Chapter 21 - Trust Issues

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⚠️This chapter contains a graphic description of sexual themes. If you want to skip that part that starts with (!!!) this, you may read the rest where it starts with this (*)!⚠️

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"That's a dangerous idea," he warns, lowering himself onto her couch. With an air of indifference, Ada follows, moving gracefully towards him. Both hands occupied with two glasses of vodka, handing one to him. "You are already in Wesker's crosshairs. He is suspicious of you, and If he finds out that Leon and (y/n) are actually alive, things will take a turn for the worse. For both of us."

Ada settles down beside him, looking at him. "I know," she murmurs, taking a subtle breath before delicately sipping her drink. "But you don't need to worry about yourself. He's in the dark about you."

"That doesn't matter. We started this together, and I'm not leaving you to deal with that asshole alone," he declares, offering a reassuring touch on her thigh. Ada arches an eyebrow, noticing the intimate gesture before he senses her reaction and withdraws. "Sorry."

"Accepted," Ada replies, taking another measured sip, her fingers playfully tracing the base of her glass. "As for Leon and (y/n)...I'm not sure if he's still interested in them anymore. He thinks they're dead, and Umbrella has already proceeded with the duplications."

His face drops at Ada's bold statement. Leaning forward, he tries to lock eyes with her. "You actually gave him the sample?"

"My life was on the line. Had no other choice," Ada pauses, meeting his gaze. "Now, are you going to help me? Or I'm doing this alone?"

"I helped you back in Cuba, and I will do it now," he assures Ada, and she smirks very lightly. "But there's something I don't get. Wesker was after the samples for obvious reasons, but why was he interested in Kennedy? And the nurse especially?" he inquires.

"They're a side quest," Ada hints. "The less you know, the better. Just trust me and do as I ask." She advises, maintaining her mysterious tone.

"And what about 'Ares'?"

"If the team doesn't suspect him, then we have nothing to worry about."

"This is not what I'm talking about. Why is he working for Umbrella too? How can we even trust him?"

"He's an old ally, don't worry about it," Ada assures him. "Are we done with the interrogation now?"

"I just need to know who I'm working for, Ada."

"You're working for me. That's all you need to know." He nods, reclining against the couch once again. "So, you saw Leon at her house."

His brows furrow at the abrupt shift in the conversation, taking a sip of his own vodka before responding. "Yeah. He seemed pretty wasted too."

"And when did he leave?"

"He uh, he didn't leave." Ada slowly looks back at his direction. "He stayed the night at her place, at least for as long as I was around." She scoffs, averting her gaze, facing straight ahead.

"Looks like Leon S. Kennedy has finally moved on." She says with a touch of mockery in her tone.

"What do you mean?" Her smirk fades at his question, recalling their last interaction.

-

"I heard you've made yourself a new friend. Or perhaps it's something deeper."

Leon remains silent at her assumptions, making her turn to face him again. Tilting her head, she remarks, "Oh, Leon. You'll never learn."

-

At that moment, she understood that her seduction could not affect him anymore. Leon felt something more than the need to protect this girl that night, and it showed.

Meanwhile, he notices her lingering silence and leans slowly forward, to meet her lost gaze. "There's something there, isn't it? You care about him."

Ada only sips once more on her vodka, avoiding answering. "Remember what you have to do from now on."

----

9:58 A.M

Finishing the last knot on your shoe, you rise slowly, perching on the edge of the bed, releasing a soft sigh. Gazing at your reflection in the mirror reveals lingering dark circles under your eyes, despite your attempts to cover them with a layer of concealer.

It's 10 in the morning. The torturous night passed so fast, yet it felt like an eternity, having you with only two hours of sleep to be exact. But how can you sleep when—this fucking kiss happened? It has conquered your thoughts for hours, leaving your face flushed and a desire to recreate that connection with Leon. But each time you remember it, the conflicted emotions return. Possible consequences of your action take their turn right after. The "what ifs" play in a loop- what if you hadn't pulled away, what could have happened?

The already complex situation with Leon had grown more complicated than they needed to, when the sensitive chapter of 'Leon Kennedy' slowly started to fade, after not seeing him for so long. But now, your feelings only grew stronger for him.

And it's not something you wanted.

Admitting this to yourself is difficult, but you wanted Leon to belong to the past, because this time apart, you had come to realizations. You accepted the truth that there can't be a possible future with him. The fact that you're looking for something completely different, that Leon can't offer. And not that it's his fault; it's just the way he is. You just are..not compatible, and the circumstances you are in right now surely do not call for dating or experience any romance at the moment. Not to mention the fact that in a few months, you will leave for Sweden. Yet, here comes the worst timing...and fucking kisses you. After two months of losing complete contact with you.

And here you are now, where you don't dare to step outside your bedroom and see if he is awake and how he is doing. But you can't stay hidden forever here.

The damage is done. Overthinking and nagging all the time about it won't change anything. You have to accept the situation and try your best to focus now on your sole goal: Study, work, gather money, move to Sweden, and leave everything behind.

Suddenly, you start to hear faint noises from the living room, you slowly stand up from your bed and walk towards the door. Pressing your ear against it, you hear muffled deep groans.

Leon's awake. God may help you.

Gathering your courage, you adjust your clothing and decide it is time to face the inevitable. Taking one deep breath, you open the door, and step outside of your bedroom. You don't know if you're gonna talk about last night's incident. You're still thinking if you're gonna tell him about the kiss, or let Leon approach the subject. Only the events will show that.

Finally, upon reaching the living room, you slowly peek through the wall and discover Leon leaning forward on the couch. His shirt is crumpled beside him, and the back of his hair appears damp. Facing away from you, his broad, scar-covered back is visible. Beads of sweat glisten on his bare skin, and he seems lost, with his head buried in his hands. Concern replaces your earlier anxiety and you approach him, unsure of how to manage the situation.

"Leon?" At the sound of your voice, he turns his head in your direction, yet not facing you. Your voice softens in quite relief. "Good morning..."

It's far from good, but anyway.

"Hey," Leon mumbles groggily, his hand rubbing the crown of his head. "What time is it?"

"Ten. Are you okay?" You ask slowly as you watch that his shirt appears to be soaked through with sweat. Leon emits a low hum in response. Studying the disheveled strands of damp hair concealing his eyes too, you can tell he had a rough night.

"Just a hell of a hangover," he grunts lightly. His voice is gruff, still hoarse from the night before. "I'm fine, don't worry about it."

You look at the aftermath of Leon's drinking session yesterday. He is a pure mess, it makes you pity him. Concern is still etched on your face as you notice his sluggish movements, and despite the sympathy you feel for him—considering the possibility of a rough and uneasy sleep, possibly by nightmares—you choose to remain silent. You watch as he retrieves his shirt and gradually slips it on.

You never expected that one day, you would find yourself in a similar position..and actually able to empathize with Leon, even if only scratching the surface of his experiences. Waking up drenched in sweat has become a routine for you, thanks to the horrific cult. Even their name now, is enough for you to be traumatized.

Clearing your throat, you redirect your attention to Leon. "Are you sure? Let me get you something to drink at lea-"

"I'm sure." Leon insists, words coming out harsher than intended, rubbing his fingers against his forehead. He releases a tired sigh, shaking his head tightly. "I appreciate it," he continues, softening his tone as he rises on unsteady legs, clutching the arm of the couch for support. "But I should get going..."

"Let me bring you a towel at least, to dry yourself," you offer, not allowing him the chance to refuse. Stepping into your bedroom, you pull out a clean towel from the closet's drawer before returning to him.

"Here," you extend the towel, your fingers briefly grazing. For the first time since the events of the previous day, your eyes finally meet. The urge to kiss him again comes back. But better to stay guarded for now.

"Thanks." He murmurs, making you break the eye contact instinctively. Unconsciously, your gaze shifts downward to his abs, a section of his shirt clinging to them, highlighting the contours. You find yourself momentarily captivated by the sight before quickly averting your eyes, not wanting to look like a creep. You sense his own scrutiny of your appearance, and as he, too, looks away, there's a return to his composed gaze—reverting to his familiar, stoic self.

Crossing your arms, you look away from him as he begins the process of drying off. The towel travels beneath his shirt, moving to his chest and stomach area before being worked to the back and front of his neck. Soft huffs of discomfort stem from his nostrils, betraying the lingering effects of his hangover. However, you notice something. So far, he doesn't seem to question your presence, and what is he doing at your place. Does that mean he remembers?

There's only one way to find out.

"You were uh...pretty out of it last night," you start, and try to direct the conversation towards the events that followed right after. "I brought you to my place since I didn't know where you live."

Leon exhales a weak, unexpressive chuckle, still avoiding direct eye contact. "I know. Sorry for all the trouble."

His response confuses you. So, he doesn't remember? Or is he does...and avoid it?

"...Don't worry about it; it's alright. Just glad you're safe and sound."

"I'd be just fine. You shouldn't have troubled yourself."

"Maybe, but I couldn't just leave you alone like that."

The following seconds pass in stillness, having you wait for him to say something more, give a hint about last night. Instead, Leon remains focused on the task of drying himself with the towel, his features betraying signs of internal distress. You feel a small crack in your heart as the realization settles in. Leon either doesn't remember or chooses to dismiss the incident as a mere drunken mistake. You feel emotions you shouldn't really - anger, disappointment. And why? You literally knew that in the state he kissed you last night was far from sober.

Because you might have leaned in...but he kissed you in the end. Does it really matter who kissed who, if this is the outcome?

Yesterday, you felt things you can't explain. And it kills you that you're the only one that remembers.

"-..Do you want me to make you some green tea? It will help with your hangover." You utter, your voice sounds like your struggling to speak. "It's good for the nausea as well, if you have."

"I've burdened you enough," Leon says, handing you the towel. "I really should get going."

"You're not a burden, Leon," you assure as you watch him take his jacket. "You had a rough night. Driving now in this condition is not the greatest idea. Drink some water to wake up better, I'll make something for you to eat too, and once you regain your strength you can leave if you want."

"Listen. Thanks for all the help, but let's not make this any more complicated."

An eyebrow raises in response. "Complicated? What do you mean?"

"I mean that I appreciate you taking me in last night but you're not obligated to look after me. It's not your job."

His assertion catches you by surprise.

"I never said it was," you say slowly. "And I didn't do it out of obligation; I simply wanted to make sure you're okay. In the end, we've been through a lot together, and you know that."

"That doesn't mean I need you or anyone looking out for me. I can handle myself." 

Your head tilts in disbelief at Leon's sudden aggressiveness. After all this, and now he's being a total dickhead. What the fuck has gotten into him? You always made concessions from the moment you met him, try to watch after his well-being, and be understanding as you can, but this shit begins to take its toll. 

"Sure, you can. I saw that pretty well," you remark sarcastically. "Considering the state you were in last night, I'd say you're doing a great job handling yourself."

Leon doesn't reply at first; instead, his brows tighten as he looks away. You made him uncomfortable, but you don't care. You've reached your breaking point. However, for both sakes, you try to go for a gentler approach. "Just because I don't talk about it, doesn't mean that I didn't notice you drinking like an alcoholic most of the time. Why are you doing this?"

"What I do outside the workplace, is none of your business," Leon responds defensively.

"Yet you show up at the bar I work at, completely wasted, barely able to stand," you raise your voice slightly. "I'm a person who will run to help the people I value. So it automatically becomes my business too. And showing some kindness never hurt anyone." 

Leon scoffs at your last hint. "You're trying to say something?" he really just asks for it.

"Yes. Yes, I am. That you're being extremely unappreciative. The simple 'thank you' would suffice, you know? Without this bitter 'I'm tough, I don't need anyone' act of yours. What I did is purely because I care about you, and I hate seeing you messed up like this. That's it," you explain honestly.

"Look away then. Because this is the way I am. Like it or not," he says, taking a step closer. "Now drop it. I don't need any of your damn pity."

"Pity..." You shake your head, pure disappointment runs through your veins at Leon's behavior towards you. "I don't know what kind of past has left you with such insecurities, but not everyone is out to-"

"Don't talk about my past if you know nothing about it," he cuts you off firmly. Voice low and sharp. "I said thank you but not repeat this again. End of story."

"Okay then. You're welcome. Now go back to your messed-up life and drown in whatever it is you're going through. But don't expect me to stand here and watch you self-destruct. Because this is what you do." The venomous words escape your mouth unwantedly.

Leon looks away, jaw clenching at your words. "This leads nowhere. I'm out," he declares low and angrily, snatching his helmet from your coffee table.

"You stayed too long either way." You cross your arms. "You know where the door is."

Leon approaches you, and for a moment, both of you lock eyes, a silent exchange of unspoken emotions as you look at each other's lips. He tightens his grip on his sleek helmet before breaking the eye contact and passing by you, striding towards the door.

A few seconds pass, and you hear his steps halt. You can sense his gaze on you, but you choose not to turn around. Eventually, he turns back, opens the door, and closes it with a loud slam. A sigh of frustration escapes you as you sink into the couch. You made all different scenarios of how this morning would go...but this? This is not what you expected. 

What the hell just happened? Instead of talking about one of the most important things that kept you awake at night, you ended up breaking apart like this...Why is it so difficult for his stubborn ass to see that you genuinely care for him? And the way you talked to him already makes you regret it. 

However, although he's gone now, your gut tells you that this isn't the last time you'll see him...

----

Tic, toc, tic, toc,

Wesker reclines in his office chair, his gaze fixed on the wide screen before him, hand casually resting against the armrest. The ring of the phone provokes a quick, fluid twirl in his chair as he reaches for the receiver.

"Tell me."

"He just left her house."

A tense silence follows the revelation sparking a tightening of Wesker's fists as he absorbs the information. One of his targets is still alive. "As I suspected," he mutters, his brows furrowing with suppressed anger. "Any sign of her?"

"Nothing."

"Continue your investigation. The moment you confirm her survival, proceed with the plan and bring her to my office."

"And what about the agent?"

Wesker clenches his jaw at the mention of Leon. He was announced dead two months ago by another traitor, called Ada Wong, so there's no need for him to be an extra obstacle. After Leon and Ares are out of the picture, she follows next. 

"Plan's changed. Eliminate him." The order is delivered with a cold determination before he hangs up the call with a thud on his desk.

----

"I don't understand what's the point of stopping right now, Captain!" Piers raises his voice, hands threateningly placed on the surface. 

"Because the only order I got is to create an undercover team, get the suitcase, and destroy the samples. Task's completed." Chris replies curtly, meeting Piers' gaze without flinching.

"Spare me with the poor excuses. You yourself vowed to uncover the new head of Umbrella for the sake of those infected back there." Piers presses on. "Want me to remind you there was a whole laboratory beneath the mansion? Their fucking symbol was standing shamelessly on the wall! Don't you want to know the relation between them and Saddler? What were their motives?"

"Their motives align with ours."

"If that were true, they would have destroyed the cult and taken the suitcase long before us."

"It's against our rules to act on our own, Piers!" Chris finally snaps.

"So you're working only by rules now?" Piers retorts irritated. 

Just then, Luis walks out from his laboratory, one hand holding protectively the case. Observing sudden quiet tension, he remarks with a mischievous smirk, "Marital fight?"

Exhaling in irritation, Chris turns his attention to Luis. "What is it, Luis?"

Making his way to the main room, Luis carefully places the suitcase on the round table. "I am pleased to announce that my research is finally complete," he declares, raising his arms in triumph.

"And what did you find?" Chris asks. Luis slowly leans against the nearby wall.

"All of those samples contain indeed the Subordinate Plaga," he begins, but already noticing Piers' confusion. "Let's say that this Plaga holds all the "Submissive" species. However...Leon was infected with the rare 'Varium' Plaga. Where it holds both dominant and subordinate species."

Chris and Piers exchange meaningful glances before refocusing on Luis. "Meaning?" Piers inquires.

"Meaning, that he's submissive to dominant infectors, which one was Saddler, and dominant to subordinate infectors. Ganados for example." Luis explains as pulls out his golden lighter, fidgeting it around his fingers. "But I can't tell if this Plaga was from the suitcase, or-..."

"Or?"

"Or...Perhaps it was an injection administered by Umbrella."

Chris sighs, placing his hands in defeat onto the chair at the news. Seems like the team might have retrieved the suitcase, but it could already be too late.

"Is there any way we can confirm that?" Chris asks, searching for a glimmer of hope.

Luis chuckles lightly at the question. "I'm no god to have an answer for that, señor."

Piers shoots a look at Chris, suggesting his earlier concerns might actually be valid. "Do you have anything to add to this, Captain?" he asks ironically. "Or it's still not enough to take action?"

"Fuck!" Chris curses under his breath, his fist colliding with the table in frustration.

"We need to convene a meeting, that's certain. Gather all the members here and discuss this," he pauses, the smirk slowly fading from his face. "If there's even a possibility that Umbrella has a copy of the Plaga, another bioweapon war could erupt, and history may repeat itself."

Chris nods, briefly eyeing the suitcase before turning back to Luis. "I'll talk to one of the B.S.A.A. Commanders about the situation. After that, I'll reach out to Claire, figure out how we can contact the rest."

"I'll inform Hercules," Piers suggests.

"No." Chris cuts him off. Piers raises an eyebrow. "I believe I made it clear that I don't want him to come back to the team after what happened."

"Not the greatest time to become stubborn."

"He disobeyed orders barely a day after joining," Chris recalls. There's a lot more he has noticed about Hercules in only two days, but talking about it to Piers and Luis won't do anything.

"But his disobedience saved Leon."

"And nearly cost (y/n)'s life."

"So this is why this time, we will only call for Hercules." Piers insists, before he glances at Luis and walks out of the bunker. Chris closes his eyes and exhales through his nostrils, retaking his seat at the table. Luis slowly walks up to him while his gaze remains at Piers, until the doors behind him close.

"Come on, Redfield. Maybe Hercules has the Greek power, if not the Greek name, to determine if the syringe is from Umbrella." Chris lifts his head wearily, giving Luis a stern look. "Alright, alright, not the best time for my sense of humor. I'll head back to the laboratory."

"Inform me if you have anything new." He requests and Luis nods, before heading back inside.

Once alone, Chris's eyes linger on the deadly weapon on the table. He doesn't trust Hercules, and a gut feeling warns him that bringing him back would be a mistake.

So he has to search for the head of Umbrella alone.

----

Stepping wearily into his apartment, Leon nudges the door shut with a swing of his leg and the door clicks securely behind him. As he surveys the space, he surrenders to the return of his usual loneliness. Discarding his jacket, he hangs it on the hanger alongside his helmet.

The headache has gotten worse, and the nausea has grown to dangerous levels. With a heavy groan, he collapses onto the couch, his fingers reaching for the back of his t-shirt to peel it off. His head drops back, and his eyes fixate on the ceiling. Faint images from the previous night at the bar and her home resurface in his mind. However, he is still in a vulnerable position and tries to focus on getting back on his clear senses.

Closing his eyes, the quietude swallows him. The memory of her lips on his doesn't leave him. Each swipe of his tongue over his lips triggers a recollection of her taste. He sighs, turning his head towards the balcony door that opens to the city below. It only takes the view for the memories to return. 

-

"You know," he begins, his eyes focused on the road ahead before flickering back to Leon. "I remember the first time we reunited after the island. I asked you if there was a woman in your life, and you said there was no one."

Leon remains motionless, his ears though perk up at the unexpected turn in the conversation. Luis can't resist the opportunity to tease, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. "I suppose your dating life is not the best, eh? Unless you're single by choice...or wait for a specific senorita?"

A few seconds of silence pass before Leon responds, while his gaze lingers on the passing view. "Work's been keeping me busy enough."

"Oh, and I thought it was because you're a blabber," Luis chuckles mockingly.

-

"So, you know (y/n) as well, huh?" Claire asks, deciding to break the silence. Leon swerves his gaze at her. "How small the world can be."

"I don't know her personally..I just helped her in a difficult situation. Unlike you, who seem to know her pretty well." Leon guesses. Claire nods, holding the wheel firmly with her right hand.

"Yeah. My parents were working with her parents when we were kids, and eventually, they became good friends. But (y/n) and I started to hang out after her sister started dating Chris."

"Really?" Leon asks.

"Yeah but-...(y/n) and her parents don't know a thing till this day." She chuckles before the tone in her voice returns to serious. "After the accident, they helped us stand on our feet. Two years later, Chris and I left the town, moving to Racoon City. From then, you know the rest of the story." Claire shakes her head, as the memories resurface. "I feel so good that I saw her...you can't understand, Leon."

"She awakens good memories from your past," Leon says, looking back at her. "The past you miss. This is why." She nods in agreement. A few seconds pass, and she decides to ask:

"What about you, Leon? Do have a person that awakens beautiful memories of the past?" Leon for the first time is unable to give an answer. Claire notices his silence and decides to comfort him. "If we don't have for the past, we always have the chance to meet someone, who can give us those memories, Leon. The thing is...to look for them." She slowly turns her eyes at him. "Or maybe- you have met someone who can do that. But you do not see it yet."

-

"You trust that bitch?" Annette coughs out, holding onto her wounded stomach as she refers to Ada. Leon frowns as he leans back.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks. She shakes her head in frustration.

"She's not FBI, she's mercenary." She swallows her words, breathing loudly. "She's gonna sell it.."

-

"You know, about what happened yesterday with Piers," Leon begins, taking a brief pause. "Don't let his words distract you. We might only work together for a really short time, but I remember how you treated my wound back at the hospital and how you took care of Carlos's cut. It showed that you are really skilled at what you do."

A wide smile spreads across her face at his words. "Thanks. I'm glad I've earned your trust." At her words, his lips curl up sarcastically, turning his head to face her.

"Just because I admire your work, doesn't mean I trust you. Don't mix it up."

-

"If I were you, I wouldn't trust the nurse." Ada cautions, making Leon's gaze harden at her words.

"What do you know about trust?"

-

"You trust that bitch?"

-

"I trust you," Leon rasps, locking her fingers around the suitcase's handle. After a brief struggle, he manages to regain his unsteady footing. "Go."

"I'm not leaving," she presses, moving closer. Leon shakes his head, taking weary steps backward towards Saddler, his gun soon pointed at the fractured ceiling. With a single gunshot, he shatters the crack, and stones begin to collapse before both of him, forming a rocky wall that separates the two of them.

"Leon!"

-

Lost in the fog of his thoughts, he lifts his head, only to succumb to a wave of dizziness, the urge to retch reaching its peak. Hastily rising, he stumbles to the bathroom, where he kneels before the toilet, vomiting all the remnants of last night's heavy drinking.

Once this temporary torture is over, he flushes the toilet and collapses onto his side, his head resting against the cool marble wall. Sweat beads down his forehead and neck as his eyes remain tightly shut, brows furrowed in discomfort.

"That's what you get for being a dick..." he rasps to himself, breathing heavily, his hand resting on his stomach as he swallows hard. He fucked up beyond repair. Certainly not the way he imagined spending his days off.

----

As you pack your belongings in the operating room, you take a moment to cast one final gaze around the space. A soft sigh of relief escapes your lips— the job with Chris and the team is officially over. The suitcase is safely secured at the B.S.A.A, and your task is now complete. A mix of emotions washes over you; a strange combination of comfort for the impending recovery and escape from the chaos, yet a subtle pang of sadness for the connections developed with the team members—Luis, Carlos, Claire, Leon, and even Piers...

Your daily interactions, the meetings, the training sessions- that didn't seem to be needed after all, now will loom as a significant part of your experiences that you won't easily forget. Or ever.

However, a darker thought creeps in. What will be the aftermath of all this? How will it affect your mental state?

Soon, a soft knock makes you stand straight and return back to packing. "Come in," you call out gently as the door opens. Piers enters, still carrying remnants of the mansion's filth on his face and clothes. Your brows twitch in surprise at his entrance, but you maintain your composure.

"You're done packing?" Piers asks, closing the door behind him.

"Yeah, almost," you respond, as you continue sorting through your medical tools. Your focus is separated between your belongings and Piers. The metallic clinks and the rustling of your stuff echo in the air as Piers silently observes. After a thoughtful pause, you decide to break the silence. "Now you'll finally get rid of me," you quip, unwanted bitterness seeping into your words.

"Yeah. It was about time," Piers surprisingly responds, causing you to subtly clench your teeth. "Because I'm relieved that you'll no longer be in danger."

You pause your movements, lowering your bag slowly, and turn to face him. Piers maintains a serious demeanor. "I don't know exactly what happened back in the mansion, and it probably doesn't matter now. But you did an excellent job taking care of Leon, the rest of the team, and yourself. I felt I had to tell you that myself."

His unpredictable praise leaves you stunned, a positive surprise that feels like he's finally acknowledging your worth, even if you had to go through all this.

"Thanks. Really, I..." you murmur, still processing Piers' unexpected kindness.

"There's no need to thank me. I just said what I noticed."

Just then, a knock interrupts the atmosphere, and Hercules enters the room.

"Ride's here. We have to leave for the hospital," he declares.

"Yeah. I'm coming," you give a tight nod, zipping the bag.

Piers glances at Hercules for a moment before returning his focus to you. "Take care of yourself, (y/n)."

You smile weakly. "You too, Piers. And good luck."

With a single nod, Piers exits the operating room, leaving you and Hercules alone, trying to absorb this conversation. 

----

3:21 P.M

The noon sun hangs overhead as you find yourself still at the bar. Crystal clean glasses neatly arranged along the counter, chairs neatly positioned atop the now empty tables, and the bathrooms, well...yeah, no need for intel on the cleaning you had to do in there.

One more task now, before you get done with the cleaning: mopping. But you feel more than exhausted to do so right now. Deciding a momentary break is definitely necessary, you grab a chair from the table and untie your apron, resting it on the back of the chair. Sinking into the seat, you take a deep breath, feeling the weariness seep through your bones. A tired moan escapes your lips as you prop your elbows on your knees and cover your face with your palms. The sleepless night that passed makes you feel like slime, but at least the cleaning is almost over, and you can look forward to the upcoming two days off.

As you rest, Leon and your intense argument comes back to your mind once again. A cold way to separate, after this. And you feel a mix of relief and regret not telling him about that impulsive kiss. You really do. Maybe things would be different if you were direct from the beginning. Or perhaps not.

The silence is abruptly shattered when your phone rings from the bar counter. Rising to your feet, you move to answer it.

Arching an eyebrow in surprise at the contact, you decide to answer but keep the conversation distant. "Dad."

"(y/n)." A brief silence hangs between you two, both waiting for the other to speak. However, you have no energy for further drama – it's Sunday, for fuck's sake.

"Well? What is it?" you ask coldly, concealing any emotion.

"Listen, I didn't call to fight. But to talk." Your dad explains. Which is surprising.

"Okay. I'm listening."

"I don't think talking on the phone is ideal. How about you come over for dinner?"

Now that's new. The two possible scenarios are: Your dad has some master megamind, manipulating, gaslighting plan to convince you to return to the hospital, or he genuinely wants to make amends.

The first sounds the most realistic.

"Alright. I will come, but not today because I'm exhausted. We can plan for next week."

"As you wish."

"Good. We will talk later then." With that, you nonchalantly end the call, letting the phone land with a thud on the table. Taking a deep breath, you refocus on your work, now more eager to finish up and head home early.

Suddenly, a squeaky voice calls out from the entrance, diverting your attention.

"Auntie!"  Irene, with her radiant presence, rushes to you, a little backpack on her back and a piece of paper clutched in her hand. Ava follows, her purse and a backpack slung over her shoulder.

Watching her with Ava brings you that familiar feeling of uneasiness once more, but you try your best to push it aside, and force a smile before Irene crashes against your embrace.

"Well, well, hello there, you little koala," you jest, hugging Irene and patting her small back through her backpack. Pulling away, you notice the colorful paper in her hand. "What's that?"

"Give auntie your present," Ava says softly, encouraging Irene to eagerly lift her drawing, leaving you gasping in surprise.

"Oh wow," you whisper, taking the drawing in your hands. The most adorable depiction of you seated on a piano, with hearts and musical notes emanating from the instrument. "This is so beautiful! You seriously have some talent, you know that?"

Irene's smile brightens. "Really?" 

"Yes!" You respond excitedly. "And you know what? I'd like to pay for this masterpiece you made here," you add, pretending to examine an artist's painting. "How much does that cost, miss?"

"A strawberry milkshake!" Irene exclaims. You chuckle as you glance through the bar counter, noticing the absence of strawberries behind the bar counter.

"Hm, I'm afraid we don't have strawberries right now. How about a banana milkshake instead?" you suggest, and Irene hesitates for a moment. "I promise you, it's very delicious."

"Okay." She cutely agrees.

"Very well, miss. Your order is on its way!" you jest with a playful tone as Ava carefully seats Irene on a stool with proper back support. After ensuring Irene's comfort, you proceed to wash your hands and make your way behind the counter. Retrieving bananas and other necessary ingredients from the mini-fridge, you start the process of preparing the requested banana milkshake.

"So, what brings you here?" you ask as you begin to unpeel the fruit.

"Wanted to see how you're doing. I stopped by your place, you weren't there, called your phone, it was occupied, and I guessed you'd be here," Ava explains, settling onto a stool beside Irene. She remains quiet, noting the dark circles under your eyes and the strained cheerfulness in your demeanor. Concern etches her features as she talks further, "And you seem far from okay. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's going on," you casually respond, attempting to seem confident as you begin to cut. Ava raises an eyebrow, shooting you a skeptical look that clearly shows she isn't buying your act. Still, you persist, "Really, I'm fine." 

"Those dark circles under your eyes say something else." Ava comments. You sigh, pausing for a bit. "Look, I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but you changed, (y/n). You've been so distant lately and fighting with everyone. I don't understand what's going on. Don't you trust me?"

Ava is really not wrong on this one. You've been really fighting with everyone you know at this point. Everyone you care about and love, either left, or hate you. You start to believe you are the root of the problem at this point.

"It's not that, Ava. And I'm telling you nothing's wrong. I just had a rough morning, and I'm not really in the mood to talk about it."

"Okay then, just tell me this at least: Is it about Dad?" she asks. 

You shake your head no. "I mean, he called that he wants to talk, so I'd say that's actually a good thing. Or that's what I'd like to believe," you explain as you pour the milk next. "Want something to drink?"

"No, I'm good."

"Auntie, now that I will stay with you, will we make the bear pancakes?" Irene suddenly asks, swinging her legs nonchalantly. You arch an eyebrow, thrown off by the abrupt turn in the conversation.

"What?" you look at your sister. "What is she saying?"

Irene turns to her mother, and Ava stammers slightly, shifting on the stool. "Just for five days, I promise," she hastily explains.

You sigh, realizing why Ava came over in the first place. "Ava..."

"Mom and Dad will be at the hospital all day. They can't take care of her," Ava pleads.

"And I'll be at the bar," you add. "Can't you just take her with you?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

At your question, she leans a bit closer. "It's about Aiden and I..we're getting divorced."

You laugh. "I have heard that maaaany times already."

"This time is serious," Ava insists.

Your smile fades, and your eyes widen in shock. "You...told him?"

"I didn't...I just told him half of it. That I just- don't love him anymore."

Looks like Ava is actually putting an end to her marriage with Aiden. It's sad to hear, but much preferable than them fighting and breaking up constantly. Especially after Ava cheated on him. 

Grabbing a clean glass, you begin to pure the viscous liquid. "Why do you even have to leave for this?"

"Because Aiden's lawyer is in Linton City. I don't want to go to mom and dad's lawyer, because I'm afraid they'll find out."

"You can't hide it from them either."

"I promise we'll tell them once we're back," Ava assures.

You tsk, placing the glass before Irene. "I don't know if I can keep her, Ava..."

"Auntie, you don't want me?" Irene asks, disappointed, having you forget for a moment that she can hear this conversation.

"No, no, no, it's not that," you hurriedly assure Irene. A heavy weight settles in your chest. Her parents are going through a divorce, and the last thing you want is for her to feel unwanted by you. "Give me a second." Reaching for your phone, you look through your contacts, Ava watching your movements with a furrowed brow. Dialing Julia's number, you hear her answer after a few beeps. "Hey, Julia. It's me," you mutter as you slowly slide your hand into your back pocket. "I've got some family matters to attend to. Could you cover my afternoon shifts at the bar and let me take the morning instead till Friday? It's a health issue," At her hesitant agreement, a light smile of relief graces your face. "Thank you, I really owe you one."

After saying your goodbyes with Julia, you hang up the phone and glance back at your older sister, that you hate and love at the same time right now. "Looks like we'll make those pancakes." You say with a smile at Irene, and she smiles back happily.

Ava expresses her gratitude with a warm smile before rising from the stool. She walks behind the counter, wrapping her arms around your neck from the side and planting a kiss on your cheek. "You're the best sister ever, you know that?"

"Am I?" you both chuckle and Irene cheers. Truth is, you're more than happy to have Irene with you. Your house finally won't be empty. You want to forget, and taking care of Irene seems like a good distraction.

Grabbing a straw, you finally place it on the milkshake and Irene takes her small sips. Your eyes fall upon her drawing, hoping to make that picture become a reality. After all, for this dream you endure all this.

----

(!!!)

4:32 A.M

She elegantly rises and sinks down on me in her own slow pace. The moonlight highlights her facial features, lost in the clouds of pleasure. My legs spread, back resting against her couch as my hands reach for her waist, watching her in admiration, how beautiful she looks with the way her hips are swaying atop me. Grabbing my hands, she laces our fingers together, and I take the lead, pulling her against my chest. Her arms wrap around my neck, and I shift to get comfortable, nestling my head on the crook of her neck, planting soft kisses on her skin.

I absorb the pleasure she gets off from me. I only want to make her feel good. Take care of her, just like she did for me from the moment she stepped in that base...and into my life. I don't want her to be scared of me. I want her to feel safe with me.

"I'm sorry..." I finally confess a proper apology, almost in a broken whisper, lips grazing her pulsating throat, revisiting the places my fingers had been in those dark moments we shared back in that mansion, in order to take her life. Back in Rosewood too. An apology of a guilt that doesn't leave me. It hadn't for even a second those past two months. Not when my duty is to protect her, and I have miserably failed each time.

However, her quiet moans hint me her forgiveness. Mental pain and pleasure stir within me, wanting nothing more than to let her become my escape.

One of my hands cups her back, her stomach pressing against my chest as I trail open-mouthed kisses on her breasts, taking in her scent. With each subtle bounce of hers, I grunt, feeling myself getting close. Pulling away just to move both hands back on her waist, I lift slightly my hips and thrust gently upwards to meet her movements inside her wetness with ease, eliciting louder mewls. My head falls on the back of the couch with a bit more force, eyes close shut, hissing as I approach my orgasm. It all takes a few more quick pumps, and with a low, guttural groan, I let go of myself, releasing, and spilling deep inside.

The moment I come down from my climax, I slump onto her soft couch, panting. Just then, delicate palms cup my cheeks, lifting my gaze to hers, and pulling me into a slow, tender kiss. I comply without a single protest and kiss her back.

Once we break apart, our eyes meet again. Her fingers move gently down my bare bicep, before trailing down on the center of my scarred chest.

"Do you trust me now?"

(*)

--

Stirring lightly, his eyes gradually open, meeting the unlit ceiling. Leon's heart beats rapidly as he wearily turns his head towards the nightstand, peering through the darkness of his room to catch a glimpse of the time. 4:55 A.M.

With a muted groan, he eases himself into an upright position on the bed. A weary hand sweeps across his somber face, his mind grappling to make sense of the frequent dream that he saw for the second time. Most importantly, of whom.

You.

----