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Leon tugs uncomfortably at the stiff collar of his dress shirt as he and Ada enter the main ballroom of the five-star hotel, the buzz of chatter and the faint notes of classical music from the quartet at the far side of the room mingling as he scans the area warily. Behind them, the large wall-to-wall windows overlooking the ocean glow golden with the setting sun, casting the shifting sea of sparkling cocktail gowns and expensive, pressed suits in bubbly light that matches the pale champagne they carry in delicate flutes. Expensive jewelry and brand-name watches don the arms of many people in sight, Leon's own overpriced watch feeling conspicuously chilled where it clings to the curve of his wrist from when Ada had slipped it into place in the car. The metal brushes against the sleeve of his expertly-tailored suit as he shifts in place, both of them probably worth more money than he has in his entire bank account.
"You're staring," Ada warns quietly at his right, resplendent in an elegant, dark red cocktail dress that clings to her lithe figure like a second skin. Her raven hair is mostly swept away from her face except for the few strands that hang alluringly around her brows and draw attention to her wide, piercing eyes and delicate lashes. She smiles coyly, the expression smooth and practiced, and leans deeper into where she's hooked her hand around Leon's bent arm to keep up the pretense that they've come here as a couple. Her perfume washes over him, perfectly complimenting the faint waft of expensive cologne he'd been given to wear over the heated pulse points on his throat and wrists. "Relax."
"Easy for you to say. I'm not quite as well-versed in socialization as you are, if you'll remember. I don't get out much," he murmurs, mimicking her winning smile as he dips his head to meet her gaze. Nothing to see here, folks, just another happy, stupidly-rich couple come to rub elbows with fellow millionaires and get drunk on expensive wine. Nevermind the fact that they've been something like friendly rivals for years, eternally caught in a game of backstabbing cat-and-mouse that has unexpectedly led to this shared mission objective nearly two decades after they had met.
Or the high-tech weapons hidden discreetly beneath their clothes, generously granted by whatever mysterious benefactor Ada's working for these days.
"You get out plenty," Ada returns adroitly, rolling her eyes and managing to make it look adoring. "It's just usually to a forest in the middle of nowhere, with all the wild animals."
Leon scoffs despite himself, lifting his head to look out again at the crowd. "I seem to recall meeting you in that same forest, once upon a time," he says, feeling the invisible earpiece he's been made to wear beneath his hair shift minutely. It's not currently active; won't be, unless he desperately needs backup, but he still worries someone might pick up on it and catch the two of them red-handed. Plenty of important bioweapon dealers are here tonight—it won't take much for them to realize what's going on, and he and Ada will be forced to escape from the premises with much less grace than they'd arrived in.
Ada hums noncommittally. "Well, if I can manage that, then I'm sure you can handle a little polite conversation. Though, if you need motivation: the quicker we find Daltan, the quicker you can go enjoy the hot tub in your suite."
"What makes you think I'm going for a soak after this?"
"Because I know you, and I know you eyed it up the second you stepped through the door." Ada dips her head with a smile towards a woman who greets her as she breezes past, ever composed and watchful. She has a charisma that very few can ignore, especially when she's working undercover like this. Leon can see heads turning as she passes by—it's probably not the greatest of ideas, for spies to draw attention to themselves, but maybe there's something to be said about hiding in plain sight. Still, he's tense.
Ada turns to him as they drift over to an empty space beside the windows, slender hand gliding up his lapel to adjust it. "We just have to find out who he's meeting with tonight," she reminds Leon, smoothing the fabric and stepping back. "The location would also be ideal, but the biggest thing is figuring out who's actually spearheading this new corporation."
"So do I just… talk to him?" Leon asks, still a little uncertain on why his presence is so important tonight.
"If you see him. Don't overthink it—it's just polite conversation. Act like you're jealous but trying to hide it." Her dark eyes scan his face for a moment. "You'll do better than you think. I'll do the same if I have an opportunity, but Daltan prefers to surround himself with men."
"Gay?"
"Misogynist."
"Ah." The pieces are beginning to click into place. Leon resists the urge to run his hand through his hair and looks out toward the ballroom, eyeing the fancy pillars. This place looks more like a modernized palace than a hotel, the hairs on his arms standing up as he warily scans the decorative filigree along the edges of the ceiling. He's seen enough castles to last a lifetime. He clears his throat, pulling an easy smirk back to his face. "That's a shame, then. He's not totally unattractive."
"Are you planning to seduce him?" Ada's expression is amused. "He didn't strike me as your type, but maybe you're his. I doubt many people could say no to those big, blue eyes."
"You did. Many a time, in fact."
"Yes." Ada's face twitches the slightest fraction, not rising to the bait. "We'd better go socialize."
-~-
Despite himself, Leon starts to have fun. The h'ors d'oeuvres are simply divine, as a lady had said upon being served by a waiter, eliciting an internal snicker from Leon with her affected, lofty tone. The world of the rich is one he's never been a part of—nor has he ever wanted to be, intimately familiar with the underhanded, exploitative methods wealthy corporations employ to make their fortunes—but it's funny to see that they actually do act like movie characters sometimes. He spends some time mingling with Ada and sipping champagne, then branches out and acts like he's networking with other people around the room. It makes him feel a bit like James Bond, playing a suave, charming character in order to blend in.
At one point he runs into the host of the event, the eccentric and deceptive Adonis Amir, whose harmless, flashy rings and chiselled jaw can't hide the wild, cold gleam in his eyes when he offhandedly mentions his not-so-secret biochemical empire. Daltan is the Administrative Advisor to Amir's CEO position, and he's also the one who carries out most of the under-the-table dealings and handling of assets. His hands are bound to be dripping in viruses and dirty money, but Leon doubts Amir's are any cleaner.
He takes advantage of his first available opportunity to shake Amir's hand politely and slip away, not even a glass of champagne from a passing waiter enough to dull the sheer boredom of a rich man talking about cryptocurrencies . Finally free, he scans the ballroom carefully, observing the practiced pleasant expressions on the faces of nearly everyone in his vicinity. From across the room, Ada gives him a subtle raised eyebrow where she's speaking to a young woman with highlighted brown hair. He shrugs. There's been no sign of their target yet.
At least, until Leon sweeps the room again and tenses as he spots the telltale curve of an elegantly stubbled jaw and longish brown hair, styled back in charmingly mussed layers that curl behind his ears in places. The man is dressed in pressed slacks and a matching gray suit jacket, a gleaming watch visible on his wrist even from where Leon stands several yards away. Daltan .
Leon watches him walk towards the bar in the corner of the room that happens to be closest to him and finds his legs already carrying him in that direction before he commands them to. He swallows, glancing at Ada. She's staring at him intensely, and he nods in acknowledgement. Here goes.
Daltan is seated by the time Leon gets close, jacket unbuttoned and elbows resting on the wooden bar counter as he cradles a glass of what looks to be whiskey—on the rocks, an overly elaborate cube of ice resting in the amber liquid—in a strong, scarred palm. His expression is relaxed, hardly changing at all when Leon sets himself on the chair beside Daltan and loosens his own jacket buttons. He waves the bartender over with his now-perfected charming grin. "A seltzer, please."
She nods, blushing lightly, and turns to her duties. In the corner of his eye, Leon watches Daltan glance over at him, gray sleeve riding up to reveal the scars that travel all the way up his left wrist, shriveled and taut like burn marks. He clears his throat, offering a tepid smile when Leon looks in his direction.
"Not drinking tonight?" he asks, voice lower than Leon had expected and slightly gravelly. Leon flashes a sheepish smile.
"Ah, not yet. My wife says I get too carried away," he lies, waving the hand with his fake wedding ring and feigning a laugh. "She's probably right."
"You let her control you like that?" Daltan quirks an eyebrow and tosses back the rest of his drink, reaching out a hand once he's done to shake Leon's. His grip is firm, rough, like he's testing Leon's resolve. He smiles brightly, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Marcus Daltan. I work with Mr. Amir. You are?"
"Leon Silas. I've heard a lot of good things about your work with Mr. Amir," Leon answers pleasantly, the rehearsed lie sliding right off his tongue.
Daltan hums. "Of course, of course. And what do you do? I don't think I've seen you around here before."
"Oh, you know." Leon shrugs, nodding gratefully at the bartender when she slides his drink over to him. He takes a sip of seltzer, the tangy bubbles prickling over his tongue. "I'm here and there. I work in finance, actually."
"CEO?"
"Nah, I'm not quite that high in the food chain." Leon laughs, amusement not entirely feigned when he pictures himself running a business empire. "I do alright for myself, you know how it is. I don't need too much, just a good life for my wife."
Daltan signals for another round and nods thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. "You're an interesting man, Mr. Silas. I admire your humility—not too many men here think the same way."
"I'm sure you do," Leon hints, sipping his drink again. Ada's words whisper through his mind: act like you're jealous.
Daltan smirks. "I suppose. " He eyes Leon with a piercing gaze. "I hate to watch such an interesting man limit himself to water at an event like this. Let me buy you a drink, no matter what your wife might say."
"Oh, I'm—" Leon starts, but Daltan has already leaned towards the bartender again.
"Make that two, please, sweetheart. My friend here deserves a drink on my tab tonight."
She's quick about it, handing both drinks to Daltan scarcely a moment or two later. Probably still has the stuff out from when Daltan ordered his first drink, Leon thinks. He watches Daltan lift them both, offering a glass to Leon. He takes it, the cool condensation forming in the warmth of the ballroom meeting his fingertips and making him shiver slightly. He takes a sip. Damn, that's definitely the good stuff.
"So," Leon drawls, leaning on the bar and turning to Daltan like he's about to share a secret. "I won't beat around the bush. I wanted to ask you, Mr. Daltan—would you say that you and your partners might have room for new… business ventures?"
Daltan doesn't react except to quirk an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh? Is that what you're over here to talk to me about? I should've figured."
"It's not something you'll want to pass up," Leon promises, keeping his tone low and confident. "Just let me have a minute of your time?"
Daltan nods in acquiescence and Leon takes a breath, mentally preparing his spiel before he speaks it out loud. He's accustomed to the smooth way politicians talk to one another when they're making deals from his time in the White House, so it's not a problem for him to phrase his questions with just the right amount of sleazy professionalism, but he does need to be careful. Ada had warned him not to push for too much too quickly and drive Daltan away, and Leon's own experience as an agent has given him the habit of approaching any situation with a healthy dose of caution. Especially when it comes to deranged bioweapon dealers and their lackeys.
"I've got a friend of a friend interested in your business, Mr. Daltan, and she's practically swimming in new money from the, ah, Umbrella assets she managed to sequester before the company was fully shut down. I've got a hefty sum, myself, and, well…"
"Yes?"
Daltan's eyes are curiously flat, though his body language tells Leon that he's listening intently. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, but Leon's pretty sure he's at least willing to hear him out. Good.
"I've heard rumours that you're working with big money, these days, critical stocks and important partners." Leon emphasizes the statement to sound as dramatic as possible, like a bad salesman. He's aiming for nonthreatening but ambitious, an overzealous young man eager to make a fortune and uncaring of whatever he needs to manipulate to get it. "My associate and I were intrigued by such a project, and, well, we've both got the money. We want in."
Daltan studies Leon's face and shakes his head, huffing a laugh. "Right. Do you even know what you're asking for? Your friend used to be with Umbrella—you're not scared things might go belly-up again?"
Leon shrugs, carefree. "She managed to get out alright; I'm sure we can do it again. Besides—" he takes the time to sip from his whiskey and gesture in Daltan's direction with the glass— "I trust you and your company much more than I ever would have trusted a scattered company like that."
"Mm." Daltan's gaze is fixed on Leon's, eyes glinting. There's an odd pinch to his brow, the faintest curl of a smile on his lips. "I see."
Leon sips his drink. Daltan smiles wider.
"I'll consider it. We're not hurting for financial support, so I can honestly tell you that I'm not interested, but if I'm ever in the market for a new partner I'll be sure to let you know." He stands to leave, buttoning his suit jacket and patting Leon heavily on the shoulder, over-friendly. "I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Silas. Enjoy the rest of your time here."
It's not until Daltan's hand leaves his shoulder that Leon recognizes that something is wrong, sick pain forming in his stomach and radiating outwards in an abrupt spike as he gasps and shudders minutely with the cold sweat prickling the back of his neck. The room goes distant, the rush of blood in his ears muting the sound of chatter as he zeroes in on the unfinished whiskey glass, gleaming innocently under the light of a chandelier. Dizziness sweeps through him as he lurches to his feet, vaguely aware of the bartender startling at the unexpected motion. Daltan is nowhere to be seen.
Fuck. Fuck. Pain claws at his insides as the poison disperses into his bloodstream, head spinning as he stumbles and trips over his own feet on the way into the bathroom he'd seen in the hallway. The door hits his shoulder hard enough to bruise—or maybe he hits the door, it's hard to tell under the panic and vision-blurring agony squeezing his ribcage. His bones feel like they're saltines being snapped over a bowl of soup. Whatever he's been spiked with, it's fast acting, and the realization prompts a fresh wave of sweat as he staggers for the small bank of mirrors. Daltan must've known from the start who he was, because Leon's pretty sure he didn't give anything away in their brief conversation.
A second epiphany hits him like a truck, slamming his elbows down to the sink counter with the weight of it. Ada . Fuck, he has to find her, before Daltan can get to her, too—
"Hey man, you alright?" a voice asks too-loudly near his ear, appearing as if from thin air. Leon gasps and jolts with the shock, blinking dazedly up at his reflection in the mirror to see a suited man standing behind him, hair expertly mussed. He looks young, but his image is oddly distorted, so Leon can't be sure. He wonders vaguely how the man is standing so straight and tall when the floor is lurching like a sailing ship beneath them, before he remembers that it's just him that can feel it.
"Fine," Leon chokes out, heaving into the sink as another piercing pain tears raggedly up his digestive tract. Bile burns his throat, sour with little else but whiskey filling his stomach. He coughs, lifting a trembling hand towards the sink handle so he can clumsily wash out his mouth. Most of it gets on his face and shirt, but the cool liquid is grounding, just enough that he can gather enough wits to stand and stumble backwards as the man stares after him in concerned horror. Leon shoots him a finger gun as he leans heavily on the door handle, head pounding from the sudden upright position. "Have a good evening," he slurs, leaving the man to blink in confusion as he slips back out into the ballroom.
His stomach lurches so harshly on the threshold that his knees nearly buckle, a flicker of darkness in the corner of his eye spelling doom. Fear slithers coldly up his spine. His goal, a dark, sparkling flash of red across the room is barely enough to hold him upright—if not for his determination to get to Ada, he might have collapsed then and there. He's beginning to feel much too warm beneath his suit, skin burning hot and cold and electric at the same time, claustrophobic crowds of people swimming up around him like living shadows as he sways drunkenly. He's making a scene, he knows distantly, but there's no time to worry about that when his chest has begun to constrict again to leave him utterly breathless.
Ada sees him the moment he gets close, already reaching for him when he lurches for her with weak arms that clutch at her shoulders. He can barely breathe through the pain, but he manages to keep his head upright, loud voices speaking in surprised tones somewhere behind him. Probably whoever Ada had been talking to.
"A—da," he gasps, "Ada—"
His words aren't coming out right. He tries to croak out something else only to gag and turn his head away in case he throws up again, Ada's dark eyes narrowed less in anger and more in concern when he manages to look up at her. He doesn't see that look on her face very often, so that means he's pretty much fucked.
"If you'll, ah, excuse me," she says to the people around her, already moving. It's all Leon can do to cling to her for support. "My husband has overindulged again. Apologies, I'll just take him outside for some air."
Air sounds good , Leon thinks stupidly. The room spins dizzily as Ada does something imperceptible, his arm slung around her shoulders and body leaning against hers before he can even understand that she's practically carrying him. He tries to move his feet to help, vaguely aware of the urgency, but they're oddly clumsy no matter what he tries.
"What the hell happened?" Her voice filters in sharply the moment his eyelids begin to flutter, dragging him back to the present. Cool evening air washes over his sweaty skin as they breeze outside, and he shudders. His tongue is too thick in his mouth to explain, so he settles for a single, slurred word.
"Poison."
Ada curses. "Daltan?"
Leon nods in confirmation, but he's not sure if she sees it. They're moving down a staircase now, he thinks, the fresh twilight dulling his vision even with the elegant lamps that line the path. He's practically heaving for breath by the time they reach the bottom, heart thundering in his chest. His entire sternum has begun to ache, all the way up to his jaw, and he groans. It feels as though his ribcage has begun to spasm intermittently, every attempt to breathe deeply squeezed right back out of him. His other hand has begun to clutch at his collar without his permission, fingers gnarled in the tight, choking fabric.
"We're almost to the car," Ada says, an edge to her calm voice, "get Hunnigan on the line and tell her you need assistance."
Leon's hand is clumsy when it fumbles for the earpiece, fingers somehow too thick and uncoordinated, but he manages to activate it with a pleasant little beep that reminds him of the laundromat alarms beneath his apartment building. It takes him a moment to realize that someone is talking, a buzz in the back of his mind that he should probably be paying attention to. The sound grows clearer when he shakes his head like a dog—even if he does regret the instant dizziness that comes along with it.
"—Leon, I repeat, what is your status?" Hunnigan is demanding in his ear. "Can you hear me?"
"Loud 'n clear," Leon mumbles. He's vaguely aware of his body lowering of its own accord, Ada's face hovering close as he settles into the seat of a car. He frowns. Did she break into a random car just so he'd have a place to sit down? It's not until she slams a button on the dashboard compartment that he recognizes it as the tricked-out spy car they'd arrived in, the entire shelf lit with blue light and gadgets tucked into neat little rows. Ada pulls one out and rips open whatever protective plastic packaging had been around it, picking up his slack hand and quickly undoing his cufflinks to shove his sleeves up to his elbow. He almost can't believe it's his own hand, all sensation curiously drowned out under the ache that's quickly grown into a crushing sensation in his chest—at least until Ada slips something bitingly sharp beneath the skin of his wrist, the device the needle is attached to blooping a little noise in response. He winces slightly, but a fresh wave of dizziness quickly reminds him that he's faced worse pain. Is facing worse.
"What's going on, Leon?" Hunnigan asks, tearing him from his thoughts. "We're getting data that you've been poisoned with something—" She breaks off for a long moment, and someone says a name in the background that Leon doesn't recognize before Hunnigan returns with a much grimmer tone. "What are your symptoms?"
Leon does his best to focus on his body for a moment, eyes lazily roving over the ceiling. He swallows. It's then that he becomes aware of the rasping of his own breaths sliding over the seats like sandpaper, every inhale and exhale a wheezing, fragile pair. His chest hitches as fresh agony paralyzes him with its suddenness, a strangled gasp for air carrying over the line.
"Leon? Stay on the line with me, Agent Kennedy, I'm going to need you for this next part. Is Ada with you?"
Leon makes himself look up at the woman still leaning over him, her expression focused and serious. "Mhmm," he answers weakly, "she's here."
"Okay, Leon, that's good." Hunnigan's voice seems to reverberate through his skull, too-loud. He can't turn it down. Where's the damn volume control on this thing? "I need you to listen closely: you've been poisoned with—" she says the name again, something Leon's never heard of— "and you're about to go into cardiac arrest. Tell Ada to get the defibrillator ready, can you do that?"
Leon blinks slowly, struggling to suck in a breath. "Get—th' defrib—fibulator," he says clumsily. It's getting so much harder to think, anxiety clouding the few working parts of his brain. He lets his head fall back as Ada dives to unravel his tie and collar, tearing open buttons and exposing his torso to the cool night air. Fuck, he's tired.
"Stay with me, Leon," she says, or maybe Hunnigan does. A sudden seizing in his chest cuts his breath off entirely for a terrifying few seconds, the sensation of sticky pads being pressed to his chest and side barely filtering in over the raw panic. He arches slightly with a croak, vision going blurred and dizzy. In the corner of his eye, he can see that the AED lights up as it powers on, a large red button near the centre of it glowing the brightest. Leon groans.
"As soon as the charge is ready, press the button," Hunnigan instructs. "Tell Ada."
His arm barely obeys him when he tries to lift it, let alone his mouth. Leon thinks he slurs out a few disjointed syllables, to which Ada taps his cheek. Slaps, actually, his skin stinging with the force.
"Ow?"
"Leon? What are they saying?"
"Gotta—" It's getting harder to breathe, wheezes coming faster and shallower. "Press… hit the—"
"Leon, press the button, now!"
Ada's hands hover over the AED in his fading vision. His heartbeat has begun to stutter in syncopated rhythm that matches the aching pulses that still grip his chest in their painful embrace. His eyelids flutter. "You—y'gotta—"
Ada makes a disapproving sound and digs her finger into his ear, slipping the earpiece free just as Hunnigan says, " Leon, you have less than ten seconds— "
—and everything goes black.
-~-
Ada watches Leon's eyes roll back in his head as his body goes slack and sprawls across the centre console mere seconds after she slips the earpiece into place, his ragged breaths cutting off for a horrible second as the defibrillator in her hand flashes brightly. A light labelled SHOCK ADVISED has lit up at the same time Hunnigan cries out in her ear: "Press the button!"
She steps back slightly to make sure she's not going to come in contact with the current and slams the button down. Leon's body jerks as electricity surges, back arching, only to collapse back to the seat with fluttering eyelids.
"It's Ada," she says into the earpiece, "Leon's unconscious."
"Did you defibrillate?" Hunnigan demands, the frantic tone of her voice surprisingly passionate. Ada has always known the two of them have a rather close working relationship, but it's odd to see it in action.
"I did." Ada steps forward to press her fingers to Leon's throat, his pulse thready beneath clammy skin. "I don't think it's enough to cure the poison, though."
"There should be an auto-injector in the compartment; bright blue cap that you'll need to take off. Inject it into the side of his neck, right in the vein, and it should be enough to counteract the poison."
Ada is already moving, pulling the slim injector free of its place and uncapping the end. She leans in close and guides Leon's head a little more to the side to expose the strong tendons of his neck, a faint groan of protest all he can manage as she slides her fingers over the vein to make sure she knows where it is. In one swift movement, she jams the needle up against his neck and hears it click as the medication disperses, Leon's body jerking slightly beneath her as she holds it in place for a few long seconds.
"Injected," Ada announces, tossing the empty casing to the floor of the car and tilting Leon's head back to a more neutral—if still limp and lolling—position. His skin gleams with sweat under the light from the compartment, bare chest heaving beneath his unbuttoned shirt and jacket. His throat works beneath the skin, Adam's apple bobbing every so often. The shadow of stubble on his face stands out darkly against his pale skin, the contrast making him look sickly and much older than he is. Hunnigan sighs over the line, long-suffering.
"Good. That should be enough to stop another crash, but… keep the wires on him until you're sure."
Ada eyes the man in question, watching his brow twist as his glassy eyes open confusedly to take in the world, then slip closed, back into whatever half-conscious state he's fallen into. Ada leans her forehead against the car and matches Hunnigan's sigh. Hopefully, not too many people noticed that little scene, but now she knows that Daltan knows about them—it's going to be a lot harder to get close to him when he's seen their faces. He's probably left the premises already, effectively dashing any chance that the two of them could find or surveille him tonight.
"We've been compromised," she says to Hunnigan. "Daltan either figured out who we were or decided to act on a suspicion, but he was clearly ready to poison someone tonight. It's safe to assume our cover is blown."
Hunnigan curses lightly, the clacking sound of her keyboard audible over the line. "What's your plan? Leon should really be sent to a hospital, but you and I both know that isn't going to fly unless he stays unconscious."
Ada scoffs. "He never learns."
"He's too damn stubborn."
"I wouldn't have guessed," Ada responds wryly, gratified by Hunnigan's answering scoff of laughter. "He's usually so agreeable."
"Maybe for you. Sometimes I wonder if he even bothers listening to me, but he always seems ready to follow you anywhere."
"He trusts you," Ada says with certainty, "which is more than he could say about me. We've known each other for a long time, but there's nobody he's ever cared about more than you."
"Careful. You're starting to sound jealous," Hunnigan teases, surprisingly playful. "Maybe if you're lucky, you'll get to keep working with me, too."
Is she… flirting? Ada smirks. The last few times they'd spoken, she'd picked up on Hunnigan's strangely eager behaviour, chalking it up to a professional attempt to make Ada feel like part of the United-States-government dream team. Now, though… maybe her other instincts had been more correct. It's cute. She thinks of Hunnigan's dark eyes and tightly-coiled hair and forces herself to stop that train of thought before it gets too far—though she does turn her voice into a purr. "Is that so, Agent Hunnigan? Somehow I get the feeling you wouldn't mind."
"I'd like to get to know you better."
"You're awfully bold tonight," Ada remarks, slightly taken aback by the surety.
"I know what I want," Hunnigan says simply, though there's an undercurrent in her voice that Ada can't quite identify. Ada hums in response and lets the conversation die out, face feeling strangely flushed. Hmm. She'll need to think about that when she's not busy, later.
Leon mumbles something inaudible, hand lifting momentarily to paw at his jacket lapel, then passes out again. His complexion is still wan, but Ada thinks there might be a smidge of pink on the curves of his cheeks, a hopeful sign of health. She watched the rise and fall of his chest, still slightly laboured, and wonders how the hell they're going to salvage their operation. Leon will be out of commission for a few hours yet, especially if he decides to let himself recover. Daltan is secretive enough that Ada has only bare scraps of intel to suggest where he might have gone, and without more information she wouldn't dare try to infiltrate. Either the person who had hired her for the job was setting her up, or Daltan is more formidable than he'd first appeared—either way, she'd rather have Leon and Hunnigan as backup. It's not that she doubts her skills, it's just that she hates going in blind.
Leon stirs again, breaking her from her thoughts.
"His heart rate is spiking," Hunnigan warns in her ear, urgent. "Is he—?"
"I think he's just waking up." Ada watches a sleepy-looking Leon open his eyes with a groan, elbow nearly giving out when he goes to lean himself upright. He blinks like he's just been blinded with a flash grenade, glassy gaze landing slowly on Ada as he tips his head back slightly enough to let the bangs fall from his forehead. He's a mess, shirt untucked and unbuttoned and rucked up around his torso, under-eyes dark and sunken. He looks confused, Ada notes grimly, surveying his surroundings slowly like he isn't quite sure where he is, then looking up at Ada with a frown.
"I'm not dead, I take it," he rasps. Leon reaches for the sticky pads attached to his chest and peels the first of them away, wincing slightly when the needle monitor still inserted into his wrist pulls awkwardly at the vein. His hands are clumsy when he takes that away from his skin, too, his usual deft coordination nowhere to be found.
"How is he?" Hunnigan asks, sounding worried.
"Okay, I think." Leon glances up with a questioning frown at Ada's response, realization dawning on his face when she gestures at her ear and he feels for the missing earpiece he last remembers being in his own. "You should probably talk to him."
"Oh, yes. I'll let you go," Hunnigan says like they're talking on a friendly phone call, sounding disappointed at the prospect. Ada smiles again to herself, ignoring the way Leon blinks owlishly at the sight.
"I'll see you later, Agent Hunnigan. Don't get lonely without me," Ada says smoothly. She fishes the earpiece free and hands it back to Leon, who slowly raises it up to his ear with an expression of disbelief. He cocks his head as he fits it in place, then clears his throat hoarsely.
"Are you two actually friends?" he demands, then shakes his head. "Nevermind, I don't think I want to know. What's the sitrep, Hunnigan?"
Ada paces away from the car while Leon sits himself on the edge of the seat and Hunnigan fills him in on his near-death, cool night air soothing the prickling adrenaline still buzzing under her skin. There's a chill to the air that makes her shiver. As much as she'd teased Leon earlier, she might be the one to take advantage of the hotel rooms' jacuzzis tonight. She brushes over the side of her dress to feel the familiar outline of her pistol in its thigh holster, scanning the parking lot and turning back to Leon.
Leon is partially hunched over by the time she gets back to the car, sipping water from a plastic bottle that must have been in the glove compartment. He looks up at her with tired eyes as she approaches, shirt still unbuttoned and hair still sweaty and damp.
"Hunnigan says we should lie low. Leave, if possible, and find a safe place to stay." Leon runs a hand through his hair with the statement, grimacing. "I don't know about you, but I don't think we should give up five-star accommodations just to run away."
The joke is weak, but Ada appreciates that he's trying. She'd never admit it, but seeing him like that had been disturbing—they're both highly competent participants in this biohazardous world of crime and violence, and to see him on the brink of death has rattled her a little more than she'd like. It happens, of course, this sort of thing. Ada knows how to deal with the fallout perfectly fine once the jitters fade and she feels more herself. For now…
She steals the bottle of water and takes a sip, leaning her hip against the car and watching Leon glance up at her wearily.
"Shouldn't we be chasing him?" he asks.
"Let's go inside," Ada says with a shake of her head. "It's not worth it."
"You sound like Hunnigan."
"Maybe Hunnigan is right." Ada sighs and hands the bottle back. "Look… we don't have a lead, anyway. Better to regroup and recover than to run ourselves ragged trying to track down a man who's clearly prepared himself for this sort of situation."
"Yeah." Leon doesn't seem eager to press the point, leaning back with a sigh. He side-eyes Ada. "What's with you two? You and Hunnigan? I didn't know you even knew each other."
"There are a lot of things you don't know, Leon," Ada says cryptically. Leon scoffs.
"I'll drink to that. Or maybe not, considering my last cocktail was spiked—and not the good kind of spiked, either."
"I'm sure it achieved the same damage on your liver," Ada says. "You just traded one toxin for another."
Leon winces. "You've got a point." He reaches gingerly back to peel off his suit jacket and leave him in his shirt sleeves, tossing it carelessly into the driver's seat.
"Let's go to our rooms," he says in defeat, "I've had enough of tonight."