Author's Introduction:

A cross-post from a comm I play on, here for your amusement. And mine. *The redhead twists her lips in a smirk* I like to subtitle this story: "My Final Word On The Ada Wong Scenario".

Oh yes. I went there.

**

Ex-File

A Resident Evil fic by Firestar9mm

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My love must be a kind of blind love

I can't see anyone but you

I only have eyes for you, dear.

(The Flamingos, I Only Have Eyes For You)

**

No matter what day it was, it seemed that Leon Kennedy's phone rang the instant he opened the door to his apartment.

"No, no, no," he muttered. He was not in the mood to be called in. But the caller ID didn't display a number he recognized, or even a phone number at all—all it said was IIIVIII.

A bundle of code, Leon realized, which meant it was restricted or otherwise scrambled. That could be work-related. He pressed "Send" and was treated to a loud barrage of profanity and swearing before the person hung up.

"Baby? Who was that?" a cream-soda voice asked from the living room.

"Don't know." Leon pressed "End" and clipped the phone back to his belt. "Cowardly prick didn't even leave their name."

"Well, shut the door. I'm getting frostbite in here."

Mildly surprised by how cranky she sounded, Leon walked further into the apartment and found Claire huddled miserably in one corner of the sofa, knees drawn up with her oversized sweatshirt pulled over them. Tiny bare feet peeked out from beneath it and he smiled as she wiggled toes painted Strawberry Electric hot pink.

Instead of returning his smile, she glowered at him resentfully, gunmetal eyes slitting. "Leon," she said, "where is the space heater?"

"Oh." Treating her to a sheepish grin, he shrugged. "It died this morning while you were asleep. I figured we'd get a new one this weekend."

"It is Wednesday," she informed him with a snarl, which was far more cute than it was frightening. "I will freeze between now and this weekend."

"Don't I keep you warm enough?" he asked idly, a smile ghosting across his face as he recalled the sting of nails on his shoulders and a sharp gasp in his ear, still as vivid in his mind as if it had happened a minute ago instead of the night before. She tugged at her sweatshirt, trying to pull it further over her bare legs. He wondered how much she was wearing beneath it—she'd probably be warmer if she'd put on clothes, Leon thought amusedly, but he was not about to start complaining.

"Who did you know who went to Maritime?" he asked instead, reading the crest on the stretched fabric.

Claire looked puzzled for a second, then glanced down at her chest. "Oh." She flushed a little, despite her claim to be freezing to death. "This guy I used to go around with. He left it at my place and I kept it 'cause it was so warm." She shrugged a little, still blushing.

"Oh?" Leon arched a blond brow, his amusement dropping sharply. "Left it at your place, hmm?"

Claire frowned, chucking a sofa pillow at him. "Grow up. It was like six years ago. His name was Jake, he was a merchant marine, and he was not better in bed than you. Can we drop it now?"

"Well, my fears are assuaged. I hate Jake," Leon declared, picking up the sofa pillow and sitting beside her on the sofa.

Claire pouted, crossing her arms to cover the logo on her sweatshirt, causing it to ride up and expose more smooth leg to him. "You can be such a jerk sometimes."

He poked her in the side. "Come on, angel wings. Give me a break. Am I supposed to be overjoyed that you're still keeping clothing from an ex-boyfriend in our apartment?"

"Why do you even care? I didn't even remember it was his until you asked," she shot back, brows working furiously as she squirmed away from his poking fingers.

Leon frowned. "Don't push it back onto me. That's not fair."

"It's not fair that you're asking uncomfortable questions and opening the ex-file," Claire retorted, wiggling her pink-polished toes.

"X-file?" Leon asked incredulously. "As in, trust no one, Scully?"

"EX- file," Claire corrected sharply, and while the word sounded exactly the same, the change in meaning was clear. "As in, people you once dated that you no longer date anymore." She frowned. "Everyone has one. And I was sort of hoping we were too cool to open ours, but…" She shrugged, hands slapping her legs in exasperation.

How had he lost control of this conversation? Weren't they talking about the space heater just a few seconds ago? "What's gotten into you?"

Claire banged her fist against her hip. He rarely saw her this petulant; whatever had triggered this outburst, it was really bothering her. "Why did you have to go and open the ex-file?" she said. "I thought we were cool. I thought you were secure enough not to have to ask how many men I've been with, or get jealous over stupid things like old sweatshirts that I should have thrown away years ago." She picked at a fraying thread on the hem of the shirt, refusing to look at him.

"Claire, I'm not opening anything," he said. "I don't care how many men you've been with—" Even as he said it the question flared brightly in his mind. How many was it, anyway? "—or who they were. I just care that now you're with me. Living with me, sleeping with me."

"I am," she murmured, a little more softly now, but fierce with feeling. But she didn't snuggle against his side the way he liked when they shared the sofa, just curled miserably into her corner, staring across the room.

"I seriously don't care about whathisname," Leon repeated, even as his mind unhelpfully supplied her ex's name and wondered again how many other names there were. "I don't care about any of the whathisnames."

Claire didn't answer.

"Would it make you feel better if you asked me an uncomfortable question?" he asked. Intrigued, she angled a glance at him. "Anything you want," he encouraged, wanting this to be out of the way and for her to smile at him again.

Her eyes went steely, and he suddenly realized this may not have been a good idea after all.

"Did you ever sleep with that woman you met back in the city—Ada Wong?"

How had he not seen that one coming?

Leon blinked, trying not to run from those steely, bloodthirsty eyes. He should have just shut up about the stupid sweatshirt…

Setting his jaw, he reminded himself that it was the memory of this woman's voice, her smile, that had kept him fighting his way out from under hordes of monsters, kept him crawling back to the light. He loved her and she claimed she loved him. Besides, he'd started all this. So honesty it was.

"Yeah, we spent a weekend together, once. Years ago."

He saw her blink—of course she hadn't really wanted the answer she knew he'd give—but, so like a Redfield, she recovered quickly and swung the pendulum right back to him. "Where?" she challenged.

Leon sighed, remembering. "Some hotel. Cheesy place with crystal glasses in the suites."

She breathed in through her nose, quietly, as if wanting to hide the fact that she was steeling herself. "What was it like?"

Stretching his feet out and relaxing his shoulders, he asked, "Do you really want to know?"

She set her own jaw. "No, but yes."

It was the answer he'd wanted, and he repaid her again with honesty, with the answer he himself hadn't been expecting but knew was the truth. "It was stupid. Honestly, it was one of the weirdest weekends I've ever spent."

It caught her completely off-guard; her arms dropped to her sides. "What?"

"You heard me. It was weird. I mean, we spent so long chasing each other around under the impression that one or the other of us was supposed to be playing keep-away. Then when we got in a room together with the idea that the night was actually supposed to end with us having sex, it was like we didn't know what to do with each other."

Claire rarely allowed reactions like shock to show on her face, but her eyes were round with surprise now.

Leon almost laughed, not just at her face, but at the memory. "I mean, there I am telling her she should shower first, and she's like, no, you shower first. I'm asking her if she thinks we should get room service, and she's telling me I should do whatever I think is best, and not to let her impose." Letting the smile reach his eyes instead of his mouth, he met Claire's awed gaze. "It was like being with a stranger," he concluded simply. "It was uncomfortable. And I think she felt the same way. And that was the end of it."

Claire sat silent for another minute, then frowned. "You can't be serious."

"I never make up stories where I come out looking bad," Leon answered. "So you can bet that one's the truth."

Claire's shoulders slumped. "Whoa."

He finally allowed himself to laugh. "Do you feel better now?"

She hit him with the sofa pillow again, then clutched it to her chest and buried her face into it. "No. I feel like a complete jerk."

He reached for her, and she finally came to him, curling against his side as he stroked the tail of hair he loved so much. "No, angel wings. I think I deserved that."

She shifted against him, head resting against his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she mumbled into the pillow. "I had to ask."

He twisted a lock of fire-bright hair around his fingers. "It's okay," he told her gently. "I promise it's okay. She's gone. They're all gone, and you and I are here, together." He laughed. "And we're opening an…ex-file, and I still love you. And it's okay."

She laughed softly, the sound shaking her against him, but soon stilled. "I just hate talking about exes. I don't ever want to become one of those couples I hate—the kind who check each other's cell phones for mysterious numbers or get jealous over things that happened a million years ago, or sniff each other's clothes for perfume or cologne and get suspicious about everything. I never want to do that." She squirmed again. "But the minute you start talking about exes…you start to wonder. You wonder if she ever sounded like you, or if he ever said things to her that you thought he only said to you. Did she kiss like you, did she smell like you…What makes you different? Why are you more special than her somehow?" She closed her eyes, as if she were speaking to herself more than to him. "How do you know?"

He petted her idly, knowing she wasn't expecting an answer, but he gave her one anyway. "I've never slept with any girl but you."

She squirmed, shifting away from him slightly to frown at him. "You just told me you spent a weekend with that woman."

"We didn't sleep, though," he said. "I could barely sleep, I was so uncomfortable that weekend, and she was on the phone almost the entire time. Kept leaving the suite or locking herself in the bathroom so I couldn't hear." He chuckled at the memory. "I slept for a couple of hours, and when I woke up she was out on the balcony, on the phone. She never slept with me."

Claire's expression softened as she realized what he was saying. She sat back, stormsky eyes dark as she listened.

"I've never slept—I mean just slept—with any girl but you," he repeated. "I had girlfriends, and we had sex, but I never slept over." Smoothing a half-bang out of her eyes, he asked, "Do you remember the first time we slept together—just slept, I mean?"

"Slept for sixteen hours," she laughed warmly, and he knew she remembered. "I'd never realized how much I'd taken things like hot showers, clean clothes and pillows for granted."

Leon closed his eyes, remembering that night. She'd been the last to shower, stumbling out of the tiny motel bathroom in cheap Wal-Mart clothes, a thin camisole and pink cotton shorts that were a size too big. She'd crawled dazedly across the mattress to curl up between him and an already sleeping Sherry, her skin cool from the shower and her ponytail damp as she huddled against him, nuzzling his arm. Eventually he'd ended up curled around her, her every breath reminding him that they were alive, all three alive, and for that moment, safe. He'd woken the next day as late afternoon was shading into evening once again, reluctant to wake her, to lose that feeling, unable to know that years later he'd have her back in his arms the same way, every night.

"First time I'd ever woken up with a girl in my arms," he murmured, "and it was you."

He found her hand, spread her fingers gently so he could press his palm against hers, curl his fingers over, squeeze. "I remember," she murmured, her hand gripping his in response.

"I wanted to be close," he continued. "That's what makes you different. I want to be so close…"

As he spoke, he drew her closer, Claire's eyes drifting to half-mast as their mouths touched, Leon catching her lower lip between his and sipping at it. "Sorry for being a bitch," she murmured against his kiss.

"My fault," he answered between nipping at her mouth. "I shouldn't have gotten so…jealous."

"It's just a stupid sweatshirt." But unlike before, Claire smiled encouragingly as she said it, nuzzling him. "Means nothing."

"Oh yeah?" Leon's large hands slid the sweatshirt up, over the smooth skin of her hip. "Then take it off and throw it away."

"I will."

"I mean right now." Rolling her astride his lap, he seized the hem of the offending garment that had started all this trouble and slid his hands up her body, taking the shirt along as he stroked up her sensitive sides. Slowly, Claire pulled the band anchoring her ponytail and shook her hair out as he tossed the shirt aside. Her eyes never left his face.

Love was never tiring of seeing someone naked, Leon thought. He'd been right to think that she wasn't wearing much underneath the hateful sweatshirt, just a simple pair of black, lace-edged hot pants. Now she straddled his lap and raised her arms to smooth her tousled hair, the action doing interesting things to the unbound breasts he loved so well. Her smile was teasing. "If you remember, Special Agent Kennedy, I only put on the stupid sweatshirt because I was freezing." She drew her arms around herself, as if the touch of her own bare skin would keep away the cold. "I'm still freezing."

Leon took her wrists gently in his and stopped her from obstructing his view of her. "Then let me warm you up."

As he pushed her down against the sofa, Claire realized what made him different as well. He never bored her the way all the other names had grown to bore her—instead of feeling like their lovemaking would become predictable, she couldn't wait to have those large, familiar hands on her, the hands that knew just how she liked to be touched. He seemed happy to oblige, caressing her breasts in those clever hands, and Claire sighed, enjoying their size, the friction of the gun callous she'd memorized.

"Warmer?" he asked between mapping her body with kisses, the corner of her mouth, her jaw, the hollow of her throat and lower till his lips met his fingers at her breasts, thumbing one nipple to stiffness before drawing it into his mouth.

"Mm-hmm—mmmmm," Claire purred in agreement, hands tangling in his hair as his teeth scraped at her other nipple. She writhed beneath him, scratching at his shirt. "Let me up. Want to touch you."

Leon laughed, his hands finding hers, fingers lacing through hers to pin her playfully. "I like you right there."

Claire smiled, continuing to squirm. "Yeah?" she asked, undulating her body until her belly slid against the stiff bulge in his pants. "How about here?"

It was easy to gauge Leon's reactions when he was on top of her—he always gave himself away by letting his control slip and giving her a little more of his weight than usual. Not that Claire minded having every hard, muscled inch of him collapsed against her. Groaning, his expression slightly pained, he amended his opinion. "I like you there."

Giggling, Claire repeated the movement, and Leon ground his body against hers with a pleased growl. They rolled and fought for position until the laws of physics won out, the sofa not being big enough for them both to grapple so. Leon ended awkwardly on the floor, one booted foot still stretched up to the cushions.

"Oooh!" Claire sat up, reaching for his hand as if she'd pull him back up. She tried to show concern, but it didn't last long before she collapsed into laughter. "You okay?"

Ordinarily, his pride would have hurt the most, but Claire was his safe place—the only place in the world where he didn't have to worry about being the badass government agent, too cool for everyone. Claire had no interest in cat-and-mouse games or power plays or keeping up appearances. Even now, she demonstrated the comfort she had in her own skin as she leaned toward him, seeming to forget her own nudity in favor of concern for him. "Leon?"

Any thoughts of shame were flooded out of his mind by excitement at the thought of having her to himself like this. There were no other names anymore, no other men who could have her like this. Crouching next to the sofa, he scooped her up in his arms, eyes appraising her with predatory interest. "I think it's warmer in the bedroom." Claire buried her face in his neck and let him carry her to bed, where the battle resumed, his clothes the casualties.

"Warm now?" Leon purred as Claire straddled him, his hands rolling her soaked hot pants into a lacy coil that he slid over her hips. "You look hot to me."

"Yeah," Claire breathed, lifting herself to assist him in sliding her panties down her legs.

"Yeah?" He took advantage of the moment to roll her onto her back and slide atop her. "Who keeps you warm?"

She smiled, eyes hazy with passion. "You do," she said, fingers trailing down his chest to stroke his throbbing length. His next question became a gasp and he thrust instinctively into her hand with a whine, eyes squeezing shut. To distract her—and himself—he closed his mouth around her nipple and flicked his tongue against it, but instead of letting go, her hand constricted around him, thumb rubbing over the slick head, and he was suddenly uninterested in any game but one. He pushed her back against the mattress, hands seeking hers, not to pin her but to hold on as tight as he could for this most intimate embrace. "You're different," he whispered, "because…"

And like magic, Claire read his mind, partner, lover. "I love you."

He couldn't believe she'd been complaining the apartment was cold; his every sense was awash in heat. She was hot and tight and slick around him, her skin feverish against his. Her legs wrapped around him, heels pressed against him, the tiny mews and whimpers she made with every thrust, every twist and lift of his hips, the friction of their bodies against each other—it was all so fucking hot.

"Claire—"

Claire was going to throw out that sweatshirt, as soon as she could move, as soon as she could walk again, it was going in the trash, she couldn't even remember where she'd gotten it, it didn't matter, nothing mattered but this man atop her, inside her, his muscles so hard against her and his cock so hard inside her and his mouth so possessive on hers. There was no one but him, the two of them and oh oh oh…

Her scream was a name, the only name, his name. "Leon!"

She came hard, her climax triggering his because her body demanded no less, constricting around him, spasming until he stiffened against her with a growl and he was no longer in control of his senses.

Orgasms, Leon thought amusedly, were finishing one another's sentences. Love was being reminded of the waking world by the feel of her clinging to him. Love was not having to ask Was it good for you too? Love was the familiar warmth of Claire snuggled up to his side to laze in the afterglow, her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest, feeling his heart rate slow.

He kissed her forehead. "Next time let's fight about getting a dog."

Claire laughed softly, making a sound of mock exasperation. "There's no need to fight about that—because we are not getting a dog. Period."

He laughed too, stroking her tousled hair off her face. "You sure make it difficult for a man to have makeup sex with you. Although I thought we did all right just now."

"No." She nuzzled his bicep. "You have to fight to make up, and we weren't fighting. You were just keeping me warm."

Leon liked that; he smiled. "How'd I do?"

The press of her lips to his was answer enough.

Love, Leon Kennedy realized a few mornings later when he came in from a security detail, was seeing Claire asleep on the sofa as if she'd been waiting up for him and lost the battle to slumber. A space heater whirred at her side, eliminating the need for a sweatshirt. She was wearing a t-shirt he recognized as one of his own, the words Raccoon City Police Academy faded but visible across her chest.

**

Author's Notes:

I really love the LeonxClaire pairing. And I love writing fics. I'm going to keep on with that. *smiles cutely.* Just thought I'd say that.

I don't love the LeonxAda pairing, but as a grown-up lady I thought I'd sit awhile and really think it over—what would be the most realistic outcome that still left me and my two favorite partners happy? This fic is it. All in all, I thought it made a lot of sense actually. *beams.* And no one even bled!

Who wants some? *shakes a bottle of extra-strength pills.* They're not making my headache go away anyway.