#fic: catch me floating circles in my fish bowl

[screechthemighty]

*holds my hand out like I'm summoning a cat* hey mithan fans psspsspsspss guess what fic update time (If any of this feels familiar, that's because it's a re-write of the anniversary chapter in milestones. And by "re-write" I mean "there's a lot of copy-pasting from that chapter," lol. Hope you enjoy it regardless!)

catch me floating circles in my fish bowl - part five:

May 28, 2021:

“You ready?”

He wasn’t. He thought he’d be. Ethan had been dreaming about this moment for weeks. That didn’t stop him from hesitating.

Irrational as it was, things had been going a little too well lately. He didn’t need so many injections. He’d been sleeping better. Things were great between him and Mia, all things considered. Finally having that talk hadn’t erased everything wrong in the relationship, or their individual lives, but there was no longer that barrier between them. They could work on things together. It was a relief.

So, of course, he was bracing himself for something to go wrong. For the other shoe to drop. Or, more specifically, for him to stand up and somehow spontaneously break his leg the second he tried to walk on his own.

Come on. Don’t be a wimp. Ethan took a deep breath and braced his hands against the wheelchair. Mia’s waiting for you.

That thought spurred him to stand. Tom was ready with the walker. It was the one concession Ethan had made, weighing how much the use of it counted as walking on his own against the chance of falling on his face in front of Mia on their anniversary. It suddenly didn’t feel like enough support. His hands would’ve been shaking if he wasn’t gripping the walker so tightly.

“Are you in any pain?” Tom asked.

“No.” The word came out with a shaky laugh. “Just nerves.”

Tom nodded. “You can do this. You’ve gotten a lot stronger since you started, and all your medical scans say you’re structurally sound. Trust me, I wouldn’t be okaying this if I was worried.”

Ethan nodded. He took a deep breath. “Time to go see my wife,” he said quietly.

Time to put all of that work to good use.

Ethan fixed his eyes forward and took his first steps.

.

It felt like their last truly normal anniversary celebration had been before Dulvey; what today lacked in normalcy, it made up for in pure effort. Carlos and Jill had Rose, and the people around Blue Umbrella had managed to get their hands on proper dinner for them. Mia didn’t know how, or who had set up a private dining space for them in one of the garden areas. Every time she asked Marshal, he told her it was a group effort. Enough of her things had been recovered for her to wear a dress and some makeup. She didn’t know what Ethan was wearing—he’d told her that he’d meet her down there—but he could’ve showed up still in hospital clothes and she would’ve been happy.

He was alive. He was there. He was staying. It was more than she could’ve hoped for.

As she sat at the table, Mia noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. A shape became clearer through the slightly distorted glass. It was Ethan. He was walking. She could just make out the shape of someone else in the hallway, probably one of the doctors, but whoever it was, they stayed a respectful enough distance away that they must have felt confident he wouldn’t fall. Mia jumped to her feet and met him at the door. Ethan was wearing a simple button-up and slacks, and someone had trimmed his hair back. He was using a walker, but Mia was glad to see he’d accepted the help. Ethan’s eyes widened as she opened the door. “…hey,” he said softly.

“Hey,” Mia responded. She was so caught up in how healthy he was now that she almost missed the look in his eyes—soft, gentle, the kind of look that usually preceded him telling her how beautiful she looked. He always seemed to get that look when she hadn’t tried to look beautiful, or when she didn’t feel like she was especially beautiful. She’d never been able to figure out what he saw in her in those moments. She especially couldn’t figure it out now. “You’re walking.”

“More or less, yeah. I’m not going to be breaking any speed records, but…”

Mia cut him off with a hug. The surge of emotion that swept through her was nearly enough to make her need a walker. He’d been inches from death only a few months ago. She’d been so close to losing everything. But he’d clawed his way back to her, to Rose. He had come back to her. Seeing him standing there just made it all real.

She wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. She might forget that later, but in that moment, it was the truest thing in her life.

Ethan hugged her back tightly. His voice trembled slightly when he spoke: “Guess I managed to surprise you, huh?”

“Just a little.” Mia let go, kissing him on the cheek as she pulled away. “Here, come in. They’ve got everything set up.”

Mia was so wrapped up in her own elation that she almost missed Ethan sighing in relief when he sat down. “Are you okay?” she asked once she’d realized.

“Yeah, yeah, I was just kind of worried I’d eat dirt in the home stretch, you know?” Ethan laughed sheepishly. “If it was going to happen, it’d either happen when you first saw me or when we both got too comfortable.” His face softened again as he looked at her. “I didn’t know you still had that dress.”

“I’m just lucky that they brought any of my dresses. You might’ve had to see me in my best pajama pants.”

“You’d still be beautiful, though.” Ethan reached his intact hand across the table to squeeze hers before he picked up his fork. “I think we’re going to owe Blue Umbrella a lot of thank-you cards.”

Mia laughed quietly as she picked hers up. “Yeah. We definitely are.” They’d given Mia her husband back. She was never going to be able to repay them for that.

The conversation wasn’t one they’d usually have on a night like this. Instead of talking about work, they were talking about the developments with Ethan’s future prosthetic. By all accounts, his nerves had healed enough to allow for an experimental full-use prosthetic. It would require more regular visits from Blue Umbrella, just to be sure that it worked the way it should, but, as Ethan pointed out, “I get to be a cyborg, so that’s not the worst trade-off.”

“Just promise me you won’t go super hardcore into…what’s it called? The thing that the guy from your old job was into?”

“Trans-humanism?” Ethan laughed. “Shit, I’d almost forgotten about him.”

“Well, you weren’t the one he was trying to impress.” Mia rolled her eyes at the memory. “He’s permanently filed in my memory under kinds of men to avoid.”

“That’s fair. Shit, what do you think everyone back in Texas is up to these days?”

“Same old, probably.” Mia wondered if any of them ever thought of the Winters, or if they’d just become distant memories. Footnotes in a random documentary about strange disappearances. “I’ll tell you one thing, all of this has made me miss those office jobs.”

“Tell me about it. My boss never turned into a dragon…” Ethan paused. “Kind of felt like he might a few times, though.”

Mia couldn’t help laughing. She knew exactly what he meant. “What do you think you’ll do once we’re out?” she asked. There was a strange thrill at being able to even think about that future, no matter how strange it might be. She’d take any future with him and Rose.

“Honestly, I have no idea. I haven’t thought that far ahead.” Ethan shrugged as he poked at the last bites of his food. “I’ll probably have to find something remote. Or get into pro wrestling.”

“Pro…Ethan!”

“What? With a face like this, I’d make a great heel.”

“I…I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“…I’m mostly joking.”

Mia started laughing again. It felt like the most she’d laughed in months, maybe years. “I see your point,” she said, “but for what it’s worth, I like your face.”

“Even after all of this?”

“Even after all of this,” Mia confirmed. She reached across the table to touch his cheek. “Always and forever.”

Ethan smiled at her and leaned into the touch. The length of the table suddenly felt too far a distance. Mia moved her chair around so she was right next to him. As she did, Ethan pulled something out from under his shirt. It was his wedding ring. He’d been wearing it on a necklace all this time. Mia wondered now if he had planned on wearing it on the proposed mechanical hand, or was just waiting for his right hand to recover more fully. Fine tune motor control could still be hit or miss. “Why are you supposed to wear this on your left hand?” he asked.

“Tradition,” Mia said. She rested her head on his shoulder. Even with their reconciliation, there was something strange about the gesture, almost awkward. The ease of casual touch was slowly coming back, but she couldn’t help noticing he hadn’t gained back all his lost weight. He’s doing better, though. One day at a time. “They used to think there was a vein that ran from the ring finger directly to the heart.”

“Really?”

“Hmm. All your fingers connect to the heart, but it’s a nice thought.”

“That does sound more like what I learned in high school bio class,” Ethan said. “So, it…doesn’t really matter if I wear it on the other hand? Because if we’re going to be integrating back into society soon, I need people to know I’m taken. I don’t want to be beating off unwanted attention.” Mia laughed again. “What? I’m a catch. Everyone knows it.”

“You are,” Mia agreed. “I was lucky to grab you before someone else did.”

“To be fair, you were the only one who saw it back then.” Mia scoffed. “No, it’s true. I feel like at least half the people in that office didn’t know who I was.”

The thing was, Mia believed it. She even understood why, to a degree. Ethan had been low-drama in the office. He showed up for his scheduled hours, did his job highly competently, didn’t bother anyone, didn’t start anything. It was actually that lack that had made him stand out to her. She’d dealt with enough adults acting like high schoolers in her lifetime. Someone who behaved himself felt extraordinary.

“Why did you say yes, anyway?” Ethan asked suddenly.

Mia was caught off-guard by the question. It didn’t help that 2009 had been so long ago. Sometimes she felt like that part of her life had happened to someone else. “To the first date, or to marrying you?”

“Both.”

She started with the first one after digging through her memories. “Well, for the first one, you’re cute. Yes, even in the company-labeled polos.” Ethan groaned in mock pain. Mia bit back a laugh. They had not been flattering polos, but he’d made it work somehow. “And opening with do you like jellyfish caught my attention.”

“So, good looks and an air of mystery. Got it.” Ethan rested his cheek against the top of her head. “And when I proposed?”

She remembered that much more clearly. “I loved you. I loved you because…you were stable. You were reliable. You showed up. I’d never had someone care about me the way you did.” If she’d only known what that caring would lead to. “Do you remember when my car broke down during that freak cold snap? I thought you were going to stay on the phone with me until the tow truck got there, but you drove all the way out there so I wouldn’t be alone.”

Ethan laughed quietly. “Yeah, I remember. I was just surprised I beat the tow truck.”

“I’m not.” That was classic Ethan. He was always there for her, one way or another. “Honestly, if you hadn’t asked me when you did, I probably would’ve asked you.”

Ethan looked surprised. His expression now was almost the same as when she’d said yes back then. “Wait, is that why I barely got my speech out before you said yes?”

 “Yeah.”

“Shit. And there I was nervous you’d say no.”

She almost wanted to laugh again. How could there have ever been a doubt in his mind? Why wouldn’t she say yes? The more accurate question was…

“Why did you ask me?” What about me was so special? She was afraid to ask, in a way, but she couldn’t help it. She had to know.

Ethan didn’t hesitate. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re funny, smart, beautiful…never give up kind of girl. I know how rough all those temp jobs were for you, but even when you were angry about it, you didn’t let it keep you down for long. And before you forget, you were the one who helped me deal with two moves and a major job change in two years. It wasn’t just me showing up.”

Mia did remember. He might have seen it as gumption, but not giving up had never been an option for her. If she didn’t fight for herself, no one else would…until him, of course. She’d always just thought that doing the same for him was the bare minimum. “You could’ve handled that on your own.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t want to. You were there for me, every time. It kept me sane.” His eyes defocused slightly, as if he were digging something up from the deepest parts of his memory, and a fond smile drifted onto his face. “It was the second move, when I was waiting to hear back about the new job. I had that storage shelf I couldn’t figure out because I hadn’t slept, so I called you for backup.”

“Oh, that thing.” Funny how she had so many holes in her memory, but she could remember her resentment towards that piece of shit pretty well. “I swore at the instructions, right?”

“You did, but it was very endearing swearing. And I was in the kitchen getting us both pizza, and…I don’t know. I just realized this was how I wanted it to be. You and me, together. I thought about asking right then, but with the job still up in the air, y’know, I wanted to make sure everything was stable on my end, first.” He ran his thumb along the ring’s surface. “But that was when I knew.”

He had waited a few months to ask her, if her memory was right. Mia wondered how he’d been able to keep it in all that time. She’d barely been able to keep from asking him more than once. She’d felt the same way for so long, even if she didn’t have a name for it, and that feeling had never faded. Not once.

“I don’t think I can get this back on without dropping it,” Ethan said quietly. “Give me a hand?”

Mia’s breath caught in her chest, just for a second. She was a little worried she would drop the ring as she pulled away to take the ring and slip it onto his ring finger. There was a moment where she wondered if it would still fit after all the damage and rehabilitation his hand had been through, but it slid on perfectly. As if he’d never taken it off.

“That’s better.” Ethan took Mia’s hand and kissed it gently. “Here’s to ten more years, huh?”

Tears welled up in Mia’s eyes, but she blinked them away. Today wasn’t a day for tears. Today was a celebration, and not just of their marriage. They were both still alive, against all odds. Still together. Still a team.

She wasn’t going to let anything bring them apart ever again.

“Ten more years,” Mia agreed. “I love you, Ethan.”

“I love you, too.” Ethan’s forehead rested against hers. For a while, they sat in silence, just reveling in the proximity to each other. Ethan was the one who pulled away first. “Oh, I almost forgot…”

“What?” Mia had to pull away so he could reach into his jacket. “What is it?”

“Jill gave me something before I came down here. Said it was from the three of them and that I should wait until I see you?” It was a plain envelope, not very thick but all the more mysterious for it. “I have no idea what it is and Carlos wouldn’t look at me, so I’m assuming it’s a pretty big surprise.”

“Well, now I’m curious.” Ethan held out the envelope to Mia, who opened it carefully. The exterior was a pretty standard anniversary card—cartoon otters holding hands, cursive font congratulating them on their marriage. When Mia opened it, though, something was taped to the inside left. A photograph of a house, out in what looked like either the countryside or an underdeveloped area.

Is that…?

Ethan read the hand-written message aloud: “We’re finishing up the final details with this. Once it’s settled and the docs give the go-ahead, you’ll…” His voice broke. “…you’ll have someplace to go. More details incoming, all the best…”

Mia put the card down and hugged Ethan tightly. He hugged her back, his body trembling with tears of happiness.

They could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and it had never looked brighter.

#fic: catch me floating circles in my fish bowl #resident evil #mithan

[thecookhamboys]

Finan x time travel!reader part 2!

2288 words. Fluff and smut.

Part 1 here. It’s not super necessary to understand this, but it’s short and cute.

A/N: If you want to skip the smut, it’s marked by two sets of asterisks. It’s my first time writing smut and this is my second fic ever, so any constructive notes are totally welcome :) 

It took five hours for reality to set in. The first two had been spent in blissful ignorance, then another hour in denial. The fourth and fifth hours ticked by with mounting horror, culminating in one terrifying realization.

“There’s no aloe,” you whispered to yourself. “God, I thought the potatoes were the worst part, but there’s no aloe and no ice either.” With a deep, resigned sigh, you pulled the neckline of your shift back up, hissing as it rubbed against the horrible sunburn that covered the tops of your shoulders and your chest. It happened every summer, one afternoon that turned you a deep tomato red and reminded you why your mom insisted on 90 spf. 

The burn on your face intensified-if that was even possible-with the thought of the events of the morning. Finan had seemed content for the first while that you were in the water, but after some time the grip on your hand tightened and so did the lines on his face. For several minutes you searched for ways to diplomatically send him off, but you were saved from the awkward conversation by Sihtric. 

“Finan? Are you catching us fish or just avoiding training?” One of your eyes cracked open enough to see Finan’s face break into a smile at the sight of his best friend. 

“No, just keepin’ this one from floating away. Turns out her idea of a swim is fallin’ asleep half naked.” At that, you opened your eyes and moved to a crouch indignantly.

“Hey! That was an accident that neither of us thought about and you know it!” You splashed some water at him and he and Sihtric laughed while you actively didn’t look at the water sparkling on his broad chest. “Really though, if you have to go I don’t mind. I think I’ll lie on the sand for a while and enjoy the day.” He looked down at you and nodded, then waded out of the water while yelling at Sihtric to throw him his shirt. You dunked under one last time while they left, then waded out yourself. 

Beach days in the northeast had always been about maximizing sun exposure and building a tan that would last, so you didn’t even hesitate to expose yourself. The shift’s drawstring top hem simplified rearranging to form a strapless neckline, and it was easy enough to pull up the bottom hem and tie it in a knot at your thighs. You settled in by the shore, and the sounds of the water combined with the unseasonal warmth of the sun to lure you to sleep. 

When you finally startled from your slumber it was clear that you had been there for hours; not great, since you were expected at the hall to help prepare dinner. Nothing had been amiss when you redressed, and you’d slipped in just in time to escape Gisela’s wrath and dive in chopping the endless amount of vegetables needed to feed those who sat at Uhtred’s table each night. 

The sunburn escaped your notice until you were deep into your second cup of ale, and staring at your hands became a necessary distraction from Finan’s stupid, charming face across the table. That changed with the third cup, when his allure overbalanced your embarrassment.

“Finan, ugh, check this out. I fell asleep by the river today and look at this.” You tugged your dress down to reveal a startlingly red chest, and watched in amusement as you tapped it and left lasting white fingerprints. He laughed at your misfortune, but even after you pulled the neckline up and moved back into the table’s conversation he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the strip of burned skin by your collarbones. 

The aloe realization came when you were preparing for bed. You’d done a full exam of exactly which places were burned, knowing that it would only be worse tomorrow, and had resigned yourself to a hot, sleepless night. Knowing that there was no relief on the horizon made you look forward to the next morning even less, and you set about to prepare as best you could. You opened the window to let in the cool night air, and left only the thinnest blanket out on the bed. You were folding away your two furs when a knock on the door surprised you, especially when you unlatched it and a smiling face with guarded eyes greeted you.

“I hope it’s not too late- I was mixin’ something up for ye,” he held out a small wooden bowl. You leaned forward and gave it a sniff, then looked up at him curiously.

“Is that ... milk?”

“Aye, with a little honey. It’ll help. Do ye have a cloth?” You turned to find one, and he moved into the room with you. When you turned with the cloth, it was to him holding a hand out expectantly. “I’ll help. I owe ye for this morning. That’s the longest stretch that I’ve enjoyed the water in years.” You bit your bottom lip and looked down. He glanced around the room, assessing the next move, and finally jerked his head towards the bed. “Ye don’t have anywhere else to sit. Go on, I’ll take care of ye.” 

Sitting, you looked up at him with a smirk. “I should warn you: this sunburn covers more than is proper for a lady to reveal,” you continued, laughing, “good thing I’m not a lady.” You loosened the drawstring at your neckline and slipped both arms out of the sleeves, retying them in front to ease the blush coloring Finan’s face. 

“Ye weren’t jokin’, were ye. Arms first.” He held out a hand and you placed your left in it while he soaked the cloth. He squeezed it out gently, then in several smooth strokes wiped the mixture down the length of your arm. You let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and immediately flushed, though you were sure he could barely tell. He huffed out a laugh, and let your hand go. “Feels good, aye?” With your nod, he held out his hand again and you gave him your right hand, marveling at how much of the burning had stopped. Once your arms were done, he moved closer, lightly wiping the cloth over your shoulders and chest, furrowed brows focused on keeping drips from staining the cloth of your shift. You couldn’t help but watch him, and when he shifted to your face, having all his focus on you left you scarcely able to breathe. When the cloth wiped over your cheek, you reached up to catch his wrist, holding his hand in position.

“Finan... thank you. For everything. You’ve been so kind to me these last few months, and I want you to know that I appreciate you, and all that you’ve done for me.”

“Ach, I’m sure ye’d appreciate it less if ye knew how selfish my motivations are, lass.” You reached up for him and tucked a hand on the back of his neck, mirroring his own position, and pulled him closer.

“I have selfish motivations too,” you whispered. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt or uncertainty in the sparkles from the candlelight.

 “Are ye sure?” he breathed. You nodded and he closed the distance, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You tilted your head to deepen it, and his other hand moved to rest on your knee, causing you to break away with a hiss. 

“Owwwww. Please tell me there’s enough of that left for my legs.”

“Yer legs? I thought ye were wearin’ this?”

“Yeah, well, I tied it up. Move back,” you said, patting the side of his face. Once you had space you rose and tied up the hem much as you had earlier, wrinkling your nose at the contrast between the white cloth and red skin.

“Ye look like the baby monk’s wet dream,” he muttered, taking in the full view.

“Only if the baby monk likes boiled lobsters,” you snickered, sitting back down. “Will you continue your ministrations please, oh doctor Finan?”

“Aye, with pleasure,” he said smugly, kneeling between your bared legs. “Ach, ye even got the tops of your feet.” He carefully lifted each foot into his lap, wiping the cloth from the knee down. Once he was done with that, though, you could tell you were in trouble. He looked up at you with sparkling eyes. “Just say the word and I’ll stop. I’ll do anything ye say. Always.” He reached below your knee, hoisting your leg up onto his shoulder and forcing you to lean back on one elbow. This time, when he applied the liquid, he didn’t squeeze out the cloth, instead chasing the extra drops with swipes of his tongue. 

“Finan-“ his name came out of your mouth strangled, but it didn’t keep him from pausing immediately. 

“What, lass?” You reached a hand towards him, tucking it into the short hair just behind his ear, taking a second to catch your breath.

“I am not a virgin.” His eyes darkened and you could tell his brain was moving through all the terrible possibilities, so you hurried on, not wanting him to worry. “It was by choice, but I thought you should know. Where I am from people are much more casual.” He nodded, eyes not leaving yours. “You don’t need to be gentle, but be tender. Please.”

******

He pressed a kiss to your thigh, which still rested over his shoulder, and lifted the other one to match, tipping you onto your back. From his position between your thighs, he looked at you with eyes of pure sin, and moved forward until you could feel his breath on your core. He licked his lips once, then dove into you, alternating long stripes with careful, quick circles around your clit. His hands wrapped the tops of your hips, holding you to his mouth even as you clutched at his hair to keep him from pulling away. 

He was merciless with his tongue, and when your thighs tightened around his head with your climax he coaxed you through it, waiting until you tugged on his hair to pull away. He climbed onto the bed to hover over you, and you brought him in for a kiss, loving the taste of your own wetness on his lips. Eventually you broke away, if only to roll you both so you were on top. You tugged at the laces of his breeches, and after a few seconds of fumbling his cock sprang free. Leaning down, you took it in your mouth, sending a quick prayer to whoever was listening that your experiences with 21st century boys was applicable. You took him as deep as you could, using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t fit, and set a gentle rhythm, guiding his hand to twine in your hair. After a bitten off curse when you used your other hand to cup his balls, he brought you back up for another searing kiss. You reached underneath yourself to line him up, and sank down, enjoying the strange fullness. He looked at you with wonder as you rocked back and forth over him, and brought his hands to where your shift gathered at the top of your ass. When he neared his own climax, he sat up, wrapping one strong arm around your back to pull you close as he thrust upwards. He finally stilled with his face buried in your neck, and nipped at it before kissing the mark gently. You rose up just enough for him to slip out of you, then sat back down, resting your head on his. 

******

He mumbled something into your shoulder and you frowned, not understanding. 

“Finan? You said that word earlier but I don’t think you’ve said what it means?” He laughed, shaking his head and disturbing the hand that was carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“No I have not. I couldn’t before now.” Your hand resumed its gentle combing, and he sighed. “It means ‘my love’. My secret love,” he amended, “for when ye know it but they do not. Although I suppose ye know now.” You kissed him on the forehead gently, soaking up the feeling of being in his arms and having him in yours. 

“I love you too.” When you finally got off him, he moved as if to leave. “Finan? Where are you going?” He stopped and looked at you, startled.

“It’s not proper if I stay, if someone comes in tomorrow morning and sees me sleeping here with ye...” He trailed off, seeing that his words had no impact. You shook your head, and laughed a little to yourself.

“What if I told you that where I’m from, it’s even less proper than that to make a girl feel like this and then leave when she wants you to stay?”

“Well, I’d ask when ye’d ever known me to be improper?” You laughed at that, climbing under the blanket and holding it open so he could slide in next to you once he’d removed his breeches and blown out the candles. You fell asleep quickly, sunburn completely forgotten, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from your face, lit up gently by the moon. In the safety of your sleep, he trailed a finger over your collarbone and pressed kisses to your hair. Finally, he pressed one last kiss to the overheated skin of your cheek, and let himself relax, content with the presence of you curled up next to him. He whispered “I love you,” into the cool night air, and let himself fall into sleep.

#The Last Kingdom #finan #finan x reader #time travel #they said write what u know #so i said self insert fic with my whole chest #my writing #pls clap #soft finan

[lavendersb]

A Moment of Delicacy

Chapter 1 - Kings and their Fellow Men

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Words: 5.7k

Summary: Broken people will seek those like them. A slow burn fic.

-

“Can you do that for me, dear?” His voice is low and filled with dangerous promises that make your fingers twitch with barely restrained excitement.

“This isn’t how I usually do this”

“I know. Think of it as a challenge my dear” He leans closer to you. You feel something move with him, it’s like the fantastical promise of a better life floats about him like a cloud. He smiles at your obvious desperation.

“Like a game”

 The sound of your spoon hitting the bottom of your empty stew bowl sounded like a gunshot going off in your small, empty house. You were suspicious, it was nearly 10 o’clock at night and you were undisturbed in your evening thus far. You had grown accustomed to your nightly visitors, a small but rather prominent gang of fools that terrorised your modest home tucked away in a remote corner of New Hanover. Each night they imposed themselves on your privacy, taunting you from outside your home and offering crude bargains for your safety. Each night you responded to them with the call of your shotgun.

You started to feel restless. Quickly you picked up your empty dinner plate and left it hastily in the sink of your little kitchen before briskly walking to you front door. Propped up beside the door is your rifle, sturdy and well used in recent weeks. It’s nothing too flashy, you can’t afford to be frivolous these days. It does its job, and that’s good enough for you at least.  

Snatching it up you move to the little hearth area near the front door. You sink into your father’s old armchair and hold the rifle over your lap, the chair has been moved from its usual place by the fire in favour of a view out of the window. From your seat you can see the little lantern that illuminates your front porch, and the one that is hung on a post in the grass away from your home, allowing you to see any incoming visitors.

You sink deeper into the chair. Its red fabric is worn in places and the stuffing is barely there, but you have neither the heart nor the money to have it fixed. The chair is one of the oldest things in your home, countless memories of your childhood revolve round the chair you’re sitting in.

You can clearly remember being sat on your fathers lap in this chair. Your godfather sits opposite you, his wife sat beside him on the low sofa as close as can be a picture of soulful fondness and love. They’re laughing at a joke your fathers told, one you can’t remember or were too young understand. You remember feeling for the first time since leaving your mother out east, you finally had a proper family again.

Your life has changed so much since then. Your godmother, dead for years now and your godfather too busy with his work to visit you, despite your almost monthly letter correspondence. Most drastically is the absence of your father who is buried beneath a modest gravestone in the Blackwater churchyard. Something in you stirs, though it’s been nearly a year since his passing, you still haven’t gotten used to that cold, lonely feeling that came as a result.

A noise startles you from your thoughts, and as has been the case for a the last few months, your grief is pushed aside in favour of your survival. It sounded like a whoop or wordless call, and echoes around your head in the silence of your home. You grip onto the shotgun tighter and lean forwards to take a look out of the window, nothing. There’s no movement in the darkness, and the lanterns out front don’t show anything different but that doesn’t calm the frantic beating of your heart.

Another sound comes out of the darkness, closer now, and distinctly human prompting you to jump from the chair and head straight for the door. You press your forehead against the wood of the door, try to quiet your breathing so you can listen out for whoever’s approaching your home, you can hear a low rumbling from somewhere nearby and your nose scrunches instinctively. You didn’t need to be a genius to recognise the sound of horses, five or six of them if their usual numbers are anything to go by.

The sound of the men carries over the sounds of their horses. Loud, abrasive to the ears and though you can’t make out the words distinctly, you can tell from their tone the men arriving are here to taunt and harass you again. You slide the latch open and reach for your key loop, you untie it from the waist of your skirt, quickly unlock your door and hide the keys in the draw of the side table.

You can hear the men outside now, probably circling their horses round as they laugh and call to each other. It’s with great displeasure that you note you can actually recognise some of the voices coming from outside, this has gone on for far too long. Turning the door handle you step out onto the porch.

“Here she is!” A faceless voice calls out from the darkness. You squint subtly to try and make out the speaker as your eyes slowly adjust to the night.

“Our lady of honour” the same voice finishes, and he’s followed by a chorus of unpleasant laughter. You can see the man now, recognise him even as one of the most regular of the gang to disrupt your evenings. He’s large, a great hulking man with thinning hair and a vile toothy grin. His voice as soft on the ear as gravel on tender skin. You stare him down preparing to begin your usual dance of defiance.

“Get out of here,” you warn shortly, raising your shotgun slightly to make a point of it. You’re tired, not ready to compromise or handle an argument, but your tone deals the venomous punch it needs to.

“No need for that sort of language darlin’” A tall, lean looking man calls out “that ain’t no way to treat a potential business partner”

A few men snicker at that, and you move the barrel of the shotgun to face their general direction in warning. You don’t want to fire, you’re dangerously aware of how much the ammunition costs, but you will if you have to.

“There isn’t anything ‘potential’ here. I’ve told you my decision and that’s final. Don’t mock my sensibility by suggesting you’re a business man of any sorts, you all are far too dim for that kind of critical thought” You snap.

“Now that aint polite at all,” The large one warns “we’re offerin’ to take you away. Keep you safe, and this is how you repay us?”

“Safety? That’s what they call being a whore for crooks like you is it?” You throw back venomously.

There’s a dangerous silence as the men look at you lowly. The laughing has long stopped, and your finger moves to rest against the trigger cautiously. The large man shuffles on his horse and speaks again.

“Now I think we’ve been playing this game damn near long enough now-“

“Yes at least we can agree on that” you interject coldly

He man stares at you angrily as his slightly skinnier companion nudges his horse forwards. Now in your line of site, his unholstered pistol glistens in the silver moonlight. The barrel winks at you tauntingly as it catches in the light.

“What I’m tryin’ to make a point of here, is we’re gonna give you one more week to make your decision. You can come over to our camp out in the forest, or we can take you their ourselves” the man nods to the shotgun in your hand, “Now we don’t want to do anything too extreme, we like our camp decorations to look pretty, but we aren’t opposed to using a little force”

“Get off my property” you snap as your blood runs cold. Lifting the shotgun, you aim towards the men in front of you.

“We’ll see you in a week or find us up in tall trees if you make your decision sooner” The man says with a satisfied smile, before turning his horse and spurring it onwards. With the thundering of hooves, the men disappear into the darkness leaving you alone on your porch. You listen until the sound of their voices and horses melt away and wait in the silence, breathing deeply and trying to rationalise your thoughts. Some part of you is irrationally scared, you supposed this had been coming for a long time with your constant rejections. Sure, the thought of returning to San Denis or traveling further east had crossed your mind, but now that you were being pushed into a corner, did you even have that option anymore?

Disappearing back into your house you slammed the door, bolting it shut and locking it tightly. With your heart hammering in your ears you closed the wooden shutters on each of your windows and retreated to your bedroom hastily. You stopped once inside, staring at the bedside table and debating with yourself.

You had held off on asking for help for so long, but now might be your only chance. Even if the letter didn’t get to him in time, if you left the location of the gang’s den in your letter, your godfather might be able to help get you free. You moved to sit on the edge of your bed, pulling open the bedside draw and fishing out the pile of neatly folded letters. The stack was bound with an off-white ribbon and contained a year’s worth of letters from your godfather that you often read in these times. You took the most recent letter from the stack and unfolded it, you skimmed over the general pleasantries, questions about your life, and wishes for your good health to find the little post-scriptum. An address and an alias to deliver the letter to sits tucked at the bottom as per usual, and you take this letter with you to the dressing table nearby the bed.

You take your pen and a fresh sheet of paper and lay them out in front of you, chewing at the inside of your mouth as you debate what to write.

Dear Mr O’Dowd

I apologize for the somewhat desperate tone this letter has been forced to take. It is with the greatest regret that I must inform you I have lied to you through or correspondences these last few months, I do so hope you can forgive me when I say I have unfortunately not been able to cope alone since my father’s passing.

A gang known as the O’Driscolls have been passing through these parts and have found pleasure in causing great discomfort to my nightly existence and have made rather apparent that I will join them, whether that is to my agency or not will be decided by the end of this week.

Since the death of my father I have been unable to return to work and so I have been financially burdened, and have no possible means to leave and start a new life elsewhere, as would be the most obvious solution in these circumstances.

And so in light of this I must ask that I could join you for the time being, until I can provide for myself again. My past work as a governess has given me skills I’m sure could be beneficial to your travelling workers, and if those fail to be useful, the particular skills I was taught in your company have not left me (I trust you understand what I am referencing to)

Should this letter not find you in time, you I beg that you come find me by “Tall Trees” not far from the town of Blackwater.

I urgently await your response,

 You hastily sign the letter, folding it up and sealing it properly and leaving it on your bedside table. You undress, ready for bed and lay your clothes out for the next day on the trunk at the foot of the bed and lay the letter on-top of your blouse. Tomorrow morning you will travel to blackwater and send the letter, but for now you have to try and sleep. You leave your shotgun beside your bedroom door just in case, climb into bed and blow the candle out.

  Hosea paced briskly into camp. his day had been quite uneventful, a ride into Armadillo that had needed to be done had taken up most of the morning, and now he was arriving back to the chaos of a camp ready to move. He could hardly say it was enjoyable.

In his age, Hosea had come to find that the noise of camp was only tolerable when he was in the best of spirits. Though he loved most of its members dearly, they did know how to get on his nerves quite comfortably.

Hosea’s tent had always been one of the last to be deconstructed for travel and today was no different, he went straight to the open tent, weaving through the noise of the gang to the outskirts of the camp.

He removed his hat, placing it unceremoniously on a crate and sitting himself down on his bed. He stretched, and leisurely opened his satchel. It contained herbs, mostly old ones from before they had arrived in the barren wasteland not far from Tumbleweed and between the plants nestled a letter Hosea had picked up earlier that day. He fishes it out and smiles as he unfolds it. He recognises the delicate font that addresses him by a false name and pries the envelope open, settling further into the shade of his tent as he prepares to read.

He finds himself at a loss once he finishes the letter. The woman who he knew since a young child was very clearly in trouble and urgently so. He had known this woman’s father from years ago, the two men had often worked together on elaborate cons, and in his time away from the gang Hosea had watched as the girl had learnt how to con and pick-pocket better than most. Hosea had been proud of how she operated with the assistance of himself and her father and didn’t doubt for a minute her use within the gang.

Taking the letter with him, Hosea leaves the cool of his tent into the abrasive heat of the midday sun. He spots Dutch on the opposite edge of the camp, smoking under the shade of the only tree with enough leaved to provide substantial shade and in heavy conversation with Arthur.

Hosea conceals his distress masterfully, approaching the two men. They’re enjoying a pleasant discussion, he can tell he can tell by the way Dutch’s voice carries over the noise around him. They’re joking about something or other. He almost feels bad for disrupting them.

“Hosea! Come here, I was just telling Arthur about that funny looking man we saw in town the other day” Dutch raises his cigarette to his lips, smiling around it as he waits for Hosea to comment, and he indulges his old friend, because he always does.

“Sure was a curious fellow wasn’t he. Can’t say I’ve seen many from high society round these parts before. Had the bowler hat and all”

“It’s a different world down here” Arthur says through his own cigarette.

“That it is,” Dutch says with a nod and sweeping gesture with his pointed fist “Far from the west, but this is a necessary interlude to our plans. Of that I am sure”

Arthur hums a half-hearted agreement and offers Hosea a cigarette. Hosea waves it off and Arthur shrugs as he takes it back.

“Dutch, I have to part from the gang for a couple days” Hosea says matter-of-factly. He’s found that this is often the best way to get what he needs from Dutch.

“And what do you mean by that?” He asks, voice dropping. Arthur bristles subtly and Hosea isn’t ignorant to the worried expression that paints his face.

“I mean only a couple of days,” Hosea assures, but neither of the men seem calmed by that “There’s a person I care very dearly for who is in great trouble. I’m going to collect her, bring her to camp and keep her out of harm’s way until she’s ready to move on.”

Dutch narrows his eyes, taking in what Hosea has told him with a defensive sort of attitude.

“You know we can’t take on any more members in the camp, especially if they aren’t bringing anything in” Dutch counters.

“I know Dutch, but she’s a talented pick-pocket-“

“All the girls are” Dutch throws back. Hosea straightens himself out as he prepares to make his point heard.

“She worked as a Governess in San Denis and Blackwater for influential and rich families. She has connections”

“So she’s the posh sort” Arthur adds

“Hardly, her family was dirt poor after paying for her education. Her father ran a few cons with me years back. I trusted him, and I trust her,”

Arthur takes a long drag of his cigarette as Dutch visibly debates the idea in his mind.

“Blackwater?” Dutch says finally.

“Yes, she doesn’t live too far from there” Hosea responds

“We was planning on heading out that way. We could go a little further, see what Blackwater can do for us”

Arthur looks between Dutch and Hosea silently, and Hosea nods.

“I’ll write to her then. Tell her to meet us in Blackwater come Thursday” Hosea says, satisfied he’s done his part.

“Make no promises. I want to meet her first, can’t just be taking any old fool into our ranks”

Hosea pauses for a moment and thinks. He trusts Dutch, always has done and probably always will do, but he also knows Dutch. He sees behind the scenes of Dutch’s people-collecting, Hosea knows how he operates and how he will only take in the most vulnerable people he can find, feed his ego as each new gang member owes him for their life. He’s probably established more debts than Strauss at this point.

A few different scenarios fly through Hosea’s head. He tries to decide what the outcomes of this might be. There’re too many pathways that this could take, and none of them all too reassuring so instead he decides to focus on his initial plan of helping you find your way again. He decides he’ll try to keep you as separate from the gang as he can, not that he doesn’t trust his little band of outlaws and their travelling companions, its just sometimes he has his doubts.

“Sure, Dutch. No promises” Hosea says as Dutch snubs his cigarette.

“I’ll see you when we head out” Dutch visibly shrugs off the conversation and leaves Hosea alone wit Arthur under the tree.

Arthur isn’t looking at Hosea, rather at a little brown bird that’s laded on a rock not too far away. Hosea see’s Arthur’s furrowed brows and watches the scrunch of his nose.

“What’s going on in that head of yours boy? I see you thinking”

Arthur makes a noise and pulls his cigarette from his mouth.

“You know me Hosea, I ain’t never been one for thinkin’”

“Oh sure,” Hosea quips sarcastically “You think about nothing but your next meal”

“Exactly” Arthur says, its empty and defensive humour. Hosea pauses before he speaks again, observing the dust that coats the tips of his boots first.

“What do you think about bringing in this girl?” he finally says.

Arthur tosses his cigarette away at that, stamping it out and turning to walk past Hosea.

“If you and Dutch think it’s alright, then I don’t care one bit what happens”

Hosea decides to leave it at that.

 The letter arrives on Wednesday.

You don’t even wait to get home before you open the letter. You tuck yourself into the corner of the Blackwater post office and tear into it, reading the cursive font faster that you can properly process the information. The message is brief, tells you that him and his “travelling workers” are moving towards Blackwater to search for work and him and his “colleague” would be at the Blackwater saloon come noon on Thursday, and that you should be ready to join them.

An instruction to pack lightly make you snort. That shouldn’t be difficult, seeing as you had hardly any valuables to bring with you.

Once home, you went straight to your bedroom. You crouched beside your bed, pulling out from underneath a trunk used for travelling. Its coated in a thin layer of dust, you haven’t used it since you returned from San Denis, but you hope that you might be getting a lot more use for it in the future.

You toss the trunk onto the bed, opening it and turning to your dresser. You pull from it a few skirts, blouses, a chemise, corset, and a few sets of bloomer and stockings. You pack them as neatly as you can, folding them tightly so that you can fit more into the averagely sized trunk. After a moment of deliberation, you take a shawl and use it to wrap your hairbrush, pocket mirror, and a pair of petty earrings. If you decide against them, you know you can always sell them in the future. You put the wrapped items into the trunk alongside a little fan and a tin of face powder.

You go to the kitchen, pull a revolver from the knife drawer and gather what little ammo you have left in the house. With the gun, ammo, a photograph of your father and, an old quilted blanket you finish packing, close the trunk and leave it by your bedroom door.

After dinner that night, you gather all the cutlery in the house, wrapping it in a cotton sheet and leave it on the kitchen table. Tomorrow you’ll take it to the general store and see if you can get any money for them. They’re not flashy, but they might get you something.

Finally, you feel satisfied that you’ve sorted yourself enough to leave home tomorrow. With the sun beginning to set, you turn to your father’s old armchair and move to sit down in it but stop just before you do. Instead you reach for the back of the chair, you manoeuvre it so that it sits where it used to before you had to move it. When you stand back to look at it, facing towards the fireplace, you feel the beginnings of tears threaten to spill. With the high back of the chair, it’s as though you could walk around it and your father would still be sat there, a book resting on his lap as he relaxes by the fire after a hard day at work. But there’s no fire lit, all the books in the house you have sold, and your father is dead in the ground.

Rubbing at your eyes you let out the shaky breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. You gingerly sit down on the chair, curling your legs up so that your sat completely on the chair. Your fists ball into the fabric of your skirt, and you allow yourself to have this moment of nostalgia before you go to bed. Before you leave your home again for good.

 When you wake, it’s morning. The cool morning light filters in through the curtains as your eyes groggily open. You rub at your face, and suddenly register what’s happening today.

“Shit!” You curse, jumping out of the chair and rushing to your room.

Here, you wash your face hurriedly, and attempt to calm your wild hair as best as possible. You change your clothes, pulling on a light blouse and dark blue skirt and putting what you changed out of into your travelling trunk. You inspect yourself in the mirror, and once you deem yourself presentable you head to the kitchen with your trunk, collect your overcoat and the wrapped cutlery.

You stop for a minute, take in the house as it is. You try not to look towards the red chair by the fireplace, but you do anyway. It hurts a little, but you pull your eyes away from it, step out onto the porch, lock the door, and leave.

 The cutlery had got you a handful of dollars. Not much, but with what little you already had, it was enough money to act as an escape route if you needed one. Holding your trunk tightly in your hand you walk through Blackwater, its nearly midday and you know Hosea will be here soon.

As you walk towards the saloon you notice a couple, young and well to do in lively conversation. They’re dressed in lovely expensive clothes and walk arm in arm. The man’s suit is spotless and perfectly fitted, and beneath her decorated hat, the young woman’s cheeks shine with a healthy pink glow. They look like prints that have strolled straight out of a magazine.

Whilst observing the couple you tripped, stumbling a little over a cobblestone and dropping your suitcase. Quickly you crouch down to collect it, stuffing the blouse that threatens to escape back into the trunk and fumbling with the claps. Another pair of hands appear and reach for your trunk, and you instinctively move to pull your belongings closer to you out of fear you might get stolen from, but you stop when you notice whose hands it is.

It’s the gentleman from the couple. He’s smiling cheerfully as he carefully helps you close the suitcase.

“Here, let me help you” His voice is bright as a whistle and you smile sheepishly back at him.

“Thank you. I was in a world of my own there” You laugh breathily as he stands the suitcase up and offers you his white gloved hand.

“Well it’s no harm to help a stranger in need” he replies as you stand.

His wife is close by now, her face just as bright and full as her young husband. Her blonde hair is swept away from her face elegantly and her eyes glitter with concern.

“Are you alright?” She says in a bright airy voice.

You find yourself blushing at her concern.

“I’m just fine, thank you” you smile.

“Oh here, take this” The woman says and fishes into her coat pocket.

You watch as she retrieves a little silk handkerchief and offers it out to you. Gingerly you take it from her little lace gloved hand and use it to dust your hands off.

“You must keep it,” she says “It matches your skirt”

It does, there’s a set of blue lavender embroided into the corners of the handkerchief.

“That it does” Her husband agrees.

“Thank you very much, both of you” You say with a smile, tucking the handkerchief into your own pocket.

“You’re very welcome. Take care now Ma’am” says the gentleman with a smile. He takes his wife’s arm, and the two of them walk off.

Continuing on, you walk towards the saloon, choosing to sit on a bench near the front and bask in the warmth of the crisp sunlight. You place the trunk beneath your seat and wait.

  “Now where did you find this little treasure then?” A voice from across the street breaks you from your relaxed spell. Looking up from where you’ve been waiting you take in the man walking towards you.

He’s dressed unusually. Not unattractively, but it still seems like a costume for a pantomime villain or a circus ringleader. His pinstriped suit is adorned with gold details, buttons and chains that catch the sunlight and wink at your eyes as he moves. Rings adorn his fingers in abundance making him seem like some sort of emperor, and you can’t help but think this might be the sort of man you’d steal from, had it not been for the elaborate duelling pistols that he has draped across his hips.

When you see Hosea beside him you stand, a grin automatically leaps across your face despite the somewhat uncomfortable introduction his friend had made.

“Well San Denis I believe, but before that out here in West Elizabeth” Hosea says as he takes you in.

Hosea extends an arm and pulls you towards him and you accept the embrace happily. It’s been too long since you’ve seen him in person. He’s aged so much, his stature a little less imposing than it used to be, but he carries his age in a way that very few can. It’s sort of like his character was supposed to be in this body and was simply waiting until it came to fruition.

“Thank you for this,” you said softly and earnestly, so that only Hosea can really hear. You’re still slightly wary of the man that’s come with him, not ready to trust him quite yet.

“It’s quite alright. Get your bag, let’s go inside” He says, turning you around “What do you think Dutch? Do we have time for a drink?”

The name hits you the second that Hosea says it. You’re reminded of stories that Hosea would tell you when you were younger of his partner in crime. A valiant outlaw king who lead his gang with a firm but fair hand and committed heists of such grandeur it made most other gunslingers look like children.

You’re suddenly aware of the fact your awe must have shown on your face, as Dutch laughs a little and puffs his chest up. You can practically see his ego glowing happily, the thought that he probably hasn’t been recognised for a while and is living for your childlike wonder passes through your mind.

“I should hope so” He says in his distinct voice, and gestures with his arm towards the door of the saloon.

Taking your trunk, you let the two men walk you into the saloon and take a seat by the window overlooking the street outside.

“I will say it was quite a surprise when Hosea wanted to bring you into our camp” Dutch says as he takes a seat opposite you, and you feel suddenly as though you’re about to be interrogated. Hosea gives you a look as if to say he can’t help you, and you settle back into your seat.

Dutch calls for a set of whiskey’s that you accept gratefully, and he begins to press at you, though he does a masterful attempt at disguising his questions. You entertain him, giving him the answers you know he needs to hear, feed that broken ego by telling him how much you’ve heard of him, and how you truly have no other option but to ask for his help. You take care to place emphasis on how you’re entirely at his mercy in this situation. Subtly Hosea nods and smiles as he listens to you. He’s not looking at anyone in the conversation, but rather the fly that’s investigating the surface around his whisky glass. There’s something akin to pride that settles on his hardened features as you talk, and you’re acutely aware of the way this faded hero of the outlaw world dressed in kings’ clothes laps up your pity story with vigour as you lay it out in front of him.

“Well I’ll say it certainly seems like you’re in quite the situation” Dutch says as he runs a finger over the rim of his nearly empty whisky glass before flicking it and letting the dainty noise ring out. Hosea looks at Dutch then with expectancy.

“Yes, it’s become rather difficult”

Hosea raises an eyebrow at your hidden sarcasm, but Dutch doesn’t seem to pick up on it. This is a language that you and Hosea have studied thoroughly seems to travel over Dutch’s head. You now know why Hosea stays so close to him, you can tell this man would fall for any flattery trick you threw his way. He would be most easily manipulated if you needed to, he’s quite vulnerable to a con with that rusted crown falling over his eyes.

“You must understand that everyone in my gang is very dear to me, and the gang is very dear to them. They all pull their weight for the greater good of the family,” you can feel an offer hiding behind his teeth, just waiting for the right time to come out “would you do that? ‘Sing for your supper’ so to speak”

“Of course,” you offer without hesitation

He nods, leaning back in the chair slightly and looks at Hosea for a moment before turning back to you. He rests his hands upon the table, and now you can see the faint scars that hide beneath his golden rings.

“I want you to prove that to me,” He says, he looks like he’s presented you with a meal after you’ve been starving for months, benevolent and gracious.

“How?” you ask after a moment of seeking Hosea’s eyes.

“I want you to rob someone. Should be simple enough” Dutch looks past Hosea and out onto the street “Like him. I want you to steal something from him”

Your response gets trapped in your throat when you follow Dutch’s subtly pointed finger. There’s no question as to who he’s asking you to rob as the only people on view are the couple from earlier. Some voice in you tells you not to do anything, to reject the offer and suggest perhaps one of the men within the saloon, but there’s an air of finality it the way that Dutch had said it that makes you think it’ll do you no favours to try and change his choice. Yet despite this their little show of kindness had made you against the idea of stealing from them.

“Can you do that for me, dear?” His voice is low and filled with dangerous promises that make your fingers twitch with barely restrained excitement.

“This isn’t how I usually do this” you say, trying to hide your reluctance.

“I know. Think of it as a challenge my dear” He leans closer to you. You feel something move with him, it’s like the fantastical promise of a better life floats about him like a cloud. He smiles at your obvious desperation.

“Like a game”

-

You can also find this on AO3 by the way! Feel free to drop in an ask about what you want to see or anything you want to know!

#My writing #slow burn #Arthur morgan x reader #Arthur morgan imagines #Arthur morgan #rdr x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr2

[screechthemighty]

Resident Evil fans come get y'all juice.

catch me floating circles in my fish bowl - part four:

May 15, 2021:

Ethan still didn’t feel great about the 2 p.m. naps. He slept less these days, slowly going back to the normal amount, but sometimes it all caught up to him. After the screaming session he’d had, it really caught up to him. He was out more or less the second his head hit the pillow.

Mia was there when he woke up, gently singing Rose back to sleep. Despite the morning’s argument, Ethan immediately felt calmer. Soothed.

This is how it should be. This is how I want it to be.

If only it were that simple.

“Did I wake you?” Mia said quietly.

Ethan shook his head. “Nah. I need to be awake anyway.” He rolled over onto his back and rubbed his eyes. “I fell down in PT today but I’m fine, I promise.” Physically, anyway.

“I know. They told me.” Mia hesitated. “I’m sorry about this morning.”

“No, no, baby, don’t be. I get where you were coming from.” I’m too tired to do this right now anyway. “It’s fine. Really.”

“You were right, though. About us…not really getting to the core of why we’re fighting. I…” She hesitated again. Ethan heard the rustling of blankets. Rose sighed softly, but didn’t seem to wake up. The mattress creaked as Mia sat down. “There’s something I never told you.”

Ethan opened his eyes. Mia was sitting on the bed, but not looking directly at him. Instead, she stared down at her hands. Her cuticles were a mess. “...is this about Louisiana?” he said.

“Yeah.” Mia’s voice shook. “It’s a long story.”

A part of him that screamed, I knew it. I knew it, all this time I knew it. Not in anger, but just in the sheer relief of having been right. Everything had pointed to Mia being involved: the notes in her handwriting, the things the Bakers and Eveline had said about her, the fact that she was there at all. He’d just decided he hadn’t cared. He didn’t need to know, the BSAA wasn’t arresting her, whatever it was they could put it behind them and get out of there. Except apparently it didn’t work that way. And he had started to wonder how much that distant something had affected them. Logically, he knew he should’ve been more worried, maybe even angry that she’d kept something from him, but all he could think was that this meant answers. Finally, answers.

“I’ve got time,” Ethan said. He was surprised how steady his voice was. “Just…start at the beginning.”

Mia nodded and took a deep breath. “Remember the job I told you about? The company that shut down?”

“I remember. The pharma-tech company.” He’d met her because of that company going under. She’d taken a temp position at his job, one in a long string of temp positions, and he’d asked her out on her last day. He hadn’t wanted to just watch her leave without making his shot. He’d succeeded. It was weird to think there was more to it than that.

“They had…discovered something. Some kind of mutagenic agent similar to the mutamycete. That’s the kind of thing you’re not supposed to hold onto, but they did. I was an assistant on the team examining it…or I was, until someone told the authorities. A special government task force shut the whole thing down. They did it quietly so it wouldn’t cause a panic, but I know some people were arrested. I was just low enough on the ladder that they figured I wasn’t worth it.” Her jaw set. “They weren’t making bioweapons. That was never the plan. It’s just…any research on things like that had been so tightly controlled. Viruses, fungi, whatever it was, after Raccoon City, no one wanted to mess around with that. We thought maybe we could crack the code, maybe we’d be the ones to figure it out…” Her tone became bitter, almost self-mocking. “...maybe we’d be the ones to get it right. And I still thought that after I was let go. I was still mad about it.” She rubbed her eyes. “It sounds so stupid when I say it out loud, but that’s how I really felt.”

Ethan wasn’t sure how to respond. He’d known Mia was frustrated about losing that job, even if she hadn’t given specifics. He’d assumed it was for the obvious reasons–she’d liked it there, she was good at it, the string of temp positions that had followed were emotionally draining and unfulfilling. All valid reasons. He could see how the real answer was just as frustrating on a purely academic level but at the same time, he wouldn’t dream of thinking he could contain something like the mutamycete, much less research it safely. Guess the lure of being the guy who figured it out is too strong for some people.

“I lost track of everyone after we got shut down, but then someone reached out to me. Alan, one of my old supervisors. He said that he’d gotten involved with another group that was looking into a similar fungus. He wanted my help with part of the project. All he could talk about was how incredible it all was, how it went beyond anything we’d theorized back then. I was frustrated at the new place, I wanted to know…” Mia’s voice broke. “I should’ve turned around when I saw Evelyn.”

On the one hand, she wasn’t wrong. On the other hand… “Mia, would they have let you?” Ethan pointed out quietly. “These people were dangerous. You were probably in trouble the second Alan decided to talk to you.”

“You’re right, I was. But I wasn’t thinking about that. I never worried for a second about my safety. I didn’t even question who they were. All I saw was what they’d been able to accomplish.” Mia trailed off again. “Did Miranda talk to you about Eva?”

The pieces slotted together so suddenly that he felt dizzy. “It came up a few times. Was she was involved with Eveline?”

“Eveline was a clone of her daughter. I didn’t find out until Chris told me, but she was convinced that she could take her daughter’s memories from the megamycete and put them into a vessel. Eveline was one attempt. But I guess Eveline wasn’t good enough for Miranda, so she walked away from the project pretty quickly. That left the Connections to do whatever they wanted. A bioweapon that could end conflicts without the use of conventional weapons is a goldmine…so, of course, word got out. That baby-sitting job that I told you about was us transporting her to Central America to get her away from a few other groups. But things went wrong. She got out. Wanted to stay with me, be a family…between her powers and the storm, we ran aground.” Mia hesitated. “Did you get the video? I know I tried to send a video, but so much of that evening is still hazy.”

“I did.” He’d thought about it every day for three years. I did lie to you. Stay away. In hindsight, maybe the video should’ve made him more suspicious of the email, but he’d just been happy that she was alive. He’d been willing to take any chance. “That’s how you got to the Bakers. And then you were trapped there…but why’d she want me?”

“I think it was her trying to make me happy? She knew how much you meant to me. If I was her Mommy, I was never going to be happy until Daddy was with me, you know? I didn’t want you to come. I did everything I could to keep her away from you, but after three years…she wore me down.”

“And that’s why you sent the email.”

Mia nodded. “I don’t even remember sending it. My first clear memory was you finding me in that cell.” Her hands clutched at the hem of her sweater. “I wasn’t lying to you when I said I didn’t remember, but I had remembered most of it by the time Blue Umbrella found us. I asked them not to tell you. It was one of my conditions for telling them everything. I’m so sorry…” Mia’s voice broke with sudden tears. She had to cover her mouth and take a deep breath before she could keep talking. “It was selfish of me. I just wanted to leave it all behind, and I didn’t want to lose you. I should’ve…you deserved to know what I’d done. I never should’ve kept that from you.”

He hated leaving silence in the conversation, but this time, Ethan didn’t really have a choice. He had to think carefully about what he wanted to say. “You’re right, you shouldn’t have,” he said finally. “For what it’s worth, I’d already kind of worked it out. There were papers around the house, and…” He waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t care. I wanted to leave it all behind, too. I would’ve felt the same if you had told me.” And he could be sure about that, perverse as it might sound to an outsider. “I forgive you for not saying anything. I just…wish you had said something, when things were getting so tough between us. You know?” Ethan carefully reached out and took her hand. “Assuming…that was part of why things were like that.”

Mia squeezed his hand tightly. Her eyes stayed fixed on him. She looked almost confused, like she was having a hard time registering what he’d said. He was about to repeat himself when she said, “Do you really mean that?”

“That I forgive you? Yeah, of course.” He wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it. Ethan knew she probably knew that, but it was probably still a lot to take in. “I know now. That means we can work things out. Is there…anything else? Anything related to that?”

Mia stared at him a moment longer before taking a deep breath. “Sort of? I didn’t know that you were still infected, not at first. I started having my suspicions when I was pregnant. There was something about Rose that was just…different, you know? Once that thought was there, all the little details started piling up. And then once her fungal tests came back positive, I knew she must have gotten it from you. That’s why I was so tense around those test results. And that’s how Miranda found us. The Connections had a mole in the BSAA. She told them, and they told Miranda so she’d help them with some research.”

“She told…wait.” Ethan sat up straighter, his mind running through every woman who might’ve had access to Rose’s test results. One suspect stood out. “Cheryl?!”

Mia scoffed angrily. “If that is her real name, yeah.”

Cheryl West. One of the last people outside the family that Mia had seen. Which meant… “That wasn’t you that came back from the day trip,” he said quietly. “That was Miranda…the whole rest of the day…”

“Ethan.” Mia squeezed his hand again. “Don’t blame yourself. She’s good. She’s really good. She tried to gain my trust by turning into you at one point. I probably wouldn’t have guessed if she hadn’t known…” Mia’s free hand brushed over his nose. “...it was only a surface level imitation, you know?”

The scar on his face was a lot bigger now, but the old one hadn’t really been visible unless you knew where to look. “Mia’s” physical distance the rest of that day suddenly made a lot more sense; she hadn’t wanted to risk Ethan finding something similar if he got too close. “Shit,” Ethan breathed. “Thank God they leveled that place.”

“No kidding.” Mia’s body language grew withdrawn again, nervous. “That’s it. That’s everything I kept from you. And I know this doesn't make up for anything, but I was going to tell you once I knew for sure about Rose. But…of course, that was the same day Cheryl and I went out.” She huffed and shook her head. “I should’ve told you sooner. Maybe if I had - “

Ethan shook his head. “Don’t do that. Please. Even if you had, we don’t know how much it would’ve changed. Rose was born already and not even Chris knew there was a mole. She probably would’ve come for us no matter what.” Ethan squeezed her hand again. “So don’t beat yourself up with what-ifs. Okay? Let’s focus on what actually needs fixing.”

Mia took a deep breath. “And…how do we want to do that?” she asked hesitantly.

Ethan wished he could’ve answered her right away, but he’d been given a lot of information. He needed a second to consider it all. Even with his suspicions, actually hearing that Mia had been involved and how was…a lot. She’d been working with terrible people. She’d done terrible things.

But he still loved her. Even now, he still loved her.

“I know what I just said about what ifs,” Ethan said. “But…if you could do it all again, from the start…”

Mia didn’t hesitate: “I never would’ve gone with Alan to begin with. And if I had, I would’ve found some way to stop them. To keep you safe…” Her voice cracked slightly as she glanced towards Rose’s crib. “And Eveline too, if that was ever possible.”

Well. There you go.

“Okay,” Ethan said gently. He pulled Mia into a hug. “No more secrets?” Mia nodded, her body starting to shake. “And I forgive you, Mia. For all of it. I mean that.”

Mia didn’t response. Her tears were silent, but Ethan could still tell she was crying. He kept holding her, rubbing circles into her back. Just letting her know he was there.

He was there and he wasn’t going anywhere.

.

It didn’t make any kind of sense.

Mia knew that she should accept it; hell, she should be thrilled. In theory, this was everything she’d ever wanted. But she couldn’t quite grasp that she had it. She sure as hell didn’t deserve it. She knew that.

How could Ethan not?

Mia stared at him as he sat across from her, eating his dinner as if they hadn’t had such an intense, heart-wrenching conversation. As if he hadn’t forgiven her for doing so many unimaginable things. As if he hadn’t decided to stay.

It doesn’t make any sense.

But that was what she’d always loved about him, wasn’t it? That Ethan was so loyal; always there, no matter what happened. Even when it seemed impossible that he should be there. Even when he probably shouldn’t be. At least forgiving her didn’t hurt him physically, the way his other feats of loyalty had.

She wasn’t going to be able to talk him out of this. She knew that. His mind was made up. Selfish as it was, Mia knew that she didn’t want to try, either. She would have let him go, for his own good, but it would have hurt, so badly. She was spared the pain of long him this way…

But now what?

She couldn’t change who she’d been back then. All she could do was change the person she was now. The person she’d be going forward. Be the woman that Ethan deserved, someone worthy of his staying. Someone worthy of their daughter, too.

It would be hard, but it was a second chance a lot of people didn’t get. She’d do whatever it took to make the most of it.

I promise.

#resident evil #mithan #fic: catch me floating circles in my fish bowl

[screechthemighty]

Hello, People Who Read My Resident Evil Fanfics, I'm back!!!! (May be back even more over the next few months, tbh. I don't want to make any promises, but Dracula Daily is hyperfixation-adjacent and getting back into RE4 Remake is up next on my content roster, so who knows?) AO3 link will be in a reblog, but here's the next chapter of catch me floating circles in my fish bowl!

catch me floating circles in my fish bowl - part three:

May 2, 2021:

“Zoe’s fine. She’s shopping at the grocery store like normal, at least.” Carlos showed him a picture on his phone. It took Ethan a second to recognize her. Her hair was all white, and she looked less desperately thin than he remembered. She was buying chips and standing next to a brick wall of a man with a serious case of resting bitch face. He looked familiar, but not quite familiar.

“Joe Baker?” Ethan guessed. “Glad to see she’s still got some family left.” Especially family like Joe Baker. If Chris was right, the guy had punched his way through the site to get to Zoe. He’s probably the only person in this mess more unhinged than I am. And he meant that as a compliment. “Thank you again for this. I know it’s probably paranoid, but with everything going on…”

How was he to know that the BSAA hadn’t gone after her? She could be just as valuable a resource as Ethan.

Speaking of…

“Still nothing from the BSAA?”

“Not that I’ve heard. I feel like that’s not gonna change until you leave. They don’t have a cause to investigate Blue openly and I don’t think they’d suspect Chris of bringing you here, so…” Carlos shrugged. “They’re probably keeping a closer eye on Terra Save. You have physical therapy today?”

Ethan’s mood soured instantly. “No,” he admitted. “I mean, I was supposed to, but I fell last time and they’re worried I fucked up my ankle, so we didn’t do much.” He hoped he didn’t look too petulant. “I know, if I hurt myself it could slow my healing down, I need to be careful…”

“Don’t forget it’s a miracle you’re walking at all,” Carlos pointed out. “You should still be bedridden.”

“Technically, I should be dead, but I get your point. Still, it’s just…”

Frustrating. It was all so damn frustrating. His self-appointed deadline was this month. He didn’t need to run a marathon or anything. He just wanted to walk on his own. Any patience he might’ve had for his body and its shortcomings had gone out the window now that the novelty of being alive had worn off.

“...to be clear, I’m asked this as a concerned friend, not as the guy responsible for you, but…they’ve got you seeing a therapist, right?” Carlos said. “Like…for your brain.”

“Yeah, they have,” Ethan said. “We’re still working on Dulvey. Turns out, almost being murdered under extreme bullshit circumstances is even more traumatic than just almost being murdered. Who would’ve thought?”

Carlos wince-laughed in a way that said he knew exactly what Ethan meant. “At least your guy has probably heard it all by now,” he said. “We didn’t have that when I was going.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think the chainsaw scissors threw him off.”

“...the fucking what?”

Ethan probably shouldn’t have found that funny, but honestly? It was a little hilarious that he could one-up Carlos in the weirdness department.

Just a little.

.

Mia had been avoiding her therapist.

She knew, objectively, that avoiding her therapist probably looked worse than anything she could have actually said in therapy. She knew that whatever she said would stay in that room, that even her criminal past was safe to talk about. She knew this could be helpful, that it might let her sort out her thought spirals and fears and her increasing discomfort with being around Ethan.

But she couldn’t bring herself to go. Going meant actually admitting to everything–to all these dark thoughts, to all the shit she’d done. The thought of saying it out loud and having another person hear made her physically sick.

But she couldn’t stay away forever, so she finally went, with the intention of appearing as put-together and fine as possible.

She failed within five minutes.

“So, you’re concerned that Ethan is pushing himself too hard,” her therapist said. Doctor Reid was a no-nonsense sort of woman, the kind who cut right to the chase. It probably made her a great therapist, but these days, it mostly made Mia want to kill her.

“Ethan’s…” Mia tried to think of how best to phrase it. “...selfless to a fault. I don’t want him thinking about me right now. He should be focused on himself.”

Dr. Reid nodded and wrote something down. “Am I correct in assuming you’ve had this argument before?”

Mia tried to stay calm. It was difficult when visions of every argument they had since Mia learned she was pregnant started dancing through her mind.

We matter, Ethan! You matter! He’d been so caught up in protecting Rose, even before she was born. She’d known the lengths Ethan had gone to protect her. Known that he would go just as far for Rose, if not further. It was part of the reason she’d been so afraid to tell him what the mold had done to them. If he’d come to the same conclusions they had–that the BSAA had been deliberately negligent to unknown ends–who knew what he might have done?

The sound of pen against paper drew her out of her racing thoughts. Dr. Reid must have taken her silence as an answer. “Have you discussed this with him at all?”

Mia forced her voice to stay flat. “I’ve told him it’s okay to recover at his own pace,” she said. “He knows that we’re safe.”

“Maybe, but there’s more to the conversation than that, I think.” Dr. Reid put her pen down. “Are you frightened of what your husband might do?”

Damn this woman. “Why would I be? He protects us.”

“And he nearly died doing so, twice. That’s difficult to discuss. Objectively, he’s not wrong. Protecting those you care about is noble. But the survivor’s guilt you would’ve felt…” She picked back up her pen. “...and the guilt I’m sure you feel now are still very real. It could be easy for him to forget that.”

Mia felt her jaw go tense. “It’s not about that.”

“What is it about?’

“It’s my fault…”

Damn it. Damn it. Doctor Reid knew about the Connections, of course she did, but that didn’t mean Mia had to bring it up.

Doctor Reid glanced up. “You blame yourself,” she said finally, “because you think your time with the Connections is the reason Ethan ended up the way he did?”

The plan was not to reply, but Doctor Reid just sat there, waiting for an answer. Screw it. If this woman wanted an answer, she’d get her damn answer.

“I don’t think. I know. If I hadn’t been working for the Connections, I never would’ve ended up in Dulvey and he wouldn’t have had to save me. That’s where he got infected. That’s where the Rose got infected.”

“And if the BSAA had been honest, Ethan would’ve been cured, or his condition would have been managed,” Doctor Reid pointed out. “Maybe if they’d been honest, you two would have chosen not to have children. If Mirand had left you alone, or never learned about you, Ethan wouldn’t have had to save you a second time. Yes, your actions were one of the dominoes, but they were also just that. One of the dominoes. Why do you think you should shoulder all the blame?” Doctor Reid paused. “Why do you think Ethan thinks you should shoulder all the blame?”

“I don’t think that. I…”

She didn’t know. And that was really the worst part. So much of her was convinced that he wouldn’t blame her, which was bad in its own way. But the anxiety, the guilt, had her convinced that he would. There was no version of the story where this ended well.

“If I may,” Doctor Reid said. “You worry about Ethan pushing himself too hard and you worry about him getting into danger again. I assume this worry is compounded by the fact that you blame yourself for everything that’s happened, which in turn makes you feel that you’re not worthy of that protection. These are very strong emotions that are going to impact your interactions with Ethan, especially since you’ve had these disagreements before. Do you think I’m wrong?”

“...no.” It was a miracle it hadn’t impacted things already–or, at least, that it hadn’t in such a strong way that Ethan had noticed and started asking questions.

“Have you tried communicating with him about what’s been bothering you? You said Ethan had been keen to talk in the past. Perhaps if you had some mediation…”

“You offer couple’s counseling, too?”

“Actually, I’d find a third party, but we do have those.”

Of course they did. Nothing like a viral outbreak to put a strain on a marriage, right? Mia nearly burst out laughing at the thought, but managed to keep it together. Barely.

“I’ll think about it,” Mia said.

And she would. She just had a feeling she already knew what her answer was going to be.

.

May 5, 2021:

“You’ve got to be absolutely shitting me.”

Credit to everyone in the room: they were really doing their best not to laugh, or were treating it just as seriously as Ethan felt. Because he was taking this seriously. Because it was bullshit.

“Everything I’ve been through,” he said, staring down the cold compress on his arm, “all of that bullshit. And I’m still…” The only thing that kept him from swearing was Rose being in the room, staring him down with a slightly concerned look. “...I’m still allergic to bees?!”

“It would seem so, yes,” Doctor Marshall said calmly. “Do you want to hear something reassuring?”

“There’s something reassuring about this situation?”

“Your body is having a normal reaction to the sting. Not an exaggerated one, and it hasn’t triggered anything else in your healing. That’s a good sign.”

Damn it, he had a point. “I guess,” Ethan grumbled. Then, “Bees?!”

Jill finally broke the no-laughing rule with a barely muffled snort. “Sorry…” Her pale blue eyes were lit up with amusement as she tried not to make eye contact. “...no, it sucks, it really does…”

That probably should’ve pissed him off more, but…okay, yeah, it was funny-not-funny now that someone was laughing. Ethan deflated a bit, a bemused sigh escaping past his lips. “Just please don’t tell my wife,” he said. “She worries about me enough as it is. You’re telling her I’m fine, right?”

“I’m giving Mia medically accurate information,” Doctor Marshall said. “Unless you want to withdraw her as your-”

“No, no, it’s…” Great, that just means that either she’s misreading the information Marshall’s giving her or the results are worse than I realized. He wasn’t sure he liked either option. “It’s fine,” Ethan said. He peeked under the cold compress again. “Does the medically accurate information include that this bee sting isn’t gonna kill me?”

Ethan thought he felt a shift in Jill’s mood after that comment. That feeling was confirmed as she wheeled him out. “Everything okay with you two?” she asked. “I don’t want to be nosy, I just know this kind of thing puts a strain on…everything.”

“It’s…” Ethan sighed. “Complicated. Conflicting support needs, I think.” That was what his therapist had said when Ethan tried to describe the disconnect between how they’d handled Dulvey. Ethan wanted to talk. Mia wanted to forget. Neither was wrong, necessarily, but it did contribute to why they’d been butting heads on and off before the village. They hadn’t started couples therapy yet. Ethan wondered sometimes if they should move that up the list.

I basically died on her. That can’t be good for her mental health.

“That’s always tough,” Jill said. She had that tone, the one that said she and Carlos had been through the same thing. That was so weird to think about. They seemed rock solid, the two of them. Then again, they’d been together for a while, and lived through a lot during that time. Nothing like practice to improve your communication skills. “The give and take of it all. You’ve got to be supportive without giving up your own needs.”

“And hers,” Ethan added, tilting his head towards Rose as she grabbed at his coat collar. That was definitely a complicating factor. “I keep trying to tell myself that all couples have these problems, but…they don’t. You can say it’s the same thing, but it’s not.” Maybe that wasn’t fair, maybe he was playing the trauma Olympics, but he’d kill for regular problems. He’d kill for so many of their problems to not be tied up in dumbass crime syndicates and undead werewolves and potentially world-ending bullshit. If he could swap places with the Ethan who’d lost an arm to a car accident, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Zero hesitation.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Jill said. “I think that’s why I was never able to make normal friends. Almost everything feels minor compared to…” She gestured vaguely. “...everything.”

Everything was a pretty good summary of things. And that really summed up how shitty things were for the both of them. “How did you two make it through things?” Ethan asked. “I mean, if you’re okay with sharing.”

“Couples’ therapy,” Jill said without hesitation. “It helped with everything. Even the mundane stuff. And we talk to each other, as much as we can. It used to be a monthly thing when we were active duty. There was a lot happening and we wanted to make sure we had the time.”

That made sense, but it didn’t make Ethan feel any better. How were they supposed to do this when Mia still didn’t want to talk? He couldn’t force her. He’d tried, if he was being honest. It had only made things worse.

How much longer could they just let things stew again?

.

May 15, 2021:

Apparently, at least another week and a half.

Maybe the mounting anxiety had been a warning.

She’d known from the second she opened her eyes that today was going to test her. Mia hated to blame Ethan, because it wasn’t entirely him. She’d been slipping towards a shitty day for a long time.

But opening her eyes to see Ethan standing upright didn’t help.

“What are you doing?” Mia yelped.

Ethan nearly fell over. Fortunately, he’d been clinging to a chair to support him; it was the only thing that kept him falling down. “Shit!” he yelped back. Then, quietly, “Shh!”

Mia’s gaze darted guiltily to Rose. Fortunately, she was still fast asleep. “What are you doing?!” Mia hissed once she was sure her baby hadn’t woken up.

“I was cold,” Ethan replied. “I wanted a sweater.”

“I could have gotten one for you.”

“You were finally sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“What do you -” Mia took a deep breath. “Please sit down. I will get you a sweater.”

Ethan nearly protested. She could see it in the way that his shoulders went tense and his eyes met hers directly. But just as suddenly, he looked away, his shoulders slumping, as he sat down. Crisis averted, she allowed herself to think as she got up to get him a sweater.

That was stupid of her to think. She knew Ethan better than that. She should’ve known. Ethan only stayed quiet for as long as it took to get him the sweater. But once he was holding it…

“I don’t want to do this again,” he said.

Oh, no. “Do…what…?”

“It’s just…” Ethan sighed and rubbed his eyes. His fingers seemed to linger over the scar tissue across his nose. “Back in Europe, it felt like every little thing was an argument. But we never really got at why we were fighting. I don’t want to keep doing that.” He met her eyes again. “It doesn’t feel like you’ve been sleeping well. I haven’t always, either, and sometimes when I wake up in the night or when Rose wakes up, I can hear you…moving around, talking in your sleep. Like how you did after Dulvey. I can walk short distances and you looked peaceful, so I didn’t want to disturb you. You’re dealing with enough without adding sleep deprivation on top of that. I’m worried about you.”

She’d heard those four words so many times. She was starting to get sick of them. “I get that, I do, but you have…” Mia took a deep breath. “You have to start worrying about yourself. Ethan, you died a few months ago. If you get hurt again, if you’d fallen and hit your head…I have enough to worry about without worrying about you doing something stupid, okay?”

She knew, immediately, how harsh she’d sounded. It was starting to remind her too much of the argument they’d had that day in Europe…the one that had nearly been their last argument. Mia rubbed her eyes, hoping that she wasn’t about to start crying. “Please.”

“Okay, okay. No more walking without someone watching me,” Ethan said soothingly. His one hand reached out to rest on her knee. Even with the sweater sleeve covering it, she could vividly see the scar on his forearm. “Stressed about what, honey?”

About the fact that I almost got you killed. That they have to run tests on our daughter and it’s my fault. That you’ll find out the truth and nothing will be the same ever again. That nothing is the same already.

“Don’t do that,” Mia said out loud instead. “Please. You can’t fix everything, Ethan.”

“I’m not…you can talk to me, Mia. I’ll listen. No problem-solving, promise.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. And even if she did, she couldn’t make herself say the words. “It’s…this whole situation,” she said finally. Not a lie, but nowhere near the truth. “It’s this whole situation.”

She was dodging. From the way Ethan looked at her, he knew she was dodging. She expected him to call her out on it. He always had before. Instead, he just looked sad. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, baby, I know.”

He hugged her carefully. Mia was able to embrace him back, but she hesitated at first, the surge of guilt getting the better of her.

She knew Ethan had felt that, too, but he still didn’t say anything.

.

If his problems had a face, Ethan would have shot them by now.

He guessed Ethan could say his problems had some physical form: his bones, his muscles, the injuries and scar tissue that had hobbled him, the mold that had merged with his cells and turned him into something not quite human. But he couldn’t exactly punch himself in the face. Multiple BOWs had already done that for him, and look where that had gotten him.

He could still be mad at himself, though. Either his body had betrayed him forever and this was just his life now, or he wasn’t trying hard enough. One of those answers was easier to accept than the other one.

Unfortunately, accepting the latter only made the moment that he ended up face-down on the floor in the middle of PT all the more painful.

“FUCK!” Ethan shouted as he flopped onto his back. He wasn’t bleeding, but he’d hit his face pretty hard. “Son of a bitch!”

“Easy…” His therapist helped him carefully sit upright. Tom was usually a pretty chill guy, and usually had the decency to not visibly worry so much when things went wrong. This time he looked worried. “Did you hit the bar on the way down?”

“I didn’t hit the fucking bar. Shit.” Ethan looked around instinctively. He knew Rose wasn’t there, but he couldn’t help double checking. He tried really hard not to swear in front of her. He was just so…

Ethan carefully touched under his nose, checking for blood. There wasn’t anything that he noticed, but he knew what was coming next. “Let me guess, this is the part where we take a break for the day? We’re done?”

The words came out in a snap. Tom didn’t take it personally; the worst part was, Ethan was so pissed, he only felt a little guilty for being a dick about it. He felt even less guilty when he was informed that this was, in fact, it for the day.

At least he could wheel himself around the facility now. It meant he didn’t have an audience for his frustration.

Ethan probably should’ve gone back to his room and lay down. The session had been draining as it was, and he was kind of sore from that landing. But he went down to the ground level and right out the front door. No one tried to stop him, thank God. They probably figured he couldn’t go very far.

He went further than he had before, right out the front door and out into the parking lot, all the way to the far edge. There was just a field out there, and a barbed-wire topped fence. Somewhere on the other side of that was the rest of the world.

A world that he might never get to be a part of again.

Ethan took a deep breath and screamed. It was wordless at first, but quickly devolved into a rapid-fire barrage of every swear word he knew. They could probably hear him inside, but he didn’t care. What were they gonna do? Force him back inside? Revoke his wheelchair privileges? It wasn’t like his day could get any worse.

Eventually his voice gave out. He sat in silence, just him, the midday sun, and the random cars. The sound of approaching boots broke that silence eventually. Ethan didn’t have to glance over his shoulder to guess who it was. There were only three people he knew who wore boots regularly, and one of them was out of the country again. “I can’t go back in there,” he said dully.

“Wasn’t going to make you,” said Jill. “So, how’s a parking lot for a mental breakdown space? I haven’t tried that one yet.”

Points to her, the comment did get a laugh out of him. It wasn’t the sanest sounding laugh, but it was something. “It’s, uhm…” Ethan tried to wipe some of the tears off his face. “...better than a bathroom, I guess. Air quality’s nicer.”

“Yeah, bathrooms are like a bottom three pick.” She sat down in the grass, in his line of sight but off to the left. Her white-blond hair caught the sunlight, contrasting it more sharply against the black hoodie she was wearing. It looked a few sizes too big–one of Carlos’s, maybe. “You want to talk about it?”

He did. Keeping it bottled up was killing him, and maybe Jill would actually understand what was going on here. But for a long time, the words didn’t come. He just stared down at his one remaining hand. It had been working fine lately–grip strength almost back to normal, no more freezing up at random, sensation much better. Why couldn’t everything go that smoothly? Why did this have to be so hard?

Hadn’t they all been through enough?

“...Mia and I’s anniversary is this month,” he said. “Ten years.”

“Ten years? With two disasters in the middle of that? Shit, that’s not bad.” Jill sounded genuinely impressed. “I’m guessing you wanted to get out of here before that?”

“No, not even that. I can handle being here if we really have to.” They were safe here, at least, and safe was all he could really hope for. “I just…I was just hoping I’d be walking more by then. I wanted her to see that I’m okay. And don’t give me the whole oh, you should be dead, who cares if you’re not walking yet speech. I care. I can’t…” He rubbed at his eyes desperately. “It’s not enough. I thought even a few steps would do it, but I can just feel her pulling away and she’s so focused on being worried about me that she’s not thinking about anything else and I can’t…I can’t see her like that. I can’t live through that again.”

He was bracing himself for more questions; what he got instead was a slightly bitter, huffing laugh. A sound of recognition. “Fuck, yeah. Been there.”

Ethan lifted his head. “Seriously?”

“Chris didn’t tell you? I was MIA presumed dead for three years.”

Chris had definitely not mentioned that. “Chris doesn’t really talk much about his BSAA days. Was this before you left?”

“Yeah. One of my last missions with the old crew, actually. It’s a long story, but Carlos was…” She sighed. “...he kept it together for me. And I appreciated that, I really did, but I knew it wasn’t going to last forever. It was just a matter of when.” She started rubbing her sternum as she spoke. Ethan saw her do that sometimes. “Worst part was, I knew that. I just had no way of knowing what would finally do it. It was just the one time, thank God. We were able to talk about it after that.”

“So what you’re saying is that she might have to break more before we can fix it?”

“No.” Jill hesitated. “I mean, that’s not wrong, but that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is that what you’re going through isn’t abnormal. I don’t know if I can fix what’s going on with Mia, and I don’t think you can, either. She has to figure that out for herself, like Carlos did. But you know what kept me sane when everything went to shit?” She made direct eye contact with him then. She had such an intense gaze, her pale blue eyes seeming to stare right through Ethan’s skull. “You’ve gotta lower your expectations, man. I know that you want everything back to normal, trust me, I get that, but that went out the window three years ago. I’ve lived it twice. It sucks, every time, but if you try to force it, you’re just going to hurt yourself worse. Physically and mentally.”

Ethan forced his gaze away from her. It was stupid, all things considered, but he didn’t want her to see the tears starting to form in his eyes. “This sucks,” he said finally.

“Yeah, I know. It’s not fair. I wish it were. But you can make it work. It’s possible. And believe me when I say…she’s just happy you’re still here.”

Ethan didn’t doubt that. He just wasn’t always sure it was enough.

Maybe he was wrong about that.

.

“Mrs. Winters?”

Mia’s head snapped back up. Doctor Marshal was staring at her with a worried look. “Sorry,” she said. She rubbed her eyes. “I just missed that last part…were we talking about skin samples?”

“Yes, but they’re optional, and more for Ethan’s benefit. How is he, by the way?”

Mia wasn’t sure how to answer that. The conversation from that morning was still dancing through her head. The wounded look on Ethan’s face was burned into her eyelids. “He’s…still a little stir-crazy,” she admitted. “Nothing we can’t handle, I don’t think.”

“That’s understandable. How about you? How are you doing?”

Mia wasn’t sure how to answer that. She wasn’t sure she could lie, not when she had zoned out in the middle of the conversation. There was so much going on, so many things she didn’t have a handle on. “...can I ask you something personal?” Mia said finally.

“Go ahead.”

“How did you get past your old job? How do you…ever make up for something like that? After everything that happened…” Doctor Marshal’s face changed quickly, growing more closed-off than she’d ever seen the doctor. Damn it. “...I mean, I don’t know how much you were involved…”

“Bioweapons development and research,” Marshal said. “So, yes, I was involved. Not directly in Racoon City, I was never assigned there, but…only a few degrees of separation between my department and theirs. I’m sure members of the Nemesis team used my research.”

Oh. They had more in common than she’d realized. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t be. It’s a valid question.” Marshal sighed heavily. “Honestly, it took a lot of time. Joining Blue Umbrella helped. Actions feel more like atonement than words. But I had to accept at some point that I could be as sorry as I wanted, but I couldn’t change the past. Even trying to act like the past didn’t happen kept me stuck there. I wasted so much time trying to figure out how to dance around it that I may as well have been stuck in my room, blaming myself. I had to face it, admit it, figure out what I could do instead now, and move on. I still feel guilty now, but I’m not drowning in it anymore. It’s just a feeling. Usually a productive one.”

The difference between guilt and shame. Her therapist had brought it up. Mia was really starting to hate how much the woman was right about things.

“Not everyone is going to forgive us,” Marshall added. “That’s within their rights. That shouldn’t stop us from trying.”

“...yeah.”

They dropped the subject after that, but it stayed with her. It took up so much of her mental space that she almost forgot…

“You’re doing really good,” Carlos said suddenly.

…she’d had an extra set of ears in the hallway the whole time, looking after Rose.

“What?”

“At…all of this. Considering.” Carlos cleared his throat awkwardly. “Just in case no one’s told you that.”

Carlos was an easy man to read. He reminded her of Ethan that way. She could tell he meant it. That didn’t do enough to ease the sudden dread in her chest. “How much did you…?”

“Nothing I won’t have forgotten by the end of the day,” Carlos said. “I’m great at keeping secrets. I can’t retain shit.”

That sounded sincere, too, and just self-mocking enough to get her guard back down. “That’s…”

Goot to know was what she wanted to say. It got stuck in her throat. She was barely able to hold back the alternative response.

I’m scared.

But Carlos seemed to understand anyway. He reached out carefully, only resting his hand on her shoulder when she didn’t move away. He had a reassuring grip, what she’d imagine a touch from a cool older brother or a non-shitty father would feel like. “Is there anything I can help with?” he asked.

“...no,” Mia whispered. The dread was back, joined by a heavier sense of resignation. “No. I have to do this myself.”

Deep down, she’d known it was inevitable. In fact, it was long past overdue. No matter what the outcome…

She owed Ethan the truth.

She wouldn’t be able to fix this until she’d told him.

#resident evil #resident evil village #fic: catch me floating circles in my fish bowl

[screechthemighty]

No time to say anything clever!! More Resident Evil fanfic! Sorry for the delay!! *throws this at you, runs to reblog so I can put the AO3 link in there*

catch me floating circles in my fish bowl - part two:

April 2, 2021:

“Would you let me push myself if I had both hands?”

Carlos glanced around before saying aloud, “Only with approval from your doctor.” The quick wink he shot Ethan said it was a CYA answer. “Ready to sleep without being hooked up to everything?”

“Yes,” Ethan said, the word coming out in a relieved groan. It wasn’t quite the same as going home (you don’t have a home to go to), but it was something. Really, anything would be better than the hospital room he’d been stuck in through the past month. He was also consistently stable enough that they could let him sleep through the night without being hooked up to multiple machines. No more needles poking in his arm. He could sleep on his side if he wanted to. “Did they say when I can start PT?”

“They talked to Mia about it, but I wasn’t there. Sorry.” Carlos kept the chair going at a decent speed walk. It was a brisk enough pace that Ethan was almost—almost—glad for the chair. He would’ve had a hard time keeping up when he was in full fighting form, forget now. “Chris needed me for something.”

“Anything fun?”

“Basic dead drop, so not really.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t picture you doing spy shit.”

Carlos laughed. “No offense taken. I don’t have the right kind of smarts for that cloak and dagger bull. Just point me at the bad guys and say when.” The comment was punctuated by a few hopping steps, Ethan’s chair darting forward slightly faster before slowing back to brisk. “Speaking of, BSAA still doesn’t know you’re alive, or if they do, they’re leaving it alone.”

That was a relief. Ethan still didn’t have a grasp on how bad the situation was—brain fog scrambled a lot of what the others had told him—but he remembered enough to know it wasn’t great. I might’ve been used as an unwilling science experiment kind of bad. “Hey, I know this might be a lot to ask, but if you have some spare time...” Ethan hesitated. “...do you think it’d be possible to check in on someone? Zoe Baker. She was involved in Dulvey. I just want to know if she’s been dragged back into this or not.”

“Yeah, I can look into it. Discreet?”

“Please? I just want to be sure they’re not bothering her, but...also don’t want to bother her.”

“I get it. You’ll have to introduce me sometime if she’s comfortable with it.  She really sounds like something.”

“Yeah,” Ethan agreed. “Hell of a girl.”

Did she know? He hadn’t been able to speak to her in person since that phone call, and hadn’t had any contact with her since they moved to Europe. Rose should get to know her, he thought. She wouldn’t exist if Zoe hadn’t helped Mia and I get out of that hell hole.

And besides that, Ethan wanted to talk to her. He hated to admit it, but...

She may understand. She may understand and be willing to talk about it.

He felt guilty for thinking it, but then again, with how little Mia had wanted to speak about Dulvey before...there really was no one else. Not even Chris would really get the specifics of it. Sure, he’d been there, but he hadn’t lived it the same way Ethan had. The way Zoe had.

“I know you’ve probably already answered this, but...it’s really gone, right? At least...”

Gone as anything could be in this sick world they were living in. Ethan accepted that there were probably a few samples in a lab somewhere, like the last remnants of smallpox that governments insisted on holding onto for some awful reason. He just wanted to know the bulk of it was gone. That those places where he’d suffered so much couldn’t hurt him or anyone else ever again.

“Europe site is clean,” Carlos said. If he had been asked this before, he didn’t sound annoyed by having to answer again. “Dulvey site still clean, far as we know. Granted, by clean I mean no bad guys and no mold...”

“But still a BSAA site?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

It was interesting; pretty much everyone else sounded frustrated or angry when they brought up the BSAA, but Carlos just sounded...kind of resigned. Like this wasn’t the first time he’d been stabbed in the back and he figured it wouldn’t be the last. What the hell happened with Jill? Ethan wondered, not for the first time. It could’ve been something else, but his gut told him it was Jill-related.

Maybe one day he’d be loopy enough to actually ask. For right now, he sat somewhat impatiently as they moved through the facility. “This is where Jill and I have been staying, for the record,” Carlos said, indicating a door they walked past, “just in case you ever need anything.”

That took Ethan off-guard. “You guys have been staying here?”

“Yeah,” Carlos said, as if it were a totally reasonable thing. “Most nights, anyway. Sometimes Chris stays overnight, but it was easier than commuting to and from the place. Besides, all the dangerous subterfuge bullshit happens at night.”

He had a point, but... “Thank you,” Ethan said. “It’s...it’s really meant a lot that you’ve been helping us. You and Jill.” He knew they were probably doing it for Chris’s benefit more than theirs, but it was still above and beyond, even for that. “It’s nice to know some people who really give a shit.”

“Hey, trust me. I know what it’s like to deserve a break. I’m glad I can help.” He stopped at a door to push it open. “And here we are.”

The sight of the hospital room decked out with familiar items was...a bit jarring, to be sure, but it was a much more welcome sight than the old room. “Oh, great news,” Carlos added as he pushed Ethan through the door and stopped. “Rose has worked out that she can throw things. New favorite hobby, I think.” He had to stop to pick up a few baby toys and toss them into Rose’s crib. “Might want to keep an eye out when you’re wheeling around.”

“She’s just trying to protect the room,” Ethan joked. “Y’know. Home Alone-ing it.”

“...I get the joke, but...are you going to lose your mind if I tell you I’ve never seen Home Alone?”

“None of them?”

“Nah. I didn’t have the attention span for most movies when I was a kid.” Once he was confident the path was clear, Carlos wheeled Ethan closer to the bed. “Do you want to try standing?”

Ethan was surprised how excited that question made him. “Yeah...” The brace had finally come off his leg. It was intact. X-rays confirmed it. He should be fine, right? “Just don’t let me fall down.”

“I’ve got you.”

Ethan took a deep breath, braced his arms (his arm and 3/4 stump, really) against the armrests, and set his feet on the ground. He stood as carefully as possible. It was a little alarming how much he trembled as he did. Putting all his support on the right arm, sure, that’d do it, but why were his legs shaking that badly? I haven’t lost that much muscle, have I?

“Easy...” Carlos’s hands carefully hovered around Ethan’s torso. He didn’t move to grab him until Ethan started to fall forward, his legs finally giving out and starting to pitch him forward. “Hey, that wasn’t bad!"

Compared to being so weak that he could barely sit up, sure. But it was also a sign he wasn’t completely better. He had a long way to go.

And yet, despite that, Ethan wasn’t discouraged. The fact that he was standing at all was nothing short of miraculous. He’d cheated death. Getting strong enough to walk again would be easy in comparison.

Another thought occurred to him as Carlos helped him back into bed. It was April. He and Mia’s anniversary was in May. The date was embedded in his brain, especially after Donna had mocked him with it. For a moment, it no longer felt like just an anniversary. It felt like something no one had been able to give him yet: a solid date. A deadline for himself. If he could get strong again by then...

It wasn’t the most rational thought in the world, but if he could walk by his tenth anniversary, even if it was only a few steps, maybe that would be a sign that everything was okay. Or, at least, that it was going to be.

Can I do that? Can I walk unassisted by May?

He didn’t know for sure. But after everything he’d survived so far, it seemed pretty plausible.

Maybe.

Ethan kept the thought to himself for now. He didn’t want to jinx it. But he was definitely thinking about it.

.

Ethan fell asleep before she did. That left Mia to sit on the edge of the bed, staring at him.

She should have felt relieved. He looked peaceful and much healthier than he had in a while: color in his cheeks, regular and steady breathing, seemingly peaceful sleep. He was back with her, in a bed they could share (even if it wasn’t theirs).

But that was part of the problem. She wasn’t sure she should be there, sharing the bed with him as if nothing were wrong. As if there weren’t mountains of secrets there, too.

Mia took a deep breath and reached over to smooth down his hair. He didn’t stir. His hair had grown a lot since the village. It seemed to grow faster than usual, even as the rest of his body struggled. It felt soft, too. Healthy.

Her hand rested on his cheek. That he responded to, leaning slightly into the touch without opening his eyes or waking up. It would’ve been so easy to just lie down next to him, rest her cheek against his back, sleep like they always had.

You don’t deserve it. You shouldn’t get to be normal after what you’ve done.

Mia flinched at the thought. It wasn’t the first time her mind had gone to that place; she’d been dealing with it on and off since Dulvey. She’dbeen bracing herself for it to get worse.

She still wasn’t ready.

It’s not about what I deserve, she told herself. Ethan needs normal right now. At least until he’s better.

And then what, Mia?

She didn’t want to think about that. She couldn’t. She would have to and she knew it, but...

Just take it one day at a time. Ethan needs you right now. Focus on that.

Getting into bed still felt wrong, but she powered through. Mia compromised by not immediately curling up next to him. After a few minutes, he rolled over, moving a bit closer without touching her.

His face wound had healed well since Europe, but in that moment, it looked as raw and painful as when he’d first been recovered from the village.

She hadn’t realized how difficult having him back would be.

...

April 7, 2021:

In Carlos’s defense, he hadn’t forgotten to check in on Zoe Baker. It was more that checking in on her required a lot more steps than just making a quick phone call. (Not that Carlos was any good at even a quick phone call, but regardless.)

First, he had to figure out where she was. The BSAA had been keeping tabs on her, but that was intel they didn’t have access to anymore. All he had was Chris’s memories of where she’d been last and any aliases she’d been assigned. Once they confirmed the info was still accurate, he had to figure out the best way to check in on her without being too obtrusive.  Then he needed to call in a favor with any buddies of his near the area. And all of it needed to be covert, just in case the BSAA had eyes on them. That was the hardest part. Mission planning he could do if he was given enough time. This spy shit just made an already complicated process harder.

Thankfully, he was married to a supercop. That had a lot of benefits, including regular access to someone with spy mission planning expertise.

“I don’t think she’ll have moved since this was taken,” Jill mused. “This place is pretty defensible. I wouldn’t go anywhere if it were me.”

“Me either,” Carlos agreed. The satellite photos on Jill’s tablet showed an isolated house out in the bayou. Dense swamp left only two reliable entry points: the road and the river. Both gave the occupants a chance to see someone coming. Put up the right cameras or motion sensors, and you had a nice little fortress. “Don’t suppose there’s much traffic along that river? Tourists and shit?”

“Never say never, but if there is, it’s low enough that it’d attract attention. It’d probably be better to catch her in public, especially if we’re just getting visual confirmation she’s okay.” Jill took the tablet back and started poking around a maps app. “There’s got to be a grocery store she goes to.”

“Or a three. Rotate between them,” Carlos said. His mind was only half on the problem at hand, though. He couldn’t help staring at Jill as she worked. How long had they been married? Half his life at this point? And that intense look she got still took his breath away sometimes. Same way it had when they’d met in Raccoon City. Dangerous woman, he’d realized back then, but damn.

“I still can’t believe Winn Dixie is a real chain, not something they made up for that book,” Jill said. Then, after a quick glance at Carlos, “We’re helping Ethan here. Focus.”

He didn’t even bother trying to deny it. “Stop being so hot, then.”

“Can’t. My burden to bear.” Her brief smirk made it worth getting caught. “Where would you go more often? The grocery store, or the convenience store attached to the shitty gas station?”

“Shitty gas station store. People mind their own business at those things.” He glanced up from their work and called, “Hey, looking strong, Winters!”

Ethan was actually leaning against the support rails and wheezing like he’d run a marathon. But he was standing. “Five steps,” Ethan called back weakly. “Fuck you, Miranda.”

“That’s the spirit!” To Jill, he added, “Love this guy.”

Jill chucked quietly, but her gaze lingered just a bit too long on Ethan. “Can you remember what it was like?” she asked. “Before Raccoon City?”

“...yeah, kinda.” It had been a while, but he hadn’t entirely forgotten. Shame most of what he remembered were the parts he wanted most to forget. “Crazy what you can get used to, huh?”

“Yeah.” Jill sighed and turned back to her tablet. “Not sure how used to it I really am.”

Carlos gently squeezed her knee. “I know what you mean.”

You could get used to a lot, but some things still left him feeling cold. Seeing people he loved in danger. Seeing how all of this affected people like the Winters—just a random family who didn’t ask to be in this mess.

He didn’t think anything would get him used to that.

...

April 13, 2021:

“Ow?!”

Ethan froze. Despite how indignant his initial exclamation had been, he grinned. “I felt it that time!”

He never thought he’d be so happy to feel pain, but any real sensation in his arm stump was a relief. It still felt things sometimes, but only dully. Pain like that meant the nerves were healing and if the nerves were healing, that meant a prosthetic was around the corner. One that he could actually use like a hand, too.

“Can I ask a weird question?” Ethan said. “Why so much research into prosthetics?”

The nurse, who  insisted Ethan  call her Sarah, shook her head. “Not weird at all. We’ve found a lot of infections can be stopped by removing the tissue around the bite—or, in some cases, the entire limb. It doesn’t happen all the time, but it’s happened enough. And limb loss due to other non-infectious reasons has occurred among our military allies, so only seems fair we have a backup.”

“Oh.” That made...some kind of sense. A slightly eerie kind of sense. “So the limb loss is the normal part of what I’m going through?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Sarah checked the readouts on her computer. “You’re showing a lot of progress. The good news is that once the wound has healed a bit more, we can get you into a standard prosthetic. You won’t be able to do as much with it, but you’ll attract a little less attention when you’re out and about.”

When. Ethan was grateful they said when in here. It helped him feel like he was making progress, which could be incredibly hit or miss these days. Walking was a lot harder than he thought it’d be. He could only manage a few steps at a time with support before he had to sit back down, and that was on the days when they were okay with him walking at all. He was still too weak to do it every time.

“Do you guys have makeup strong enough to cover up my kind of facial scars?” he asked, only half-joking.

“I wish. Though for what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s as bad as you might think.”

That was another nice thing to hear, though Ethan wasn’t sure he believed that. Any kind of facial scar was going to get attention. His was right front and center, across his nose, in between his eyes. Seeing it gave him a queasy mixture of relief and annoyance. Annoyance because everyone was going to know he’d been through some shit. Relief because he finally looked as shitty as he’d felt after Dulvey. It had been disconcerting before, knowing how badly he’d been hurt but looking in the mirror and seeing a perfectly whole face.

“Oh, I was supposed to tell you...” Sarah checked a note on Ethan’s chart. “Doctor Marshall wanted to talk to you about some examinations for Rose. Nothing...invasive, but...”

“...right.” Ethan’s gut twisted at the mention. So far they’d been good to him, and he had no reason to assume it would be different with Rose. He couldn’t explain why it felt different, especially when he knew that Rose would likely need some specialized care.

But it did. It made him nervous. He didn’t want Rose to grow up feeling like some kind of freak who needed to be poked and prodded the rest of her life.

It’s for her own good. You can pull the plug any time you want.

"Is anything wrong, or is this just preventative?"

"She seems fine to me, for whatever that's worth. Starting to warm up to the staff and everything."

"Mostly preventative." Ethan rubbed his eyes. "I'll talk to him, though."

He couldn't run from it forever.

...

April 25, 2021:

Mia had taken to fiddling with her wedding ring. She was a bit worried she was going to start rubbing the skin away, but she couldn't stop herself.

She thought about taking it off–she definitely didn't deserve to wear it–but that felt worse. It might give something away to Ethan. Besides, he still couldn't wear his. Both of them missing a wedding ring would feel like it was over.

She wasn't ready to face that possibility yet.

"Can I ask you something?" Mia asked.

"Oh, always," Carlos said casually.

"You and Jill were married while you were in the BSAA, right?"

"For a little while. Stupid amount of paperwork, but worth it. Why?"

"How did you handle…" She gestured towards his left hand. "That?"

"Oh, the ring. Yeah, we didn't have them for a while. Too risky, with the kind of people we were pissing off." He glanced down at his wedding ring and smiled slightly. It wasn’t metal–it was one of the silicon ones, black, plain. "We got them after we retired. And I got this one because I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.” He paused, then added a bit hesitantly, “He can wear it on his right hand, I think.”

Mia nodded in agreement. “He’s waiting until some more mobility comes back. He doesn’t want jewelry getting in the way for a while.” She didn’t blame him for that. She was just doubtful there would be a future where he did put it back on. Because she’d have to tell him the truth one day, and when she did that, he’d leave her, and…

Stop. Stop, don’t think like that. You don’t know that. And she didn’t want to risk crying in front of Carlos again.

“How’s his hand doing, by the way?” Carlos asked. She couldn’t tell if he was trying to jar her out of her thoughts or not, but she was grateful regardless.

“Better. He only gets the shakes if he has to hold onto something for a long time.” And that long time was getting longer. That still didn’t stop her from worrying that his wrist would snap along an old fault line.

Both hands. He’s had to reattach both hands. And the scar along the right wrist was so tidy. Same with the stitched-up slice through his jacket sleeve. It still made her skin crawl to think about it. Claws shouldn’t have made a cut that clean.

You weren’t missing anything with Dimitrescu. That was just Marguerite but fancier. And a dragon. I’m going to need phobia treatment for bugs after this, I think. She hadn’t been able to tell if he was joking about the last part.

“It’s mostly nerve regrowth at this point. Bit above my pay grade,” Mia said, trying to shake the thought off. “Can I ask you a favor? It might be superfluous, but…well, they’re going to start doing examinations on Rose, and I want a second set of eyes on everything.”

I don’t trust myself anymore. I let her down once, I can’t do it again.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Carlos said without hesitation. “Is everything okay with her?”

“She’s doing fine, all things considered. It’s just preemptive.” They didn’t know what the long-term effects of the mutamycete would be on a, for lack of a better phrase, naturally produced baby. They couldn’t really use Eveline as a baseline; she’d been micromanaged on a genetic level from birth, grown in a vat and artificially aged up for a specific purpose. No surprises, no risk of anything going wrong in her physical development. Rose wasn’t like that. She was the result of reproductive cells from two different people, subject to the influence of environmental factors and epigenetics and all the random factors of life that would’ve made those scientists at the Connections have an aneurysm.

Who knew what it was going to do?

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Carlos said suddenly. He had a look, like he was trying to cover for something while also reassuring her. He and Jill seemed to have a lot of experience in this area; sometimes Mia wondered if it was personal. “Y’know, she seems like a resilient kid.”

Mia could’ve pried. She decided to just accept the attempt at comforting her. “Yeah,” she said. “She is.”

She just hoped it would be enough.

...

April 29, 2021:

“I’m fine, really…”

He wasn’t, but he was fine enough. Yes, his entire body hurt, yes, he was exhausted, yes, he’d just needed another shot. But he didn’t want everyone looking at him like he wasn’t fine.

This isn’t even the worst thing to happen to me and you all know it. Are we forgetting about my arm stump? A part of him wanted to say it–he might’ve if it were Chris in the room–but Mia was there, checking his vitals, so he kept his mouth shut.

“It looks like you’re leveling out,” Mia said reassuringly. She was trying to be reassuring, anyway. He could hear the tremor in her voice. Now he felt guilty, furious at his own stupid body for betraying him like this. I bounce back from limb loss but I can’t bounce back from this? “I still think we should get Doctor Marshal.”

“Doctor Marshal’s just going to say the same thing you are.” Ethan took a deep breath and carefully tested gripping the armrest of his wheelchair. His fingers were numb, sluggish, slow.

Damn it. He couldn’t get a real grip. He’d definitely topple over if he tried to stand. Assuming any of them let him stand.

You don’t understand. This is important. I have to…

“I’m fine, just give me a minute,” he said weakly. It probably wouldn’t work–it definitely wouldn’t work–but he wanted to at least try. Maybe if I can just rest a bit, I’ll recover enough that I can start over. But that would be out the window if they wheeled him out of that room.

Please, please, just let me try.

“I want to see if I can bounce back,” Ethan said. “We should see if I can, right? That’s…a benchmark. Or something.”

Mia exchanged a glance with one of his doctors. “Okay,” Mia said. “We’ll try five, okay?”

That was better than he’d been expecting. He’d take it, even if he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were just humoring him.

You know what? I can live with that.

He tried to focus on his breathing and the sound of his heartbeat. It was a tough balancing act. The sound could help him focus. It could also send him spiraling if he thought too hard about it, making him analyze every hiccup and strange stutter, real or imagined. He’d convinced himself that something was wrong more than once, despite his best efforts. But even if something was wrong…

You’re alive. You’re alive, that’s something. You’re alive and that means you’re getting better.

Ethan opened his eyes and glanced Mia’s way. She had that look again; she wasn’t begging him to stop, not yet, but that was usually the look that preceded the argument about stopping. About taking it easier.

It felt familiar, fighting like that.

The thought took what little fight was left in him away. Ethan sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, I think I’m done for today.”

Just for today. Tomorrow, you’ll start over.

Tomorrow, you’ll keep getting better.

#resident evil #resident evil village #ethan winters #fic: catch me floating circles in my fish bowl

[screechthemighty]

Okay, so I wasn’t actively tagged in this, but @mockspector​ said “ anyone else who wants have a go at it” and I figured it would be funny to ~roast myself~ SO

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs. (You can make your own post or reblog this one!)

I cheated a little bit because I am NOT including reference docs, timelines, that kind of thing, but. No joke, this is all the actively being worked on fanfic in my “active fanfic” folder:

rebirth (FFVII)

rescue (FFVII)

first meeting(s) (God of War)

origin story (God of War) - being posted as “awake and unafraid...”

Gena’s Diner (Moon Knight) - being posted as “meet me at our spot”

marclayla fluff (Moon Knight) - being posted as “you’re the song i sing again and again”

Warlike (Moon Knight/God of War)

catch me floating circles in my fish bowl (Resident Evil) - being posted under the same title

first kiss fic (Apex Legends) - being posted as “tell me we’re all right / tell me we’re okay”

Untitled Document (Apex Legends/God of War)

the citadel 2 (Titanfall 2) - being posted as “the citadel”

you crazy ass cosmonaut (remember your virtue) (Titanfall 2/God of War) - being posted as “you crazy-assed cosmonaut (remember your virtue)”

Cuy’Val Dar (Star Wars/God of War)

The Scavenger (Star Wars) - being posted under the same title

Kent & Wayne (The Batman) - being posted as “a symbol of hope”

There’s actually more files but I’m going to put those under a cut if you want to see how unhinged I truly am...until then uhhhh if you would also like to self-roast and/or talk about your fanfic, here u go, I’m tagging you. You are tagged. You’re welcome. I hope you’re having a good evening.

Anyways, files included that are marked as “work on later” or “originals” but aren’t actively being worked on and are probably only being saved for reference reasons/because I hate deleting things include: 

aren’t you tired of being aesir (v1 and v2), bounce man, i’m falling so i’m taking my time, regrowth (v1 and v2), (i just need) time, Headcase, i warned you not to get lost in the wild, just a ghost, lend me your teeth, louder than god’s revolver and twice as shiny, mandatory first “i love you” fic, noticing, un poquititio loco, wattson vent fic, blue milk run, crash, family, take a break, weeping, a terrible fate, breaking the news, family matters, internment’s a freebie that comes with the purchase, one plus one, reveal, routine, songs for BT, and what is he to you.

Yes, it is that bad, yes I DO need to clear out my folder. Or like. Write these...

#fic blogging #i am giving people permission to ask about the stuff under the cut as well I admit it IS funny

[screechthemighty]

WIP Wednesday, here’s every fic actively in progress and a lil excerpt from it!

Moon Knight: Working title is “The Protector” but I’m thinking of giving it the much longer title of “maybe i’ll talk to you / the only way i know how to”:

“And you’re worried that if I like this, that means you like it too?” he said quietly. “And I’m the outlet for it, so you can feel better about yourself? Steven gets to be his own person, but I’m just your dark half?”

FFVII: Working title “rebirth”:

Cloud looked around. He seemed confused, like he couldn’t tell if he was dreaming or not. Zack couldn’t blame him. This much green in a place like Midgar? It may as well have been a dream.

God of War: “it must be so lonely knowing what you know”:

“It’s all wrong,” he said. Any pain he might have felt from the wound seemed to be poured into the words. He leaned towards Mimir; it made trying to clean him off difficult, but it was a strange sort of relief, seeing him react normally to the situation. “It’s all been so wrong...I don’t know why...”

Resident Evil: “catch me floating circles in my fish bowl”:

But it was different. And it did make him nervous. He didn’t want Rose to grow up feeling like some kind of freak who needed to be poked and prodded the rest of her life.

Apex Legends: “tell me we’re al right / tell me we’re okay”:

“Uhhhhhhhhh...” Elliott checked the map. “So, there’s that one big building kind of west...”

“How did you get over there?!”

“I don’t know! I’ve just been running! Shit, how has this space not cleared out?!”

Titanfall: “you crazy-assed cosmonaut (remember your virtue)”:

“So, when they’re able to put him back together,” he said, “I get to meet him, right? I know I’m probably not allowed in the Titan bays, but...”

“When has that ever stopped you?”

“I was gonna say I’m sure you could get me in, but yeah, that too.”

The Batman: “a symbol of hope”:

It was an obvious mark on the man’s head. From a surgery, if Batman had to guess. He’d seen similar marks on cancer patients. Craniotomy, to remove a tumor. Possible that he’d had brain surgery, the stress of the situation contributed to a delusion...perhaps the tumor grew back...

Work on The Scavenger has stalled again, but maybe if Kenobi is good.......

#fic blogging

[screechthemighty]

I did it! I finally wrote more Resident Evil fanfic. This one was slow going on account of the longer chapters and my life low-key going off the rails a few times, but it’s started now, and I do intend on working on it more!

I’m also going to experiment with posting chapters directly to tumblr, just to see how that goes, so you can read the full first chapter right here and now! It will also be up on AO3 (link in a reblog) if you want to subscribe and stuff. Content warnings will be over there, and the other fics in this series. I hope you enjoy!

catch me floating circles in my fish bowl - part one:

It felt like he was in a haze most of the time. Details only stuck over time. The room he was staying in. The people most frequently in that room, even if he couldn't always remember their names. The full extent of his injuries.

Right leg still mending, trapped in a brace until the bone healed. Left hand gone up to the mid forearm. Right hand stiff and unresponsive. The still-healing wound on his chest. Other, smaller wounds all over his body.

The doctors said that this was normal—that his memory would recover while his body did. Ethan was willing to accept that. It could be disorienting, annoying, but there were two bright spots in his life. Two people that made it worth it.

Mia. Rose. Alive and unhurt.

Everything was okay, as long as he knew they were safe.

 .

March 10, 2021

Ethan was asleep again.

He slept a lot these days. Mia had to remind herself, over and over, that it was normal. He needs the rest, they said. We'll keep an eye on it, but right now, he should rest when he’s tired.

It still made her nervous. And she still felt a deep sense of relief whenever his eyes opened again. "Hey," Ethan muttered, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips.

"Hey," Mia replied, leaning over to kiss his forehead. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"'s fine. Wasn't really sleeping." He tried to push himself upright; Mia adjusted the bed's incline for him instead. "Is Rose…?"

Mia carefully extracted their daughter from the baby carrier on her chest. Rose had dozed off, too, but her eyes opened immediately when she saw him. She cooed softly and reached out for him. "She's been on her best behavior today. Even let Jill hold her for a bit."

"Aww, Rosie…" Ethan smiled down at their daughter. "Good job making new friends." He couldn't hold her, not yet, not quite, but she could sit on his lap with a little help from Mia. "How long have I…?"

"A few hours. Doctor Marshall will be coming in about fifteen minutes to check up on you.” Mia examined him carefully. “Do you feel okay? How's your hand?"

If his hand or right leg started going numb, he needed a booster shot. It was a reliable sign, and another reason to be grateful Ethan was awake and lucid. They were close to testing the more robust booster, a prospect that left Mia both excited and nervous. There was always something a little terrifying about testing a new medicine, but now...now she was testing it on her husband, someone who had already been through enough. The last thing Mia wanted was to make things worse, to put him back where he’d started, especially when she’d just gotten him back.

Ethan let Rose hold on to his intact hand and smiled, so softly you’d think nothing bad had happened to him lately. It warmed Mia’s heart and made it ache all at once. He hadn’t complained for a second about any of it, and he always seemed to bounce back emotionally.

Is he holding back? Hiding so I don’t worry? That sounded like something Ethan would do. Mia almost asked, but she didn’t want to ruin the mood. They needed happy moments like this. No sense in spoiling them.

A knock on the door jarred Mia away from the moment. It was Jill. “Hey, survivor,” she said.

The slight frown on Ethan’s face was slightly disappointing. Mia wanted him to remember, for his sake, but new details were still hard for him. Even the names of people he’d met a dozen times before could slip him up. “Don’t tell me,” Ethan said before anyone said anything. “It’s...” His nose wrinkled in deep thought. “Uhm...it’s...it’s not Cupid...?”

That was close, at least. “You’re in the right ballpark,” Jill said encouragingly.

Ethan’s lips moved as he mouthed a few words—cupid, love, Val... “Valentine!” he said triumphantly. “Jill?”

“That’s the one.” Jill stepped into the room to give Ethan’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “How are you holding up? And for the record, you’ve already done the I’m all right routine.”

Ethan actually looked a bit disappointed. “Did I? Damn.” After a pause, he held up his intact hand, its fingers still visibly tense. “Well, it’s really more like 25% right. It’s still not great. But hey, not dead. How’s Chris?”

Jill hesitated. “...he’s Chris,” she sad finally

That wasn’t an encouraging answer. Mia knew he took on too much, and probably more so than usual with everything going on. Ethan, for all his memory gaps, knew it too, and the way he rolled his eyes said what he thought about that. “Well, tell him to chill,” Ethan said. “Uncle Chris needs to chill, doesn’t he, Rosie?” Rose made a little bah noise in response. “I owe him a punch once I’m sure my hand won’t snap off.”

Jill looked impressed. “You remember that? That’s a good sign.”

“I...don’t,” Mia said. “What are you two talking about?”

Ethan’s mouth opened, then closed. “...I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I do? Uhm.” He looked at Jill. “I assume you do.”

“Just something Chris said to him the day he woke up. We thought he was out, though. You must’ve been conscious enough to hear him.”

“...huh.” Ethan rubbed his eyes. “Man, being in a coma is weird.”

He didn’t seem especially distressed the word coma. Once again, Mia couldn’t help wondering how much of it was him putting on a brave face, and how much was Ethan simply being resilient. Could he be resilient forever? Mia thought. Her concerns about him shoving his emotions down aside...everyone had a breaking point, didn’t they?

When would Ethan’s come?

“Hey, how’s...” Ethan trailed off again, rubbed his eyes again, looked annoyed at himself. “My #3 fan? I’m sorry...”

“Carlos?”

“Yeah, him.”

“He’s fine. He’s out doing a favor for Chris.” Jill huffed quietly. “Someone has the benefit of being able to blend into the background...”

“Have you tried wigs?”

“I’m one of the faces of Raccoon City now. No wig can save me from that.”

Mia didn't miss the full implications of that. She also didn't miss how Jill brushed past it to start asking Ethan about the doctors, making sure they were treating him okay. Maybe brushing past your trauma was normal for people like them. Maybe what Ethan was doing wasn't special.

That wasn't going to stop Mia from worrying and she knew it. It wasn’t just about whether or not Ethan’s behavior was normal. It was about...everything. The frustration she’d felt whenever Ethan focused on everyone but himself. Wondering why he never seemed to care.

She didn’t want to go through those arguments again.

Didn’t want to see him burn up for their benefit again.

. 

Jill Valentine (white hair, blue eyes, a bit taller than Mia, biker vibes) constantly checking up on how the doctors were treating him was...worrying, Ethan wasn't going to lie. It made him a bit paranoid, whenever his mind was present enough to be properly paranoid. He tried to reassure himself. There were people looking after Rose and Mia. Pretty much every medical decision was run past Ethan, or Mia if Ethan was too out of it to make the call.

And all that aside, Doctor Marshall wasn't that bad.

"How much do you remember?"

It took Ethan a second to gather his thoughts. That was pretty normal for him now. The brain fog wasn't as bad as it had been, but the lag was still persistent. Physical lag, mental. Sometimes emotional. "From Europe or from after?" he asked.

"Both."

"From Europe...pretty much everything? It gets, uh...it gets a little hazy around when…" He tried to tap his chest, but his fingers were still so stiff and unresponsive that it ended up being an awkward patting. "...Miranda got me, but I remember most of that." The conversation with Eveline. The Duke saving him. Most of the fight, though that was so blurred by panic that he wouldn't be surprised if he'd forgotten chunks of it. "Then...I got Rose. I saw Mia. And after that, until I woke up, it's mostly bits and pieces. Nothing specific, just...sounds. Sometimes something would hurt. Mia was...she was there, right?"

"She barely left your side." Doctor Marshall, took a few more notes. "Anything unusual or especially clear?"

"...yeah, there was…" This was going to be a weird one. "Sometimes I thought I smelled something…"

Spicy was the wrong word, too inaccurate. He knew what images the smell invoked (soup bubbling on the stove, something with seafood and spices and herbs, the wood of an old house, damp smell of rain on growing things outside), but trying to put that into words was difficult. Especially when his energy was starting to hit its limit.

But, Ethan realized, he probably didn't have to go much further than that. His face had been pretty messed up; between the beatings he'd taken, his body re-succumbing to those injuries, and the surgeries they'd given him to help, his sense of smell was pretty shot. Temporarily, they said, but the fact that he'd smelled something while semi-conscious and nursing some pretty gnarly face wounds spoke for itself.

"...it wasn't hospital smells. I can remember that." Ethan perked up a bit. "Oh, and I guess...Redfield said I could punch him when I woke up and I remember he told me that but I don't remember hearing him say it? Does that make sense?"

"I understand what you mean." Doctor Marshall set his down his pen and looked Ethan in the eyes. "Emotionally, how are you holding up?"

Funny. No one at the BSAA had really asked him that. They got him a therapist eventually, but in the wake of Dulvey...Chris asked, Ethan realized, and no one else that he could remember. "Relieved? Uhm." His stump itched, but he almost welcomed the feeling. At least it was a sensation. "I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I should feel more...something, but I don't. It might need to sink in again."

Because it definitely would. Even now, it came and went. Sometimes he felt like he was just in the hospital because of some mundane bullshit, like a car accident, or a random but necessary surgery. Then it would hit him: Shit. No. I got into a fistfight behind Romanian Arby’s with five different BOWs and almost died.

I actually did die, three years ago, but I came back because I’m a fucking mold hybrid.

It was still taking some getting used to. Ethan wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever be used to it.

“There aren’t really support groups for guys in my situation, are there?” he added, half-joking, half serious. That combination had been getting him through a lot lately.

“There are plenty of support groups for outbreak survivors, but if you mean people in your...distinct situation?” Doctor Marshall shook his head. “Not many people survive this long.”

Well, that was sobering.

“...thanks for helping me stay here,” Ethan said quietly.

Doctor Marshall smiled. “It’s the least we can do. I just wish things had gone differently in Louisiana. Perhaps if we’d been able to get ahead of this...”

"Yeah." Ethan tried not to dwell on it too much, but he was pretty sure he would’ve handled things differently if he’d known. Ironically, he probably would've been more careful. Sure he could heal, but apparently he could only heal so much, and he’d seen what happened to other hybrids when they took too much damage. Hell, he’d been the guy doing the damage. Ethan briefly wondered if there was a way to ask about his body's limitations that didn't make him sound like he was about to do something stupid. He didn't want Mia to worry. Or for someone to rat him out to Chris. Chris would definitely give him an earful.

Like he has any right to judge, Mr. "Ran Off Who Knows Where to Fight Who Knows What…"

The muffled sound of sneezing outside the door drew him out of his irritated thoughts. He might've been worried, had Doctor Marshall not looked more bemused than concerned. "He knows he can be in the room, right? You gave him permission to access your medical information."

He? Not Chris...no, the other one. Carlos. "We're trying to keep a little privacy," Ethan said. Privacy, but also someone on standby in case anything went wrong. What going wrong would look like in this capacity, Ethan wasn't sure, but he did feel a little safer having the taller, more combat-experienced man standing outside. "Has the BSAA been by, speaking of…?"

Doctor Marshall shook his head. "Some members reached out. We told them we're not able to breach patient confidentiality. They could try a legal route, but I have a feeling Agent Redfield is going to...encourage them not to do that."

Well, he does kinda owe me one, Ethan thought, then shoved the thought away. He was too tired to deal with his complicated feelings about Chris Redfield.

In a monkey's paw turn of events, his body provided the perfect opportunity to think about something else. It provided that through stabbing chest pains that only ever meant one thing, but it was objectively something other than his complicated Chris feelings. "Uh…" Ethan tried to straighten up. "Doc."

The shots worked quickly. That was the good news. The bad news was he felt like he'd been hit by a truck after, as always. "You sure there's no morphine in that?" Ethan mumbled into his pillow when his body finally stopped shaking.

"Definitely not." That was Mia. When had Mia gotten there? Damn it, he hated losing time. "Feel better?"

"No but also yes," Ethan said. He kept his eyes closed, because opening them was too hard. "Different bad."

"It'll pass. You can sleep it off."

Ethan knew he should, but he didn't really want to. Something about sleeping felt dangerous. Like he was playing Russian Roulette with the possibility of another coma. Or waking up as something...else. Something that definitely wasn't him anymore. He thought about Jack Baker's eyes staring at him from the darkness and struggled to stay awake.

In an unfair but predictable turn of events, he fell asleep anyway.

 .

March 15, 2021

If he was being honest, Chris was still bracing himself.

For what, exactly, he wasn't sure. Ethan was still too physically weak to take him up on that punch offer, and he didn't seem angry. Annoyed, periodically, but only when Chris pushed him.

Don't ask me about how much sleep I've been getting. You'd have to pay to check those eye bags onto a flight.

At least Ethan was well enough to be a smartass. And the comment wasn't wrong, just uncalled for.

That didn't stop Chris from expecting anger, demands, some kind of response to how things had gone down in Europe. Something. But that day, all he got when he opened the door was, "How much?"

"...what?"

"For fries." Ethan was itching his stump again. He looked miserable. "The fries here suck. First hospital I've been to where the food is actually good for you."

"This isn't technically a hospital. And stop that." Chris walked to Ethan's side and nudged his hand away.  "If it itches, I can get a nurse…"

Ethan groaned. "No more fucking nurses, Chris, please. I'm fine."

"Do you need another booster?"

"No. And if you bring a needle near me, I'll bite you. I mean it. You'll probably get infected, too."

"Uh huh." Chris didn't doubt that Ethan was capable of biting. More that he wasn’t capable of doing it right then. “They’ll sedate you if you do, you know.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” Despite the words, Ethan looked decidedly unenthusiastic. It was a joke made out of obligation, no real humor behind it. “Where’s Rose?”

He always asked that. Whenever the kid wasn’t within his sight, Ethan wanted to know where she was. “Mia’s got her. They’re out in the courtyard getting some fresh air.”

“Oh.” Ethan started itching his stump again; this time, when Chris grabbed his hand, his beleaguered expression turned into a full-on scowl. “Let go.”

“You’re going to make it worse.”

“Chris.”

“Look, just let me get...”

Ethan tried to yank his hand away. It didn’t do much, not when he was still pretty weak, but it was a stronger effort than Chris expected. “Let go.”

It was the first time since the village that he looked actively pissed off at Chris. And it was over his arm. Not any of the legitimate reasons Ethan had to be angry. Son of a bitch, this guy. “Ethan...”

“...uhh, guys...?”

Carlos was there, suddenly. Mia, too, and Rose, all staring in confusion.“Ethan won’t stop itching the amputation site,” Chris said.

“Snitch,” Ethan muttered.

Mia passed Rose off to Carlos and walked to Ethan’s side. “Here, let me look...” She was doing a good job hiding her worry, but Chris could see the tension in her eyes. “Any other symptoms?”

“No, I’m okay. It hasn’t been long enough anyway, right?” He glanced at the clock. “Unless that thing is lying to me.”

“You should be okay.”

It was hard to miss the way Ethan scanned Mia’s face as she checked the wound. Ethan’s gaze was usually analytical, ranging from curious to sharply focused depending on the situation. Attention to detail, quick to adapt, no wonder he’d survived as long as he had. But all that bled away when he looked at Mia. Instead he was just...gentle, was probably the right word. It felt too vulnerable to watch, like he was spying on something that was just between the two of them, so Chris looked at the injury instead. It did look better. No calcification. Skin was looking pink, healthy. Sutures on the worst of it would come off soon, assuming they could stay on top of his medicine and prevent further damage. With the round the clock care he was under, maybe they could fit him with a prosthetic sooner rather than later.

Chris sure hoped so. Ethan was doing all right so far, but the cracks were starting to show. The previous conversation was just one of many small moments that told him Ethan was going to start going stir-crazy soon. He needed some independence back; use of both hands seemed like a good compromise until he was strong enough to walk.

“It’s just healing,” Mia said finally. Her fingers hovered over the stump for a moment before pulling away. "But you shouldn't…"

"Scratch," Ethan muttered glumly. He leaned back against his pillows again. "I know. Can I have my baby, please?"

"Yeah, here you go…" Carlos tried to pass off Rose carefully, a bit tricky when Rose started leaning out of his arms to get to her dad. "Okay, yeah, he's right there, I promise."

Both of them looked a lot more relaxed once Rose was settled down on Ethan's lap, her head resting  against his chest. As he watched them, Chris couldn't help wondering how much the kid knew. How If she understood what her father had done for her.

With her being what she was, maybe she understood more than they realized.

 .

March 19, 2021

Ethan had started begging to go outside. Mia wanted to take that as a good thing, but it hurt to see him finally start looking desperate. This hospital air is killing me. I need sunshine. Can you at least give me five minutes?

He finally seemed stable enough, so they got him into a wheelchair. And of course, by the time they got him downstairs, the clouds had turned into rain. The stab of guilt was stronger than Mia expected; it almost felt like she'd somehow caused this. "I'm sorry…" Mia started.

Ethan didn’t seem to hear her. He leaned out of his chair, holding out his hand to catch the rain. When he smiled, he seemed genuinely content—too spontaneous and soft to be him faking it for her benefit. “I can’t hear the rain inside,” he said. “I almost forgot how nice it sounds.” He had a point. The rain wasn’t so heavy as to be a downpour; it was more a curl up at home with a book kind of rain. If only they had a home to curl up in. “Can we just stay out here? Is that okay?”

“I think so.” The facility was secure, allegedly, and they were safe from any rain where they were. Mia pulled the wheelchair near a bench and sat down. “It’s not too cold?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Ethan leaned back in the wheelchair, watching the rain fall down onto the front parking lot. “So...Jill’s the one with white hair.”

Ethan did this sometimes. He’d run through everyone they had met since he woke up, make sure he had all the details right. There was something reassuring about the process. Every time, he remembered more clearly, more quickly. “That’s right.”

“She knows Chris from the BSAA but she left before he did. She hasn’t said why...?”

“No. They don’t really talk about it.”

“Okay. Carlos is her husband.”

Mia smiled slightly, remembering his pleased reaction to being referred to as the husband. “That’s him.”

“Also former BSAA. And he thinks I’m cool for some reason.”

“You’ve almost killed enough BOWs to be an honorary Wolf Pack member. That’s pretty impressive.”

“I guess so. Hey, is he just tall or am I a bad judge of height?”

“He’s tall. Do you feel okay?” Mia was tempted to check her timer, but she knew Ethan hated that. Makes me feel like you’re counting down the seconds until I die. “Nothing hurts...?”

“Nothing weird.” She saw a slight frown crease his brow—enough that she thought she’d upset him by asking. But before she could apologize, he spoke again, “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

They hadn’t spoken about her part in the village much. Ethan had seemed content in the knowledge that she was okay, and she’d been more than happy to leave it at that. But as he become more lucid, he became more curious. It made her stomach turn, but...

You owe him some answers. And you’re not going to be able to put off the bigger questions forever. You might as well ease into it.

“Miranda had me under the castle,” she said. “She hit me once...exposed me to the mold, but they gave me an antifungal. I have a clean bill of health, I promise. And one of them exposed me to...I don’t know what, but it caused hallucinations.”

Ethan shuddered violently. For a moment, Mia was worried that he needed another boost after all, but the dread in his voice when he spoke said the reaction was something else entirely. “Donna? The one with the fucking doll?”

“That’s her.” Ethan had run into her, taken her out like he had the others. What had she shown him? Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been good. He looked almost queasy at the memory. “I can’t tell which one was worse, the hallucinations or the doll.”

“Yeah, it’s a toss-up. Doll’s not a problem anymore, though. It was linked to her, so when...”

He trailed off. Again, Mia worried he needed a booster, but he spoke, he sounded somber. “...doll’s not a problem anymore. I actually sold it to a guy for some pipe bombs.”

That gave Mia whiplash. “You what?”

“Oh, yeah, the Duke. He was...around. Helped me out.” He almost itched his arm, but stopped himself at the last second. “Chris never said anything about survivors, right?”

“No, they never found any.”

Ethan nodded. The somber look on his face had turned thoughtful—the kind of look he got when he was taking apart a puzzle. Eventually, he shrugged. “I’m sure he’s okay,” he said. “He always was.”

And that was that.

Mia still wasn’t sure she was ready to hear every detail about Europe. She wasn’t sure she’d ever really be ready to hear that story. The guilt was still too heavy. But a part of her wished she was, for just a hint of context.

Then again, is any amount of context going to make a man who exchanges infected dolls for pipe bombs make sense?

Somehow, she didn’t think so.

 .

March 25, 2021:

Ethan tried to pay attention to his hand this time.

It was hard. The episodes were painful, sudden, not exactly the best time to think rationally. But he tried.

He focused on his hand.

It wasn’t shaking.

Then again, his left hand wasn’t doing much of anything these days. Range of motion was coming back slowly, but gripping things was still hard. Maybe as it improved, the shakes would come back, but...he still wanted to ask.

“When my hand gets better, can I give those to myself?”

For a second, he thought Doctor Marshall hadn’t heard him. Turns out, he was just making sure Ethan’s heart rate was going back down. “Well, we’re hopeful that you won’t need them anymore by the time your hand gets better,” Doctor Marshall said. “But if you do, and you think you’re able to administer before symptoms get too bad, I don’t see why not.”

“Cool. I already know how to give myself an epipen injection...” Was he rambling? It seemed like he either rambled like a drunk or could barely get two words out after an injection. He preferred the rambling; not being able to talk usually came with feeling as exhausted as he had when he’d first woken up, sometimes more so. I’m so sick of being drowsy. I’m sick of being in this stupid bed. “...same difference, right?”

“Not exactly, but it’s good that you’re not afraid of needles.”

“I might be by the time this is over.” No more shots. I’m sick of shots, too. “How soon until I can try to start walking?”

Doctor Marshall had the decency to take the question seriously instead of just brushing Ethan off. “How’s the sensation in your legs?”

“Better, most of the time. Still twitchy at night.”

“Were you diagnosed with restless leg syndrome before?” Marshall asked as he carefully picked up Ethan’s left leg. Ethan could feel the fingers prodding his ankle, but the sensation made him feel relieved, not irritated. If he could still feel so soon after an injection, he had to be getting better, right?

“No.”

Marshall hummed quietly and carefully moved the ankle. “Wiggle your toes for me?” Ethan tried. Wasn’t his best wiggle, but at least he saw them move. “Well, mobility is improving...I still want to keep you on bed rest until there’s more space between injections. But you’ve made remarkable steps so far, so...” He carefully put Ethan’s leg back down. “I can’t put a timeline on it. But soon.”

Soon.

It was nebulous. Vague. But it was closer than any other promise that had been made to him.

“Good.” Ethan closed his eyes and counted his slowing heartbeats. “That’s good.”

He could wait a little longer.

#fic: catch me floating circles in my fish bowl #resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil biohazard #ethan winters #mithan #my writing #my fanfic

[screechthemighty]

Me writing catch me floating circles in my fish bowl like: I know this is a Mithan fic but *throws in some Valeviera flirting because I can*

#fic blogging

[screechthemighty]

But for real, I promise the next long RE fic is being worked on, it’s going to be called “catch me floating circles in my fish bowl” and at least half the chapters are going to be like. Really long summaries of individual months of Ethan’s recovery. So that combined with me still getting settled in after a big life change is why it’s taking so long.

#this has been a post #for the record no one is rushing me or being mean I just want to reassure people it's still happening lmao