๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด (๐ฏ๐ธ๐ป ๐๐ธ๐พ)
pairing: Ada Wong x emotional femreader
summary: Ada's and your paths crossed distatefully when you were both teens, and then again, and again over the years. One thing becomes clear. You're still the same person- for better or for worse.
tags: angst, fluff, angst + comfort, vulnerability, graphic injury description, yearning, Ada pov, set around RE4R
word count: 1.6k
Ada Wong had found herself in trouble. It wasn't unusual for things to not pan out her way; it's hardly easy to plan a robbery โ especially one of such a highly guarded flash drive.
It would've been fine if she hadn't been ratted out. She had a feeling about who could've done it, and it was wholly preventable. Perhaps it was hubris, or just blatant carelessness. Whatever it was, it had her cornered in the facility's storage room, bleeding out next to a dingy mop.
Ada kept pressure against the gaping hole of a wound on the side of her upper abdomen. No vital organs had been hit; she was sure of that. Just the excruciating pain that made it difficult to move. The flesh around the wound was abraded and raw, oozing with red.
She felt her breath getting laboured as she leaned her head on the wall, forehead slick with sweat and her hands sticky in warm blood. Her entire side throbbed with pain. She pressed her lips shut. She couldn't give away where she was hiding.
The ground seemed to shake with the sound of heavy soldier footsteps. They'd find her soon enough. Ada was tired; her mind had stopped looking for solutions out of this. She felt an expectancy at the thought of death. It'd been chasing her mission after mission, and it'd finally caught her.
The loss of blood made Ada's thoughts blur and condense into a cloud, so much so she didn't pay much attention to the gunfire or that it meant there was someone else in the facility. Her eyes were closed, the hand on her side slipping off her wound-coated in blood. The other was loosely wrapped around a pistol, fingers clenching sporadically, palms clammy.
Then the door opened and death stalled.
A figure barrelled through the door and then slammed it behind her. She heaved against it, clutching her submachine gun like with all her strength. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears, and she was shaking. For a second Ada found herself feeling some sympathy for the woman. At least she was comfortable in her demise โ you seemed terrified.
It didn't occur to her that your face was familiar until you must have heard her breathing and turned her way, gun pointed towards her.
She recognised that wide-eyed stare, clear as day. You'd grown a little taller since the last time she'd seen you.
You must've recognised her too because you lowered your gun when you met her eyes.
"Ada?"
Her ears prickled at the noise. Your voice was still too soft, too filled with unrestricted emotion, too vulnerable. You sounded on the brink of tears and you hadn't changed at all over the past 19 years.
You'd been 12 when you 'met' her. Both were orphans, but most children in your area were. A hotspot for crime and petty thievery. You'd already perfected the art of the pickpocket, and well, you wanted more.
You were a daring kid, and you took punches well. You wanted to join a gang, despite reason. It'd provide security and money- things with a developing teenage girl body you knew you'd need.
Things that weren't free.
You found yourself at fights โ violent, cruel and without technique โ and you were not the biggest kid. You'd taken more punches that night, and it was beginning to get to you, both physically and mentally.
You collapsed in an alley further away from the abandoned apartments kids like you stayed in and cried. Blood mixed with snot in an ugly mess under your nose that you kept wiping, your head buried in your arms. You were planning to stay out a little longer but then you saw a pair of shoes in front of you through the gap between your crossed arms.
"Move. You're in my way."
Ada was younger then; her face was blank, but her furrowed eyebrows gave her frustration away. A heavy backpack weighed on her shoulders; you didn't know it then, but it was lots of firearms.
"Sorry." You scooched over a little, heart feeling too heavy to get up yet. She started opening the door, and it started to bother you. The backpack. She was scrawny, taller than you but not nearly as much as the muscle you'd gained from training for your tussles. You stood up quickly as the idea hit you, sniffling and rubbing your eyes.
"Do you need help? I can help you carry the bag?"
She sighed, exasperated.
"No, I don't need help."
Her eyes had met yours.
"What's wrong with you? You're crying because of what? You got punched? You should get out of this area before you really get hurt."
You reeled back, shocked at her words. You hadn't thought a stranger would call you out, and you'd never seen her before, so how had she been watching you? None of that was really what bothered you, though. It was the implication that you were weak. Too weak to deal with the gangs and alleyways. Too weak to deal with a place you'd lived all your life. That infuriated you.
"I'm not weak." Your words came out firmly, and yet with the remnants of tears in your eyes, it didn't matter how angry you looked. Ada hadn't given you a second glance.
"No, you're pitiful."
Her words struck you as you watched her enter the building, unable to do anything about it. Too tired from getting beat up and now too scared to meet the unknown girl's barrage of insults, you'd left immediately so you wouldn't have to see her again.
But you did.
Again in different circumstances at 17 and 20 and 24.
Over the years you'd gotten more docile; you covered yourself and weapons in pink; you kept long-range and never fought anymore; the fierce look in your eyes had become a rarity, and you seemed anxious more often than not.
When Ada stared back at you, she could see remnants of the same 12-year-old. It bothered her. Bothered her that you'd become a mercenary despite her warnings and her prejudice. Bothered her that you hadn't left. She was sure you were only months away from ruin โ you still wore your emotions on your sleeve.
"Calm down."
"You're bleeding."
You were now shaking profusely. Ada bit back the urge to roll her eyes.
"What are you even doing here you're going-" she hissed in pain. "You're going to get yourself killed.
"Says you." Your nose wrinkled in disgust. You weren't a fan of blood, more squeamish than most in this line of work. Ada now noticed you were covered in blood, blood that was evidently not yours. It irked her that you were here, seeing her vulnerable.
You holstered your gun, kneeling down in front of her.
"Where are you hurt?"
"Don't be an idiot." Ada snapped, grunting at the pain from how hard her head snapped so her eyes could meet yours.
"Get out of here."
"Yeah, you tend to say that." Your eyes burnt with a determination she'd now decided wasn't welcome.
"I'm not leaving you to die."
You placed your arm under hers on her good side, helping her up to her feet. Ada already looked pale.
"Don't do this." Ada's tone softened, it wasn't that she was worried, no, she just didn't see the point in both of you dying today.
"Lean against me, okay." You took out your pistol and took a deep breath. The tears threatening to fall from your eyes were gone. You opened the door.
To be honest, Ada didn't remember most of the escape from the facility, fading in and out of consciousness.
She remembered the sound of bullets, your cursing, the feeling of your chest rapidly rising and falling against her ba ck, your heavy breathing, your sobs, the whiplash of cold, fresh air against her face and then nothing after that.
When she came to, she was on alert. Then, surprised she was even alive, she was sure she was dying when she passed out. She looked around the room. It was clean, too fancy for a motel. Unlikely to be a hotel- she doubted you could drag her 'lifeless' body past a hotel front desk. Perhaps your house? A stupid location, one fitting for you. If you both were followed it'd be all over.
Ada took in the living room, the cream couch she had been lying down on, and the fluffy grey carpet on the dark hardwood tiled floor. She could see the kitchen through the door, with marble countertops. The chandelier poured light across the room.
Ada looked to her body, now dressed in a casual grey shirt and black shorts, she lifted the shirt to look at her wound, now banadaged and likely stitched under the bandages, she could feel the tightness.
It was after a few minutes of Ada being awake that you waltzed into the room, dressed in pajamas. You immediately noticed her sitting up. You rushed over to her, sitting down on the edge of the couch.
"You're awake. You're awake. Oh thank god, I thought you were going to die. I think your heart stopped- you were so cold and i just kept carrying your body and you wouldn't answer, I thought you were gone forever."
Ada's body froze at first. She was alive because of you yet felt like she didn't owe you anything. You were just happy she wasn't dead. And maybe deep down she knew that she'd try to save you. Despite herself, she found her hand against your cheek, wiping your tears.
"I told you, your bleeding heart would get you in trouble."
"If not for me, you'd be dead," you frowned. "You were wrong, you know, that day. If I'd listened to your advice, I would've left you behind."
Ada rolled her eyes half-heartedly. Warmth filling her chest, maybe she could rest here for a little.
"Yes, I was."
took like three days I'm so busy urghhhh
Im so miserable for Ada STOP
Fuck
