leaving the ballroom with a man that he identifies as Deputy Secretary of Defense Moore, one arm around his shoulder like they’ve been best pals since forever. “Wait-”
How is he supposed to watch his back if Patrick runs off on his own? These earpieces aren’t exactly built for long-range communication. Leon quickly discards his drink on a passing server’s tray and follows, weaving through the crowd of partygoers on the floor, all spinning to the same upbeat tune.
He’s halfway across the dance floor when his body suddenly collides with another. His gaze still fixed on Patrick’s rapidly retreating form, he mumbles a quick apology and makes to rush after him, but the person he has just rammed into takes a hold of his wrist with one hand and grabs a fistful of his suit lapel with the other, and just like that, he finds himself trapped.
“Excuse me,” he says, eyes still glued on Patrick, who’s barely two seconds away from disappearing from his line of sight. “But I really must be going-”
A painfully familiar voice speaks up, completely ignoring his prior protests. “Leaving so soon?”
He lets out a breath. Of course. Of course she’s here, in the most unlikely of places, when he least expects it.
A warm, dainty hand reaches up to stroke his cheek, guiding his face to her. Leon tries to ignore the prickling sensation that lingers on his skin where her hand ghosted over as he comes face to face with Ada once more.
She’s really making a habit out of this, huh?
Ada puts on a show of regarding him thoughtfully. “You don’t seem too happy to see me, handsome.”
Instead of answering, his gaze flicks around to scope out his surroundings once more, just to be sure. Patrick is long gone, of course, but nothing else seems to be out of the ordinary. He hears Ada scoff, before her hand reaches up to pull his attention back to her once more.
“Relax, I’m not a harbinger of doom,” she says, voice somewhere between irritation and exasperation.
“Statistically and historically, evidence would point to the contrary,” he shoots back. “What are you doing here, Ada?”
Truthfully, he doesn’t know why keeps asking her that. It’s not like he would ever get a straight answer out of her. As expected, she simply keeps her gaze on him, a light smile playing on her lips, her expression unreadable.
He doesn’t have time for this.
But as it happens, in that very moment, as if the universe was conspiring to make his life as difficult as possible, the band finishes the final notes of the upbeat song. A few seconds later, a slow waltz begins, and before Leon can properly extricate himself, Ada throws her arms around his neck and pulls him closer.
He opens his mouth to protest, but she swiftly and expertly shushes him with a finger to his lips.
“It would be ungentlemanly to deny a lady the pleasure of a dance, you know,” she says, her eyes twinkling gleefully. “Come on, surely you can spare me one dance. Just one. I’m sure your friend can survive five minutes without your supervision.”
Leon resists the urge to roll his eyes as he reluctantly puts his arm around her, at which point his fingers helpfully inform him that 1) her dress is entirely backless, and 2) the bits that are covered up are made of a fabric light enough that he can practically feel every curve of her smooth skin underneath.
Well, that took an interesting turn. Swallowing hard and fighting a rising heat underneath his skin, he adjusts his grip on her waist, carefully avoiding her exposed back.
It takes him every last bit of self-control to school his face into a perfectly neutral expression and ask, voice level, “What are you really doing here?”
She gazes at him in that half-lidded way that he hates but also secretly kind of loves, and answers airily, “Same as you. I’m working.”
He raises an eyebrow at that. “Should I be worried about it?”
“The night is still young,” she smirks, craning her neck to whisper in his ear. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Despite his best efforts, that draws a soft, breathy laugh out of him, and she flashes him a victorious smile, dangerous and beguiling all at once. Some part of his brain thinks he ought to find it irritating, how cavalier she is about everything, like none of this is affecting her nearly as much as it affects him. Like he’s left feeling these feelings for the both of them. Right now, with her in his arms, their bodies pressed together and their faces mere inches apart, it feels like he’s the only one about to lose his damn mind.
She adjusts her grip on his shoulder, and his eye catches the way her gold bracelet slides slightly down her pale wrist. The movement somehow entrances him, keeps his gaze pinned for a few seconds too long.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, his eyes sweep the ballroom one more time, just to have somewhere to look that isn’t her. Most of the guests are dressed in rather dark, cold colors, which makes her choice of attire rather interesting. Right here in the middle of the room with him, Ada looks like a bullseye in stark, bright red. Like she’s daring the unsuspecting security guards patrolling the corners of the room to catch her with the smugness of someone who knows they never will.
He wonders if it means anything that she willingly lets herself come within his grasp, time and time again, but quickly disregards the idea as foolish wishful thinking.
Before he can stop himself however, Leon is verbalizing his thoughts. “A rather attention-grabbing choice there,” he says, inclining his head to indicate her dress.
Ada smiles. “Thought you might appreciate it.”
“Could not stand out more in this crowd,” he deadpans.
She regards him with a look, but her voice is light when she answers, “At least I’m not hiding who I am.”
“What’s your point?”
He averts his gaze as her hand trails down his suit lapel. “I barely recognized you, Leon. Didn’t expect you to turn out to be one of the suits.”
Leon resists the temptation to pull at his shirt collar, the air around him suddenly too hot, too suffocating. “Well, they vetoed the leather jacket, I’m afraid.”
“A shame,” she muses. “I’ve always had a soft spot for it.”
“Maybe next time,” he says, grabbing her hand, which has been trailing lower and lower, and positioning it back on a socially-acceptable spot on his shoulder.
The corners of Ada’s mouth quirk into a smirk, but before either of them can say anything else, the song ends. Almost immediately, Leon can see the slightest beginnings of a disturbance near the entrance, beyond throngs of oblivious partygoers. He distinctly recognizes it as the guards realizing that there’s been a security breach, likely in the form of the woman standing before him.
Ada seems to have realized the same thing, as her gaze follows his. Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, she looks entirely unfazed by the whole thing.
“Well, you definitely grabbed their attention,” he remarks dryly. “Maybe you should’ve made more of an effort to hide, after all.”
She shrugs. “Where’s the fun in that?”
He shoots her an exasperated frown. “Ada. What have you done this time?”
Ada holds up her hands in a faux-surrender gesture. Her tone makes it abundantly clear that she’s not taking any of this seriously. “Nothing, I swear it.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Well, whatever it is, we can deal with it later. Right now we have to-” he tries to pull her along, to find a less conspicuous spot to avoid the approaching guards, but she doesn’t budge. “Ada-”
In one swift move, she pulls him close to her. Her arms are around him and her breath is tickling his face and her eyes are staring into his and suddenly, suddenly everything around them melts into white noise and he can’t move-
“You worry too much,” she tells him matter-of-factly. “Trust me on this.”
And then she kisses him.
His mind, which has been whirring at the speed of light, trying to formulate convincing excuses and calculate the most optimal escape routes, screeches to a halt. She’s kissing him and it’s so dizzying and disorienting, the kind of kiss that should not be appropriate in such a setting and would probably attract disapproving whispers and glares from the more conservative guests. But for once, Leon couldn’t care less about their pearl-clutching. He couldn’t care less about them, period. This has always been Patrick’s world, not his, and he’s tired of pretending otherwise.
So he pulls her to him, this time making no attempt to avoid touching her bare back, and for one blissful moment, loses himself in her. Somewhere in the distance, he hears footsteps passing by them in a hurry, but they barely register in his head. He pays them no mind, because her tongue is teasing the space between his lips, a silent but insistent demand, and he opens his mouth for her, letting her take the lead, yielding to her completely as he allows himself to be swept away by the unstoppable force that is Ada Wong.
And then, as abruptly as it began, it’s over. Ada pushes him away, and he has to quell the disappointment that rises, suddenly and against his will, within his stomach.
It takes him a few moments to gather his bearings. His heart feels like it’s pounding in his throat, threatening to choke him out, and his mind is clouded by the rush of adrenaline in his ears.
He hates that he wants more of it. More of her.
Ada’s hand stays on his chest as she carefully observes the guards rushing in the opposite direction, before she drops it and turns to him with an expression that can only be described as, ‘told you it’d work’.
“I can’t believe you just pulled the kissing in public stunt,” he says.
“A tried-and-true routine,” she replies. “It has never led me astray.”
A different, strangely unpleasant feeling rises in his chest at the mental image of Ada doing what she just did with him with other men, grabbing unsuspecting bystanders and leaving them dumbfounded and starry-eyed with her lips. Immediately he feels filthy for letting his mind go there. At the end of the day, he and Ada owe each other nothing, he doesn’t have any right to feel this way, or any type of way about what she chooses to do with other people.
Yet, the feeling is there, intrusive and palpable, and he can’t make it stop.
He clears his throat. “So now that they seem to have picked up that something’s not quite right… Mind telling me the real reason why you’re here?”
She doesn’t say anything, so he takes a step back and crosses his arms. “I can’t help you if you don’t work with me, Ada.”
Ada’s eyes glint mischievously. “What makes you so sure I need your help?”
He recoils slightly. What she said, while in jest and not entirely untrue, does sting more than he cares to admit, which both embarrasses and irritates him at once. That’s the power she’s always commanded over him, turning him inside out just by existing in his vicinity, always with that unflappable flair and devil-may-care attitude.
He hates and loves it at the same time. But this is clearly not the time or place to unpack something so maddening. He’s gotten sidetracked enough, perhaps it’s time he got back to Patrick, wherever he might’ve run off to.
So he simply nods at her, utters a curt “fine” that he knows doesn’t come off nearly as nonchalant as he hoped, and walks off the dance floor in the direction he last saw Patrick heading in. Somewhere near the entryway, which appears deserted now that the guards have moved on to the other side of the room.
He’s about to tap his earpiece to search for a signal when her hand grips his arm tightly, stopping him in his tracks. “Wait.”
Leon turns his head slightly, a sardonic remark already on the tip of his tongue, when roughly and without any warning, he’s yanked out of the ballroom and into an empty hallway, where he is unceremoniously shoved against a wall.
His hip knocks against a console table, and the ornate vase sitting on top of it wobbles dangerously for a couple seconds before he manages to steady it with one hand.
For a moment, he holds his breath. But the dark hallway remains silent, the only muffled noise coming from the ballroom on the other side of the wall. Heaving a sigh, he takes a moment to compose himself.
“What the hell was that all about?” he demands, trying to keep his voice low.
“You couldn’t have made a bigger scene if you tried,” she says in the way that clearly indicates that he should’ve known better. He wants to argue with her, purely out of instinct than anything else, but decides against it. She’s right and he knows it.
“So you are up to something. I’d wager a guess that it’s ‘classified’,” he concludes. A part of him wants to press further, but the sensible part of him decides not to pick this battle. “Look, as fun as this has been, I’m kind of in the middle of something, and it needs my attention right now.”
She smiles. “Always working.”
“No rest for the wicked,” he quips. “You of all people should know.”
Ada raises an eyebrow in amusement, before her expression turns serious. “It doesn’t matter. Your friend is on the wrong trail. Moore isn’t the man you’re looking for.”
“And how do you know that?”
She holds out her bracelet, from which she removes a tiny chip, which had been carefully disguised as a decorative metal plate. Casually, she waves it in front of him between her index and middle finger. But as Leon reaches for it, she withdraws it out of his grasp. He takes a step back, shaking his head.
“Right. Classified.”
They stand in silence, each anticipating the next move but not knowing what it is exactly that they’re expecting to happen. They’re at an impasse. Not entirely unfamiliar territory when it comes to them.
Ada makes the first move, blowing out an exasperated breath. “Giving up so easily? That’s unlike you.”
“Are you saying that you would be willing to share, after all?”
She leans in closer, effectively trapping him against the wall. “I’m saying… that I would be open to… persuasion.”
He studies her arms, which are currently propped up on the wall on either side of him and preventing him from beating a hasty retreat. Despite himself, he feels a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. “Seriously? Here?”
“No time like the present,” she says, tilting her head slightly. “Unless, of course, you’re not interested.”
She pulls away, and instantly he misses the proximity of her body like an ache in his bones. So he does the only thing that makes sense in that moment: He grabs her wrist and pulls her back where she belongs.
Their bodies collide. Ada’s hands scramble for purchase over his chest, but he holds onto her tightly as his own hands travel along the expanse of her bare back. He thinks he might’ve heard her gasp, but if she did, she recovered fast enough that a part of him wonders if it might’ve been his own mind playing tricks on him after all.
“Never said I wasn’t,” he whispers into the juncture of her neck, and she hums softly in acknowledgement, hands cupping his face, studying him intently.
When her gaze finally finds his, it’s dark and arresting, a black hole luring him in. Inescapable, inevitable. “You’re full of surprises tonight, rookie.”
The nickname stirs something buried deep within him. A long-held secret, sacred and precious. A single, perfect memory of a time long gone, bottled up and suspended in amber.
He shakes his head. “I’m not a rookie anymore.”
Ada smiles as she brushes his hair out of his face. It doesn’t quite work. His bangs have grown longer and more stubborn now. “Then prove it.”
With pleasure, he thinks as his fingers grip her arm tightly. He wants to leave his mark on her. He wants her to forget every man who’s ever looked at her and only remember him. It’s stupid and petty, but he wants her to admit that no one can give her what he can. That he’s not merely one of her toys to be used and then thrown away, no matter how much she wants to act like he is.
Slowly, he trails along the length of her neck, inhaling her scent, taking her in. His mouth hovers teasingly, mere inches from her skin. He’ll explore all of it later, but first, he wants to savor this feeling of having her at his mercy.
He feels her arch into the curve of his body, and barely suppresses a satisfied smirk. The satisfaction doesn’t last long, however, because the next thing he knows, Ada is undressing him. Except instead of the usual urgency he’s come to expect from her, she’s taking her time with the buttons on his shirt, leisurely unbuttoning them one by one like she’s got all the time in the world, her slender fingers lingering over his chest but not making contact.
Leon feels his breaths growing rapid with frustration and impatience. “Seriously?” he asks with barely contained incredulity.
She flashes him an innocent smile. “Can’t have you returning to that lion’s den looking anything less than pristine,” she croons. “People might talk.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
Finally having had enough, he pulls her into a deep, breathless kiss. When they pull apart, he notices that some of her red lipstick has smudged at the corner of her mouth. Almost on reflex, he reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb, which really only serves to make it worse.
Before Ada has a chance to complain however, he’s moving his fingers behind her back, and upon finding the straps of her dress, slides them down past her shoulders. Somehow, he’s entirely unsurprised to find that she isn’t wearing anything underneath. She nips at his neck in retaliation, and he lets her.
His hands move down her legs, finding the hem of her dress and grabbing a fistful of it, before pulling it up over her thighs. In the process he discovers a thin blade strapped to her thigh. Expertly concealed, he must admit.
Ada laughs, her voice teasingly light. “You’re being terribly thorough. Dare I hope you’re doing this for me and not the chip?”
He doesn’t answer, so she quips, “Perhaps if the security check here had been nearly as meticulous, we wouldn’t be having such a good time right now.”
Leon chuckles. “Let us be thankful for their sloppiness, then.”
As he pulls the fabric up to her waist, he yanks it a bit too roughly in his attempt to get it out of the way, and Ada’s fingers slip beneath his shirt to dig into the skin of his back in silent warning.
“Careful,” her voice rings in his ear, hot and threatening. “This costs more than what you make in a year. If you rip it-”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, swallowing thick as his hand slides between her thighs. Ada’s breath hitches in her throat, but she doesn’t discourage him, herself busy with the next obstacle that stands in her way, his belt.
A loud laugh slices through the air, rising above the muffled cacophony of the room next to them, and even though the hallway remains deserted, Leon finds his heartbeat racing for a completely different reason. The very real possibility that at any moment, a straggling guest may stumble upon them hits him for the first time, but does nothing to slow his motions. On the contrary, it seems to have incentivized him to move with more urgency, his hands moving to hold her breasts reverently as she trails hot, desperate kisses down his throat, along the length of his exposed chest, all the way down below his navel.
This time, he’s unable bite back a moan. After a moment, Ada straightens up again, one arm hooked around his neck and the other scratching lightly down his throat. He finds himself leaning into her heat, his brain completely empty save for the overwhelming desire to be inside her until everything around them melts into nothingness and they can’t tell where one begins and the other ends.
Ada throws her head back with a gasp as he sinks into her, and the next thing he knows they’re a tangle of limbs, grasping and scrambling for dominance, and her hands are threading through his hair, and all he can taste is her breath on top of his own as they move in a hungry, desperate rhythm, skin on skin, pressed together tightly to maximize contact, unwilling to leave even an inch untouched.
And then suddenly she’s caressing his face with such gentleness that it almost startles him, and when he gazes into her eyes, all soft and unguarded, he wonders how is it possible that he could’ve ever doubted her. In this moment, as she kisses the scar on his left shoulder and whispers his name like a prayer, he finally understands.
Perhaps he’s not the only one unwillingly putting on a different skin. Perhaps it’s that pesky wishful thinking deluding him again, but maybe, just maybe, she is too. Maybe it’s only in these quiet, stolen moments that they get to shed just a little bit of their armor, and just be.
It’s not a contest. It never should’ve been. It’s not about ownership, or about who has more power over the other. It’s him, and it’s her, and it’s them and nothing else matters. Patrick, the mission, the backstabbing world of politics, they all seem so small and insignificant he wonders why he ever let them bother him in the first place.
Her hips arch into him, and he bites back a yelp, painfully aware that only a thin wall separates them and about a hundred of the most influential in the political scene who definitely do not need to be privy to his sex life.
It’s not about ownership, but God, does it feel good to be possessed by her.
This time, when she sees that familiar smirk playing on her lips, all he feels is a strange sort of affection for this woman who is so elusive to the rest of the world but willingly makes herself so tangible to him. It wasn’t wishful thinking after all, it was the truth. A truth he had willingly blinded himself to by letting his insecurities get the better of him.
When they’ve sated their desires, Ada rests her head in the curve of his neck, her breaths fanning hot over his chest. He wants to say something, anything to let her know how much she means to him, but he’s afraid that if he speaks, the spell will be broken, and he wants so desperately to stay in it a while longer. So he hopes that she can feel it too, that for once, it’s not just him holding onto whatever it is that they are to each other by himself.
As if sensing the storm slowly brewing in his head, Ada looks up at him, one hand stroking the length of his jaw. “What’s on your mind?”
He plants a kiss on her soft hair. “You. Always you.”
She closes her eyes, and he thinks he can feel her smiling. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Kennedy.”
Afterwards, as he’s fixing his clothes, he’s thankful that Ada had enough sense to exercise some self-restraint after all. The last thing he needs right now is to have to scramble for a plausible explanation for the state of his clothes under the scrutinizing gaze of the entire US government.
He finds the clothes don’t weigh as much as they did before. It’s just like shrugging on a different skin, nothing more. It doesn’t matter. Everyone wears some kind of mask, but not everyone gets to see what’s really underneath. Then again, not everyone is important enough to.
His gaze instinctively flicks to Ada standing beside him. She’s readjusting the straps of her dress, while making disapproving faces at the wrinkles he’s left on the fabric of her skirt.
”Well,” he begins, but finds himself at a loss for words. What does one say in a situation like this? Thanks for the sex, I really enjoyed it, let’s do it again sometime?
“Well?” she raises an eyebrow.
“Certainly not how I pictured my night going,” he says finally.
She smiles. “Aren’t you glad you stayed sober?”
Well, yes. His night turned out to be much less excruciating than he initially predicted. Quite the contrary, in fact.
Leon regards her for a long moment before speaking up. “Ada, I-”
In a rather vexing turn of events, his earpiece chooses that exact moment to buzz to life once more. “Leon? Where the hell are you?”
Perfect fucking timing, Patrick. As if you have any right to act indignant, considering you ghosted me for most of the night. Grimacing, he touches his earpiece with one hand. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Where exactly is ‘here’? Can you please get back to our spot?”
Leon whips his head around just in time to see Ada climbing through a window. How typical. “Ada-!”
“What was that? Are you with someone?”
Quickly switching off his earpiece, he takes a step toward her. “We’re not finished yet."
“Oh, I think we are,” she asserts. “It’s been fun, Leon. But I think I’ll let you get back to work now.”
“Ada!” he hisses, but she’s already leapt through the window into the darkness below.
Slipped through his fingers again. Damn it.
He switches his earpiece back on only for his ears to be assaulted by Patrick’s alarmed squeaking. “Sorry about that, I lost the signal for a moment there. I’m on my way.”
“How was Moore?” Leon asks once he’s located Patrick, looking rather dejected, in the ballroom. It’s not nearly as crowded as it was when he left it, the party slowly winding down as midnight approaches.
“A total bust,” Patrick says, downing the last of his drink, his gaze already searching for the nearest server. “Sorry to drag you here for nothing, I know this isn’t exactly your scene.”
Leon clears his throat, suddenly feeling very hot. “It wasn’t all that bad.”
Patrick finally tears his attention away from his drink long enough to look at him, really look at him for the first time, and Leon can practically see the gears turning in his head. He braces for impact. “Are you… feeling alright? How much did you have to drink? You look a bit...” He gestures vaguely at his own face.
“Must’ve been the crowd,” Leon answers, doing his best to sound nonchalant and quite possibly failing at it. God, he needs a drink. Preferably something stronger than champagne. Where on Earth are those servers? “It was getting a bit hot in here.”
Patrick doesn’t say anything, and out of the corner of his eye, Leon can see him regard him thoughtfully, his gaze sweeping down his entire body, as if searching for something. “Right,” he says a moment later, his reaction too delayed for it to be genuine, and Leon fights the urge to throttle him and then bury himself alive to get out of this mortifying ordeal.
Thankfully, Patrick drops the subject, instead opting to resume his moping. “Damn it,” he laments. “All of this effort for nothing. We probably won’t get another chance like this again.”
Leon hums noncommittally, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Now that the party is almost over, he finally feels comfortable enough to disregard a few of those unnecessary protocols and just relax a little.
His fingers close around a smooth, flat object.
He pulls it out, and there it is: Ada’s chip, supposedly containing the information on Wilson’s accomplices within the cabinet. The very wager that kick-started the more… interesting parts of his night. She must’ve slipped it inside his pocket while they were getting busy, that little sneak.
Before he can decide what to do with it, his phone pings with a new text from an unknown number.
I’m a woman of my word, it reads.
Merely a second later, another text comes in. I expect to pick up where we left off soon.
Then, another: Next time, lose the suit.
Next time. God, he really hopes they won’t make a habit out of this.
(A tiny part of him - that he cannot stamp out no matter how hard he tries - can’t help but feel a strange sort of excitement at the idea.)
“Is it HQ? Are they asking about me?” Patrick asks, voice nervous and posture jittery, craning his neck to get a good look at the screen.
Leon quickly turns away. “No. It’s nothing.”
He cringes almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, but if Patrick notices the absolutely terrible attempt at a lie, he doesn’t verbalize it.
His phone pings again. I trust you’ll take good care of my gift.
Shaking his head, he pockets his phone. He doubts he’ll ever understand why Ada does the things she does. The woman works in mysterious ways, always slipping just out of reach. Maybe the world is never meant to know her as she truly is. Maybe he’s lucky enough to just know the parts of her that she has chosen to share with him.
The only thing he knows is that he trusts her, against all rational thought. But then again, she has never given him a reason not to.
“Tonight might not have been a total bust,” he says, interrupting Patrick’s pity party.
Patrick whips his head in his direction, suddenly very interested. “What do you mean? Did you find a lead?”
The chip feels heavy in his pocket as he holds onto it. “Maybe. But let’s get out of here first.”
Maybe one day, she’ll finally let him see all of the puzzle pieces that make up her whole being.
Until then, he’ll be eagerly awaiting their next encounter.
For now, he’s content holding onto what they do have, however undefinable and perplexing it might be.
For her, he’ll slip on this ridiculous mask and play his part.
Until that day comes.
fin