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There is a flutter in her belly– paruparo, the sound of a butterfly’s wings when it dawns on her.
Her routine of six to seven hours of sleep never seems to be enough lately, and there is a stinging ache in her gut that wasn’t there before. She’s no stranger to any of this. Whatever the client wants. She has done this before. Knowing something costs you something. A means to an end, she gives her body up for the taking. It only happened once and since then she has been careful so nothing unspeakable and vile takes root. But this isn’t like any of that, it’s him.
How dare you act on your personal interests.
It’s all a childish dream, she chastises herself. She should be angry, disappointed, not whatever this may be. She doesn’t feel any of that, instead something else wild and hungry takes root.
She feels Leon in her bones, flowing through her blood. She doesn’t even know yet, there’s only the seed of that thought in her head, but she knows.
A quick trip to the nearest pharmacy confirms her suspicions. She’s pregnant with Leon Scott Kennedy’s child.
There is a protocol, a procedure to follow when one of the organization’s tools are rendered out of commission. It’s simple and mostly painless (except for the cold, hollow, numbness that almost makes her cry afterwards). She has done this before, so why can’t she seem to do it now?
Ada Wong takes lives for a living, secrets too. Her body count surpasses the populations of the world’s most populated cities, she has killed grown men and women and an assortment of things that are no longer human, yet she hesitates, for something that isn’t anything yet. It could be smaller than some of the bioweapons she sells.
She makes a quick trip to the doctor. It’s not the one within the organization’s headquarters.
This is a secret she can’t sell.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Wong?
It’s a funny thing. Ada Wong’s “real” identity.
It didn’t feel right for her to use just another one of her aliases for something so real.
This isn’t real, you’re not going to have this-
“Ada Wong” is the realest it gets but it didn’t feel right to sully something so innocent with her name.
Sully the fantasy by bringing your reality into it.
She uses the realest driver’s license she owns with the name the organization gave her many years ago for her first mission to pose as a citizen of the United States of America and obtain a degree that would allow her to infiltrate Umbrella all those years ago.
It’s the name she uses for anything that needs to be as real as possible. She’s [REDACTED] for today’s mission, to get a prenatal check up.
Somehow, this is the furthest it can be from anything real.
Her doctor is a blonde girl in a ponytail with blue eyes.
I wonder if our child would have Leon’s hair or his eyes.
It’s all a blur that goes just swimmingly, filler dialogue from nameless faces, everything’s normal, so and so, your bloodwork shows everything is fine, I will prescribe you vitamins and supplements.
Seeing the screen as the ultrasound wand passes her abdomen makes her pause, it’s very much tangible now.
One line of dialogue catches her off guard.
“Would you like a copy of this picture?”
[REDACTED] immediately says yes without thinking. The black and white picture of blobs feels like hot sheet metal in her hands.
Perhaps having a family is a fantasy, but this is real.
It’s all she thinks about on the drive home.
Leon once said that he often doesn’t know if she’s real.
To Ada, Leon often doesn’t feel as real either.
As if we know what’s real anymore. Who are you to tell him what is real?
I’m real, I’m Ada Wong.
There is no such thing as a real Ada Wong.
I’m real enough.
Are you? Your truest self is a lie-
She knows she can be an enigma of a woman, oftentimes she questions how much she knows about herself and what is fact until it becomes too much. She wonders if she is just as much of an enigma to him as Leon is to her.
Probably more, it’s your fault for never telling him anything-but what is there to say?
Their moments are fleeting, and things between them are often as temporary as the seasons.
Yet he is the one constant in this life.
His kiss leaves nothing but butterflies in her stomach, and it’s the only thing that lets her know it was real when he leaves. The only evidence of his presence when he leaves is the mess of her bed and the mess of her heart. She always wants him carnally (you whore).
Nothing is quite as permanent as mothering a human being you made with each other’s likeness, marks of motherhood covering your body, definitive proof then you fucked the government lapdog you disgusting– how selfish of her to want to keep a piece of Leon all to herself. When none of her names are hers, and Leon’s life isn’t his own, this will be the one thing that could be theirs alone.
She thinks of all the people she had to be, the names of Ada Wong.
[REDACTED]
[REDACTED]
[REDACTED]
[REDACTED]
The red spy
The bitch in the red dress
I can hear it now.
“Mama?”
“Yes baby?”
Her baby is the size of a pea, six weeks along. She passes by the baby clothes aisle at the store. She still finds it all so curious that something so small could change everything.
She knows she’ll have to do something to put an end to this, but not yet. Right now she gets to immerse herself in a mirage of who she wants to be. Why are you hesitating?
It’s a day after the appointment, it’s 7 o’clock in the evening, and the breeze is warm. A song she never heard plays over the radio.
She is a mercenary who has hidden a lot worse from people, and she is giddy with excitement to hide her little pea-sized blunder from the organization.
We can’t hide forever.
Just for now.
She sent a coded message to Leon during his lunch break the week prior. To meet at her house. They’re both on desk work as of now and the bioterrorism seems to be slow lately, which is a rare occurrence (knowing their luck, she doesn’t dare mention it, lest she jinx it).
It’s the most domestic thing. It’s funny to see a wild woman in a domestic setting, she’s in the kitchen cooking Leon’s favorite pasta, waiting for him to come home for dinner, like she has done this many times before. She’s wearing Leon’s color, blue.
We’re making him a father.
Much like their kisses, and stolen moments shared, it’s fleeting.
Happiness is a butterfly, and it flies away.
Paruparo, a flutter in her belly and the ache returns.
She wears blue and everything around her is red.
Red is the color of the tomato sauce.
Red is the color of the Le Creuset Cookware Leon got her for her birthday.
Red is the color of her blood.
Red runs down her legs.
Her pain is red.
Red chases her as she runs to the bathroom. The red stains her blue dress.
She doesn’t scream.
She prays to a god she doesn’t believe in.
I’m losing them, God please no. Please no.
She doesn’t know if she's talking about Leon or the one thing that could have been theirs.
She sees red when she closes her eyes.
Non-migratory monarch butterflies have a lifespan of two to six weeks.
Her happiness never stood a chance.
She opens her eyes, and it’s all blue.
Leon.
She feels the damp fabric of his shirt against her face, the iron grip on her thigh and arm as he lifts her off the floor.
His hands are red with her blood.
She knows. It’s over, but did it even begin-
Somewhere, wings flap in the wind, a dam breaks.
For the first time in many years, Ada Wong cries.
She makes the sounds of a dying animal. She cries like a wild woman.
He only holds her close as he carries her out of her house to his car. His eyes wide, nostrils flared, sweat dripping down his face. Past her ears ringing, she can hear the fast beating of his heart.
He looks so scared.
This is all wrong. It’s a parody of everything she ever wanted, to be Mrs. Kennedy with Leon’s child and carried over the threshold of her house. She feels like a fool. A fool with dreams.
As Leon buckles her in, she stains the upholstery, just as she did his life.
You shouldn’t be so afraid, losing me is the best thing that could happen to you, Leon.
Ada Wong looks at herself, aftermath of her sins, the lives she took, after everything she has done, and only feels like a fool to hope that love can blossom from the same body she used to lie, sin, cheat, and kill. Her ears are ringing, and her skin is filled with needles.
All the things I did.
She knows how unseemly this all looks and she’s trying to stop crying, for whatever reason, she can’t stop it.
All the things I didn’t do.
“Ada-”
Leon, I was going to get rid of it.
She can feel the car swerve, every bump in the road, yet she can’t feel her legs.
The sky laughs as the one who takes life cannot give life.
Her body is exactly what she shaped it to be. It is harsh, a killing machine, nothing more than a tool to be utilized for violence.
It’s not the body of a mother, or a wife, certainly not one of a good woman.
“Ada are you-”
Why am I mourning this?
He’s carrying her again. His warmth bleeds into her body.
You do not deserve him.
She is harsh, cold, and barren. Even if she planted the seeds of hope and stood by Leon in the sun and rain, nothing would bloom on the land she stands on.
You cannot hide forever, Ada Wong.
“Ada, I’m right here. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere-”
They’re moving her, she barely feels Leon’s hands on her, but she knows they’re there.
He’s always there when I need him.
Black spots appear in her vision. She barely breathes out through her sobs and the shakes of her body.
“I am so sorry, Ada.”
All the words burn in her throat, they’re immediately extinguished with wet sobs and she says nothing. There’s much more to be said between them, but they can only hold each other and their pain.
Somewhere along the way Leon lets go of her hand, or does she let go?
She doesn’t want to know.
She doesn’t want to think about all the times she left him.
The sorrow is heavy, and it sits like a stone in Ada’s gut, where her baby was.
She wants to take it out and beat herself to death with it.