Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’d only been a day.

When Ethan snuck a glance at the clock, the eternal hell he’d survived comprised of nothing more than 24 hours and 5 minutes. It was enough to make him laugh until tears cleared the black soot plastered on his cheeks.

Rose startled in his arms, reaching for him with a tiny fist. Her eyes closed the moment she grabbed his finger, returning to her much-deserved slumber. At least she was whole again.

“Are you listening?”

Ethan’s head snapped up, meeting his wife’s stare, cold and tired—it’d been the first time she’d spoken to him directly. Mia sat on the opposite side of the table, her pink sweater dusty, the edges of her fingers dark with dirt, but no worse for wear than the last time he’d seen her—though, that hadn’t been her, had it?

“I stopped listening the minute I got in here,” Ethan murmured, looking back at his daughter, how she stirred at the sound of his voice. He hushed her, cooing into her unblemished cheek, mindful not to mar it any more than he had to.

“Well, you should pay attention,” Mia said, the hardness of her voice making his nerves skyrocket, “this involves you too.” She twisted to the front of the armoured plane, her jaw clenched, trembling.

Ethan ignored her, blocking out the men and women who weren’t Rosemary Winters.

They took her away. Of course, they did.

It was temporary, they reassured, even as they looked over his swimming vision, the tranquillizing syringe deep in his arm. Rose’s cries echoed in his skull, disappearing down the hall. They’d tell him later it’d been a necessary evil, that he did try to bite one of the agents.

Good.

“Are you calm now?”

Are you fucking kidding me?

“I don’t know Mia, am I?” Ethan deadpanned, facing the cold concrete wall, the cot an uncomfortable lump beneath him. “You’re the one who knows so much about me, I’m surprised you asked this time.”

“If you have something to say, say it,” she spat, stuck with nothing better to do than antagonize him.

Precautions, they’d said. (They said a lot of things.)

The silence spoiled into a thick curd, oozing through the spaces of their confinement, every sound amplified. If he focused, Ethan could count the beat of his own heart, hear the blood rush through each ventricle, to his body, where it flowed back again, over, and over—defying nature itself.

He lifted his left hand, the fresh bandage wrapped tight around his missing digits, tainted red where his knuckles should be. It’d been the only thing they’d deemed necessary to change, leaving him to stew in his filthy clothes like an animal, unworthy of a proper wash.

“Is that how you’re going to be?” Mia asked, never one to be comfortable with the consequences of her own actions.

Ethan huffed, pointing his eyes to the sound of her voice, wishing he could see her indignation, her righteousness. If he hadn’t killed Miranda with his own hands, he’d find it hard to believe it wasn’t her on the other side of the wall.

“Talk to me, Ethan!” she implored.

A dangerous calm settled over his chest, recognizing her desperate defensiveness. She was waiting for him to slip, to forgive her without admitting fault. He’d done it before—before he knew—before—

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, his light tone betraying nothing, “you lied to me, Mia, you lied, and you kept it to yourself.” The smile on his face was anything but mirthful, the wool that’d clouded his judgement finally lifted. He could see—but at what cost?

“I was trying to protect you—”

“No, no, no,” Ethan stopped her, shaking his head, “you were trying to protect you.”

“Ethan, if I’d have told you, what difference would it’ve made?” she asked, something vicious in her words, reprimanding him for being foolish enough to want the truth. “‘Here’s my lovely husband, he’s made of mold’,” she mocked, her forced politeness stinging worse than when she’d chopped his fucking hand off. “How would I even begin to explain that to you, Ethan?”

His chuckle was unexpected, bridging the gap between his need to scream and cry. “Glad to know I’m a dead idiot,” he replied, “I’d hate to disappoint.”

“Don’t do that,” Mia hissed, “don’t be a smartass.”

“Which one is it, Mia? Am I smart or too delicate to understand that I’ve been dead for the last three years?” Ethan asked, his irritation growing to the point it bled into his tone. Had he ever spoken to his wife this frankly? Ever since Louisiana, he tried to be gentle with her, recognizing their trauma as a shared experience. She was the mother of his child, after all, the love of his life, he could excuse an omission of truth (or three).

What did lies matter if it kept the peace?

“It’s not as easy as that,” she mumbled, sounding like she’d slid down the wall.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Ethan asked, thinking he had enough perspective to know the answer.

“Ethan, I couldn’t—”

“And when they’d take Rose away, were you going to think of another lie then?” he continued, speaking past her, “or our medical records, were you going to keep altering those?”

“Please, stop—”

“No, Mia, what else is there?” Ethan said, clapping his hands together, “how did Miranda know you so well?” he asked, standing so he could move closer to the wall, pressing his forehead on the concrete to cool down. “I mean, I couldn’t tell you two apart.” He let out a nervous huff of air, paranoid that this was all an illusion. “How little do I know you, Mia?”

At last, she was speechless.

“Did you know?”

Chris looked up halfway through handing Ethan a towel. He’d trusted that man’s face once, it’d been the first sign of hope in Louisiana, a signal of stability and strength in his training. Now, he flinched when their hands touched, his voice grated his nerves.

Ethan had to swallow his anger at the mere hint of an apology in his eyes.

He stood in the middle of a decontamination unit, the spray stinging his nostrils, chemical and clean—not a proper replacement for a shower, might he add. Chris stood outside of the chamber, visibly unarmed in his hazmat suit. Compared to his fellow agents, his scowl was the friendliest expression here.

“Did you?” Ethan asked, not accepting the towel until he answered his question. The guards at the door twitched a fraction, tightening the grip on their rifles. It was a poor excuse for a threat, but Ethan understood the implication.

“I knew about Rose,” Chris said, his voice muffled behind the hood, “I didn’t know about you.”

“Did Mia tell you?” Ethan asked, dripping translucent fluid on the metal grate, ignoring his nakedness.

“I tried to help you, Ethan,” Chris gritted out, looking behind himself before whispering, “I’m sorry.”

“Why does everyone insist on telling me what they were trying to do, and not just telling me the fucking truth?” he asked, his smile tight over his teeth. He took the burden out of Chris’ hands, wrapping it around his waist. “Now what?”

“Hold out your arms,” the agent said, retrieving a pair of specialized handcuffs and a collar from a hole in the wall. It closed with a pneumatic hiss, sealing Ethan’s fate.

“Really, Chris?” Ethan asked, amused offence twisting his lips into a grimace, “am I a dog?”

“It’s a precaution.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do?” Ethan asked, trying to catch the agent’s eye. He couldn’t.

“Just cooperate,” Chris murmured, locking the cuffs in place, “things will end better if you do,” he continued, clicking the collar around Ethan’s neck. It lay heavy on his flesh, a cold threat without a key. Chris led them towards the showers, turning the tap for Ethan. Two guards entered the shower room, two more stood at the entrance.

“Right,” Ethan chuckled, the lump in his throat growing, “like how they ended well for me in Louisiana,” he reminded, forcing himself not to cry, “like they did when you kidnapped my daughter—agh!”

“Ethan!” He’d lashed out, his emotions burning through his common sense. “Stand down!” Chris ordered, each agent pointing their guns at Ethan, a pathetic husk sobbing on his knees.

So, that’s what the collar did.

Shocking.

He was met by the crinkling of the hazmat suit, the man inside it aiming for gentle when he said, “Take a shower, calm down, and get something to eat—there’s nothing else you can do now.” Ethan looked up, seeing his wavy reflection, the heat on his face, the shine in his eyes.

Perhaps spitting on the plastic face-guard was undignified—he’d apologize later.

Maybe.

“How did you survive Miranda?” Ethan startled, his consciousness between wakefulness and sleep, wondering if he’d imagined the soft echo of his wife’s voice. “Ethan?”

He could pretend to be asleep—it’d be better for his mental health if he kept his response to himself. “Are you asking or investigating?” Ethan mumbled into the nearest wall. The cold stone kept him company the last few nights—he’d take it over the frigid discomfort his wife’s presence had become.

“You’re an asshole,” Mia said, the tremble in her voice calling to empathy that wasn’t there. Ethan felt nothing but sorry for their circumstance. Anything else, he reserved for his daughter, which—by the way—he’d yet to see since he’d been confined to this room.

“No, honey, I’m just tired,” Ethan sighed, draping the covers over his head, blocking out any further attempts at conversation—or insults.

Truth be told, he’d yet to reconcile his own survival. Redundant as it seemed, he rather liked being present. He had one man to thank, his name tucked deep in the untouched parts of his memory, the minefield to reach it vast yet rigged to fail.

“How did you survive Miranda?” Ethan asked, knowing himself and the things he’d been willing to do for his daughter. Apart from a much-needed change of clothes, Mia had been spotless, well-fed. If nothing else, Miranda had seen to it that not a hair be touched on his wife’s head—for three months. She’d never extended that courtesy to him.

“Are you asking or investigating?” she mocked, her sniff wet, the wobble in her voice barely restrained.

Fair.

“Both,” Ethan replied, overheating under the covers. She didn’t have to answer if she didn’t want to, he knew he wouldn’t—couldn’t.

Shouldn’t.

“All she wanted was Rose,” Mia replied, her pitch low, “so I gave her what she wanted.” There wasn’t a trace of shame in the dark admittance, whispered into the quiet air penetrating their cells. If Ethan were the fool she took him to be, the double-meaning would’ve been lost on him.

Perhaps he had more insight, given the similar response sitting like a rock in the bottom of his gut.

"Did you sleep with her?”

“Did you?!”

Ethan’s lips ticked upwards, thinking back to the time with a clarity reserved for glass. “We were busy with Rose,” he admitted, “playing wife must’ve been tiring, she was always in bed before the thought even manifested itself.” A sob broke through his wife, rattling the walls of his apathy. “Is that a ‘yes’, Mia?” he asked, calm and cruel.

“Shut up,” she hissed, the tears falling down her face certainly fat and plentiful.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I hope she was good to you,” Ethan said, almost a tease. He closed his eyes against the blur of his own tears, feeling them wet his cheeks, pool at the base of his neck, keep him company like the wall.

“I hate you,” Mia rumbled, spite burning holes through the floor, “I hate you.”

See? Should’ve kept his mouth shut. “That’s okay too, honey.”  

“If I’m good?” Ethan scoffed, his eyes sweeping the room, landing on the only man he knew by name, “am I a child?”

“If you want to see your daughter, you’ll need to cooperate—”

“I’ve been cooperating!” Ethan yelled, tearing at the collar on his neck, letting it shock him. “I’ve told you everything I know, I’ve done everything you ordered, I don’t complain, I even go to bed when the lights go out,” he continued, “what else do you want from me?”

“We need to know you’re stable enough to be in the same room, Ethan,” Chris tried to placate, “both of you.” The agent’s eyes swept to Mia, who sat two chairs down from Ethan—sans the collar.

“I don’t need to see her if that makes your job easier,” Mia said, eyes forward, “I just want to know she’s okay.” When she didn’t move, she disappeared in the white room, her hair the only splash of colour separating her from the panels. The sun might burn her if she stepped outside.

“Mother of the year you’ve turned out to be,” Ethan murmured, watching her flinch but nothing more.

“Ethan—”

“I risked my life to save her, Chris,” Ethan said, forcing his voice to be calm, “all I want to do is see her.” His hands were cuffed to the table, healed of the worst wounds he’d incurred during his time in the village—evidence to his claim. The scars ran deep, red, jagged, and still tender to the touch. They formed a shape to roughly accommodate his daughter, missing her warmth, her weight.

“You’ll see her,” Chris assured, his jaw tight, “but you have to control yourself,” he reminded, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you’re only prolonging your stay with your outbursts.” As if to prove his provocation, he waited for Ethan to lash out again, to counter, to defend himself.

He didn’t.

“Could you at least tell me she’s eating fine?” Ethan asked instead, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down to kill its trembles, “she was always a picky eater.”

“She’s fine, Ethan, I promise,” Chris said, giving him the ghost of a smile.

“I’ll judge that for myself.”

“You must think I’m the worst person in the world,” Mia began late that night. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to catch him just before he fell asleep, where he’d be his most vulnerable, most truthful. “I love her too, you know.”

“I never said you didn’t,” Ethan mumbled, staring at his door—the only thing with a view. It looked out to the corridor of other rooms, blocked by four thick iron rods. He half-expected a face to appear or for them to move and bend, to fly backwards, to—

“They offered me a better room and I refused because I care about you, Ethan,” she revealed, “it’s like you don’t want us to fix this—”

“Let me go find that medal I’ve got stashed under my bed,” Ethan snorted, turning to the concrete.

“I’m not gonna let you talk to me like that,” Mia snapped, pounding a fist against their connecting wall, “I am still your wife, whether you like it or not!”

“I never said you weren’t,” Ethan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, his neck. There was a headache brewing in the base of his skull, pounding a rhythm he tried to massage out of existence. It unsettled the memory-dust he’d swept back, phantom fingers undoing knots so tight they’d calcified. He needed that pressure now, the creak of leather gloves, the tickle of each seam, the scent of snuffed-out cigars—

“Please, just talk to me like you did before,” she begged, quick to cry.

“Before what, Mia?” Ethan grumbled, scrubbing the redness from his cheeks.

“Before everything,” she tried, her tone placating, sweet—a trap. “Remember when you used to wait by my dorm after exams? You’d kill us with junk food,” she laughed, her nervous lilt growing. He wasn’t playing along—it made her panic. “Talk to me, Ethan, please, I wanna know that we’re okay.”

“Are we okay?”

“Ethan, please stop doing that and just talk to me!”

There was a pause, then another, her sniffles filling the gaps his thudding heart didn’t. He wished he could meet her energy, volley the fury in his chest over their argument-net, but at the moment, all he wanted to do was sleep.

And maybe revisit the fading caress on his lower back.

“Goodnight, Mia,” he said, closing his eyes.

“You each get five minutes,” Chris instructed, snapping iron handcuffs over Mia’s wrists, an accessory compared to Ethan’s shackles. If there was ever doubt in his mind that they treated them differently, he only had to look at the guards forming a semi-circle around him. “There will be an agent, armed,” his stare was pointed at Ethan, their designated troublemaker, “and you may not ask for private time, or extensions—got it?”

“Are we the prisoners, or is she?” Ethan mumbled, the anxiety crawling up his back worsening with anticipation.

“Neither of you are prisoners,” Chris tried to explain for the umpteenth time. He at least spared the ‘it’s for your protection’. “Backtalk again and you’ll get your privileges revoked, got it?”

Ethan pasted a smile on his face, nearly tearing the edges of his skin with the stretch. “Got it.”

“Mia, you go first,” Chris said, pressing his palm into a pad, opening the isolation chamber. It separated the two rooms—no peeking, apparently.

“I-I can just forfeit my time and he can have ten minutes with her,” Mia said, hesitating by the threshold. She shot him a quick glance to see if he’d noticed her kindness, shrinking away from what she found.

“That’s not how it works,” Chris sighed, “you each get five minutes. Period.”

“Then let him see her first,” Mia said, taking a step back, “please.”

Chris looked like he’d refuse, but pinched the bridge of his nose, accommodating the request like it’d cost him extra brain cells to be generous. “Ethan,” he snapped, motioning to the isolation chamber. He entered without protest, his heart on his tongue, waiting for the next step. Chris followed, closing the door behind them, activating the decontamination spray. Unlike his original chemical bath, the mist evaporated in seconds, leaving a nondescript ‘clean’ scent.

“Five minutes,” the agent reminded, opening the other door, “I’ll let you know when.”

Ethan nodded once, stepping out of the chamber, paralyzed by the sight of his little one. She sat in the arms of the (armed) agent, twisting to meet his gaze with an excited squeal. Rose looked so big already, her cheeks full and pink, her eyes bright, her hair to her mid-back.

He broke down when the agent set her on her feet, her waddles slow but steady. It put into perspective their timeline—he knew it’d been long, but...

Ethan said nothing when she finally reached him, he held her close, breathed her in, tried to open his mouth to say how much he loved her, couldn’t, then closed it, just to try again a second later.

“Time.”

Ethan jumped, there’s no way—he just got in here!

“Ethan, it’s time.”

Behave, he repeated ad nauseum, or you’ll have to wait another four months to see her again.

With stiff legs, he stood, Rose in his arms, walking them towards the (armed) agent. The wild part of his mind said to bolt—he’d survived Miranda, he could survive a few bullet wounds. But he didn’t.

Though the thought had been nice.

“You did well,” Chris said once they were on the other end of the isolation chamber, “keep proving you’re stable and you might get to eat in the cafeteria with the rest of us,” he teased.

“I’m fine in my room,” Ethan murmured, returning to the semi-circle of guards, leaving Chris speechless.

Maybe that’s all he had to say.

Ethan thought it’d been a joke, honestly, a poor attempt at humour by the agent. Those military men—they were too serious for their own good. That’s why when Chris showed up at breakfast, a clear invitation in his small gesture, Ethan figured it’d been another failed joke.

When Chris gestured again, Ethan stood, his turn to be speechless.

“I told you, you aren’t prisoners,” Chris said, patting his shoulder when they were close enough. Ethan flinched out of the touch, knowing nothing came without a price in this place. “We just needed to make sure you were okay.”

“Am I okay?” He hadn’t turned into a giant mold monster at the sight of his daughter, so, there was that. They passed Mia’s room, empty of her. It saved him the trouble of eye contact, of her swollen lids, her stuffy nose. He wasn’t heartless, she’d wear him down if he let her.

“That’s for you to let us know,” Chris replied, leading them out of their cells. Ethan knew the corridor to the showers by now, and the edge of the hall where they took him for weekly tests. They walked beyond them, out of the quiet concrete, and further into the building.

Ethan skidded to a stop, captivated by the glimpse of the outside world. The guard, not too enthused with Ethan’s paralysis, shoved him forward, digging the butt of his gun into his spine. “Where are we?” he asked, choosing to ignore the dehumanizing gesture, lest they put him in handcuffs.

“That’s classified,” Chris replied, sparing him a sideways glance.

“It looks cold,” Ethan murmured.

Chris said nothing.

“Did we ever leave Romania?” Ethan guessed, recalling the mad dash towards the military aircraft, his priority being the bundle in his arms and not where they were taking him. Until they’d carried her away, of course.

He let the irritation burn away, fearing the collar around his neck would discharge from his thoughts alone.

“That’s also classified, Ethan,” Chris retorted, his jaw tightening.

“Is that a ‘no’?” Ethan taunted, his good humour evaporating when he caught sight of his wife sitting (unsupervised) in the cafeteria. She looked up, her smile hesitant, her wave more so, the spoon of oatmeal she’d been cooling dropped back into her bowl, waiting for them to approach.

“You’ll have an assigned guard for the foreseeable future,” Chris began, guiding Ethan to the breakfast line, “they’ll have access to your collar, so I suggest you try not to piss ‘em off.” They queued, the agents sandwiching them.

“What could I possibly do to piss them off?” Ethan grumbled, following Chris’ lead, and taking a tray.

“Just don’t,” the agent insisted, “there are a few break rooms around the building,” Chris continued, “for now, you’ll have access to the library and the entertainment centre.”

“Supervised, of course,” Ethan mocked, looking with distaste at the slop splattered on his tray. 

“It’s the way things have to be for now,” Chris reminded, his telegraphed response not doing Ethan’s anxiety any favours.

“What are you so afraid of, anyway?” Ethan huffed, rolling his eyes, “don’t you think if I wanted to do something, I would’ve already?” They exited the line, free to choose one of the many empty tables scattered around the room. He could sense Mia’s eyes trying to catch his—he looked at the stitching on Chris’ bulletproof vest instead.

“Ethan,” Chris said, his longsuffering tone parental enough it made him wonder if the agent had children, “you took out a whole village of mutants with nothing more than a few guns and some good fucking luck,” he whispered, meeting Ethan’s shifting gaze, “we don’t know what you can and can’t do yet.”

“Why don’t you ask my wife?” he chuckled, forced to look at her when she approached, “hi, honey, wonderful weather we’re having.”

“Chris, this is excessive,” Mia said, motioning to the guards, “please, just leave him alone for now?” she asked, standing next to him, hedging her bets on placing a hand on his shoulder. He stepped out of the way before she made up her mind.

“I can’t do that, Mia,” Chris said, plain as the oatmeal in Ethan’s tray.

“Then just back off a bit, he’s not an animal,” she said, aiming her request to the guards, who stayed where they were. It took a small nod from Chris for them to comply. “Thank you.” Mia hooked an arm in the gap between Ethan’s side and his elbow, pulling him where she’d been sitting.

“It wasn’t just luck, Chris,” Ethan said, resisting her for a moment, “it’s surprising the help you’ll accept in Hell.” He let himself be tugged, satisfied with the cloud settling over the agent’s eyes.

“Stop antagonizing them,” Mia hissed, pushing him into a seat across hers, “don’t you want to get out of here?” she implored, returning to her half-finished breakfast. Ethan gave her a hard look, blocking the small details of her failed attempts at sleep. Though it was difficult—he was observant, and the bags under her eyes were nearly black.

“Is that what they’re offering you? Freedom?” Ethan asked, sipping his orange juice, the acid burning on its way down.

“Ethan—”

“I’m not leaving without Rose,” he said, final, “but I’m guessing that’s not part of the deal.”

“She’ll have a good life,” Mia promised, “she’ll be protected from people who want to hurt her and use her,” she continued, listing all the reasons imprisoning their daughter was the right thing to do.

To point out the obvious was a waste of breath, so, he said, “You can leave if you want, Mia, I’ve made my choice.” She was quiet for a long time, enough that he managed to swallow the sludge sticking to the walls of his esophagus.

“At least move out of the cells with me,” she said, sneaking a hand across the table, dropping it on his just as he flinched out of the way, “the rooms here are much nicer than you know.”

She did a worse job at playing wife than Miranda.

“I’m quite comfortable, thanks,” Ethan said, losing all appetite but forcing the food down anyway, not needing to give her the satisfaction of unsettling him.

“What happened to you, Ethan?” Mia whispered, “where’s my loving husband?” she asked, pinning him with a narrowed stare, searching his face for the answer. She wouldn’t find it—the bitten bruises on his neck healed many moons ago.

“Didn’t you hear?” he said, smile apologetic, “he died in Louisiana.”

Ethan was used to his sleep getting interrupted. If it wasn’t Mia’s insomnia or her sniffling, then it was the crushing quiet of his concrete cell, amplifying the rushing blood in his ears. He wanted to think he’d gotten used to it, but in that same blood he heard his daughter, her cries, and whether imagined or not, they kept him company—morbid and sobering.

Tonight was different.

Before he could conceptualize how, the lights were turned on to their max setting, blinding him. Guards rushed into his room, spitting orders through their helmets. On instinct, Ethan obeyed, not wanting to befriend the working end of their weapons.

That’s when he heard it.

On his knees and with his head on the mattress, sirens wailed above him, rhythmic and panicked, speaking of many possibilities, none of which Ethan wanted to face in such a vulnerable position.

“Is he in here?!” he heard Chris shout, his bulking mass bursting into Ethan’s room. The agent was bright red and heaving, pointing his own gun at him. “How does he know where we are!” he demanded, the most incensed he’d seen him since—well, ever.

“Who-what?” Ethan blabbered, swallowing his tongue when the cold metal met the nape of his neck, freezing him in place.

“Do you think this is a fucking joke?” Chris whispered, the threat plunging Ethan’s heart into his stomach, digested by his fear. “Answer me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ethan let out in a difficult exhale, working against his panic to remain coherent.

“Has he left this room?” Chris asked the guards, keeping his threat planted near Ethan’s head.

“He was here when we came in, sir,” one replied.

“Make sure the child is secure,” Chris began, holstering his weapon, “we don’t know why he’s here.”

“Who?” Ethan gasped.

“You shut the fuck up, Ethan,” Chris hissed, “I’ll deal with you later,” he swore, “watch him,” was the last thing he said before bolting out of the room, back to the sirens.

Ethan’s heart beat hard in his abdomen, nauseating him. He held on to control by sheer willpower alone, knowing that without it, his bile would be searching for a new home. His unanswered question thumped with the same intensity, crashing against the confines of his skull. 

Who?

Oh.

“Why are you here?” Chris didn’t know whether to temper his voice or let it echo through the interrogation room, it struggled to settle, leaving his throat in a snarl, a garble that clipped the mic on the other end.

Ethan didn’t know why he was witnessing this—perhaps they were studying his reaction as much as their interloper’s. He had nothing to contribute, and no number of attempts to correct their misgivings was getting him out of this room—or his restraints.

“Would you believe it even if I told you the reason?” the captive answered with his own question, smiling through a split lip. It bled red. “I’ve spent so long planning Miranda’s downfall, I’d yet to consider the after,” he sounded just as he had then, pretentious, arrogant, and uninterested. “I got bored.”

“Bored?” Chris parroted.

The BSAA was at a loss with how to detain the man, any metallic weapon would be useless, any bullet they fired would just curve around him—it was by his own free will that he’d walked into the concrete cell, a thick glass panel separating them and the rest of the guards.

Ethan thought the violence had been unnecessary—he hadn’t fought back.

“Yes,” the prisoner sighed, tired, giving credibility to his statement.

“How did you find us?” Chris murmured, his gaze flickering to Ethan’s approximate location, the captive mimicking his actions, the one-way mirror doing its job.

Not well enough.

Ethan’s breath stopped in his lungs, his eyes locking to the more successful of the two men, swallowing back his name, afraid that alone would incriminate him. He hadn’t known, he’d hoped, but he hadn’t—

The man’s lips quirked a fraction, undoing Ethan’s tentative grasp on his psyche.

What are you doing here, Karl?

“You’re in my backyard, agent,” Heisenberg replied, solving that piece of the puzzle, “but no worries, I come in peace and all that.” He sat back in his chair, kicking his legs on the table, at ease with Chris’ ire.

“Do you really expect me to believe that?” Chris asked, incredulous, “you have five minutes to get off this compound before we blast a hole through you so big no amount of mutated blood could put you back together.”

“You wound me, Captain,” Karl returned, holding his chest, “I’m more than a mutant.” Their eyes met again, the wink that passed between them quick and private. Or at least it would’ve been, if a room full of trained professionals weren’t watching.

“That’s four.”

“You can threaten me all you want, Redfield, but I’m not leaving,” Heisenberg sighed, looking at his gloved hands, “feel free to destroy your compound, though, I’m sure you have the money to spare.”

“Three.”

“Look, there’s no reason this has to end with unpleasantries,” Karl said, standing with his palms up, shucking off his trench coat, nothing but a linen shirt keeping him warm. Not that he needed much, Ethan recalled.

“Two.”

“The Megamycete is gone, correct?” Karl said, catching the agent’s attention, who up until that point had been aiming his rifle with foolish certainty. “I’m the only one you have left to study—I know your kind likes to do that.”

“I’d rather just kill you,” Chris huffed.

“Ask your superiors first,” Karl said, his smile small but growing at the other’s hesitation. It burst into a bright grin when Chris was forced to comply, the buzz in his earpiece audible for miles. “See?”

And Ethan thought he was the only one who could get under Chris’ skin.

They took Ethan back to his cell before he saw the conclusion to Karl’s fate, but given the trouble they went through to make sure two guards still stood by his cell door, he figured it’d been favourable. For Karl’s life, anyway.

“—You try anything,” Ethan caught the tail end of Chris’ tirade, knowing from experience there should be a vein ready to pop on his forehead, “we’ll shock and sedate you until you can’t remember your name.”

“Take me to dinner first,” Karl teased, chuckling at the shift in Chris’ expression. (Ethan assumed.)

“In,” Chris barked, making him jump. Ethan stood, too anxious to sit still, and walked to the barred window, looking between the guards’ shoulders. They placed Karl in the cell right in front of his, locking it with unnecessary attitude.

“Hi, Ethan,” Karl greeted. Devoid of his glasses, Ethan had no protection against the mischief lazing in the background of his stare. It swallowed him whole, it—

There was more to his “hello” than civility, it drew attention to him. The agent in charge of them whipped his head around, the heat of his glare contrasting the cool indifference of the man behind him. Ethan recoiled, finding comfort in the lumpy mattress.

“You’re not off the hook yet, Winters,” Chris reminded, “you said everyone died, swore under oath—”

“I’m sure that’s what he wanted to believe—”

“I wasn’t talking to you!” Chris snapped, his voice making Ethan wince inwardly, cover the soft skin of his belly.

“Chris, please, it’s late,” a third voice spoke up, soft and fatigued, “whatever macho thing you’re doing can wait until the morning,” Mia mumbled, muted by a weary tongue. Ethan didn’t care for Mia’s help anymore, but in this instance, he had to give her a quiet thanks.

Nothing else was said, yet Ethan felt Chris’ eyes on him when he passed his cell, sensed his misdirected anger. He could be as mad as he’d like, just as long as Heisenberg’s little stunt didn’t cost him time with his daughter.

That’s all he had.

“You must be Mia,” Heisenberg began once they were alone, the quiet of the concrete getting to him too, “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Mia interrupted, unenthused, “you were Miranda’s favourite.”

“Well then, no introductions necessary,” Karl replied, the tightness in his words matching the feeling in Ethan’s chest.

Ethan didn’t remember closing his eyes, but the opening of the neighbouring cell jostled him awake. He looked up in time to see his wife pass by, two guards escorting her out of their prison. Ethan waited for his own set of guards, raising a brow when his meal tray was shoved through a slot instead, souring his mood.

Back to square one, then.

He picked it up without protest, setting it on the small sink, and going back to bed, the covers over his head blocking out the mandatory light.

“I find it really hard to believe you right now, Ethan,” Chris said, arms crossed over his massive chest, standing by the entrance of his room, feigning privacy by keeping his guards outside.

“What do you want me to say?” Ethan snapped, rubbing his temples, “he’s right there, why don’t you ask him?”

“You said they were dead—”

“Jesus Christ, Chris!” Ethan exclaimed, gritting his teeth, “how the fuck was I supposed to know? What is it that you think I’d gain hiding this? Don’t you realize the only thing I cared about was getting Rose out of there?” he stressed, “whether they lived or died wasn’t high on my fucking list.”

“We can’t go back there to find out—”

“I don’t care!”

“Well start fucking caring,” Chris spat, “because if another one of them shows up—”

“You’ll what, kill me?” Ethan guessed, his smile wide and unhinged, “who do you think I am, Miranda?”

“Ethan—”

“Because that worked so well last time—”

“I suggest you stop talking—”

“Tell me, Chris, why is it Mia gets special privileges?” Ethan asked whilst the agent stomped out of the room, his anger leaving an imprint in the air, claiming they’d speak when he calmed down, but Ethan wasn’t done. “Isn’t she the one that worked with Miranda for years?” he called, straining against the metal bars of his small window, “tell me, are you fucking her too?!”

“Ethan!” That’d been Mia. “What is wrong with you?”

“You shut up, Mia!” Ethan seethed, feeling faint. His heart rate was reaching dangerous levels, he could taste blood on his tongue, felt sweat work its way down his forehead, his back, between his palms.

“Oof, trouble in paradise?” Heisenberg piped up, assuming a voyeuristic role in Ethan’s breakdown.

“You shut the fuck up,” Ethan demanded, more blood rushing to his face, “what are you doing here anyw-ahg, fuck, fuck you, Chris!” Ethan struggled against the shocks discharging around his neck, falling to his knees as he tried to pry the metal band off. “Stop, please,” he begged, burned by the uncaring punishment.

He couldn’t escape the pain any more than he could his own soul. Curling into a pitiful ball, he twitched with the lessening intensity of the electricity.

Ethan didn’t move for the remainder of the night.

“This is cruel and unusual,” Ethan mumbled, accepting his tray through the door, “I just wanna take a shower.”

Five days. He’d been forced to sit and rot for five days. They fed him the same time each day, the same shit each day, and said nothing when he asked to be let out. He’d taken to using the sink and its depressing stream as a makeshift bath, but he was starting to hate his own stench, and the singular bar of soap they gave him sat on the brink of nonexistence.

The guard said nothing, as was their norm.

“Is Chris afraid of me or something? Why isn’t he here?” Ethan taunted, chewing his bread. Stale and tough, he dipped it in the soup, wondering—idly—if they’d used greywater as their base.

Still nothing.

“Why don’t you let Chris know his paranoia is cute?” Ethan said, staring into the expressionless mask of his captor. There was a small twitch in his eye as the earpiece buzzed with an inaudible rumble. Ethan took another bite, waiting.

“He will be here shortly,” the guard relayed, walking away before Ethan antagonized him further. Behind him stood Heisenberg, tracking the guard to make sure he exited the room before looking at Ethan, his amusement jumping the space separating them.

“What?” Ethan asked, trying not to let his composure falter.

Karl cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “You didn’t tell your wife, did you?”

Ethan flinched, his gaze dropping to his plate, his appetite—fleeting at best—evaporating with the question. His only consolation was Mia’s absence, predictable and reliable in a way that didn’t define her. “Tell her what?” he still tried to deflect, to kill the subject before it grew legs and ran away from them.

Heisenberg’s smile wasn’t kind, it twisted Ethan’s insides with dread, acute-on-chronic if he kept staring at him like that.

The opening of the cell-room door spared Ethan any more introspection, Chris’ hulking form blocking Karl from view, his scowl a suitable—if rather unpleasant—replacement. “What is it?” he managed to say without spitting it in his face.

“I thought we weren’t prisoners, Chris,” Ethan reprimanded, “look at my neck.” He’d used the reflective tray as a mirror when the itch began, the scabs giving way to tiny offshoots, fading into a light pink.

“I warned you if you had any outbursts there would be consequences,” Chris said, swallowing his empathy.

“Is that what you do to my daughter when she doesn’t comply?” Ethan asked, making the agent recoil, “what are her consequences?” he whispered, begging the man to be honest, to ignore the constraints of his own profession and be his friend for once.

“Ethan,” Chris sighed, unsure how to handle the question, “we would never—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Ethan said with as little emotion as he could muster, yet his heart pounded a terrible rhythm, “please.”

“She’s fine—”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Ethan interrupted, taking a deep breath, dampening his irritation to a barely-there flame.

“It’s not a question I can answer without knowing how you’ll react,” Chris said, something shiny in his eyes. There was fear beneath his apprehension, remorse. Ethan didn’t know how to read him.

A whistle broke through the tense air, compelling their attention to the one responsible. Heisenberg held a fruit-cup whilst he watched, shaking his head with dramatic disappointment. “That does not sound good,” he hummed, slow-chewing his grape.

“No, it does not,” Ethan agreed, returning his stare to the agent. “She’s just a baby, Chris, she’s not Eveline,” he continued, funnelling his anger to his fingertips, where they vibrated, “did Mia sign off on that?”

“Yes,” Chris said, curt.

“Right,” Ethan said with a dry chuckle, his smile sad and ironic, “I’m just the sperm donor.”

“We sedate her when she gets out of hand,” Chris revealed, broken down enough to admit it, “any tantrums she throws pose a threat,” he continued, “she almost split a room in two—we can’t afford any casualties.”

“Sounds like you shouldn’t be experimenting on a child,” Karl piped up before Ethan could. Chris’ head snapped to him, the lines on his face deepening into a frown. “I’d beg for you to differ,” he mocked, incurring the latter half of the agent’s wrath.

“Why are you here?” Chris asked, moving from Ethan’s cell to Heisenberg’s, his shoulders stiff, the muscles twitching with unspent energy.

Karl gave his fruit-cup a final gander before returning it to his tray, sparing Chris a glance when he said, “I can leave any time I want, don’t think a measly collar can stop me.” He pinched the metal for emphasis, denting it. “But don’t worry, I’m not gonna do anything,” he reassured, holding his hands palm up, “it’s him you should be worried about, you did take his daughter away.”

Everything pointed to Ethan, from Karl’s finger to Chris’ stare. An overhead light shone down on him as if God were making it doubly obvious.

“I just want to see Rose, Chris,” Ethan said, not denying Karl’s observation, “and a shower.”

“Make that two,” Heisenberg added, just to fuck with the agent.

Chris looked between them, seeming to calculate every possibility where denying them could end poorly for him and finding—quite soberingly—there were a lot. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, military stoicism in each retreating step.

Ethan followed the sound until he couldn’t hear it anymore, compelled to meet Karl’s stare, sharing a one-way secret with the ex-lord.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Ethan hiccupped, accepting Rose’s embrace, hiding his tears in her pink sweater. “Hi,” he repeated, holding her tight.

They gave him a ten-minute time limit—how gracious.

“You know daddy loves you, right?” he couldn’t see her through the blur, but she babbled on, and he’ll take that as acknowledgment. “Are you okay?” he asked, rubbing his eyes so he could get a good look at her. Apart from her too-fair skin (would it kill them to let her see the sun?), she seemed fine. Her smile was bright, showing off the two teeth in her bottom gums.

He hoped they brushed them well.

“You be a good girl,” he implored, hugging her to his chest again, “I’ll get you out of here, I promise,” he mouthed, pressing a kiss to her temple, her forehead, threading a lock behind her ear.

“Ethan.”

“Yeah, yeah, time’s up, I know.”

Nothing quite like a pressurized shower head to make you forget your imprisonment. Add hot water to the mix and he might have to reconsider his stance on his captivity. Ethan washed away the days of stale air from his skin, sinking deeper into the blissful nothingness of the rushing stream. The soap was mild but didn’t leave a film like the bar, and though two assigned guards watched his every move, they had the decency to put their guns away.  

His only complaint was the communal nature of his shower.

It was easy to ignore Heisenberg when two bolted doors separated them—but here, the air grew stuffy with suppressed silence. Ethan was more than happy to oblige the mandatory distance imposed upon them. One shower space’s worth, to be exact.

They were also not allowed to speak...which was fine too.

Ethan went to pump more soap out of the dispenser, jerking when his hands brushed against flesh and warmth instead of metal. Too stunned to do more than gape, he forced his fingers back into his chest, and his eyes to his toes.

But not before reconciling the burn in his cheeks, brought to the surface by a look so acute, it squeezed itself between the spaces of Ethan’s crumbling resolve, spreading. Stretching.

Breaking.

“Too good to eat with your wife?” Mia said, playing up the annoyance with a click of her tongue. Ethan had chosen the least desirable corner of the room in hopes that Mia wouldn’t do exactly what she just did. He thought of leaving, but Karl approached with his own tray, taking the empty seat next to him, trapping him against the wall.

Their assigned guards hovered just outside of Ethan’s peripherals, a deterrent. Not that he knew what he’d say if they weren’t here.

“You look shorter in your picture,” Karl declared, slurping his boxed juice.

Mia’s eyes swept to the interloper, narrowing. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Prettier too,” Karl hummed, his smile imperceptible but present, enjoying Mia’s flustered gasp whilst consuming his porridge.

Ethan crawled into himself, ignoring them both.

“Ethan,” she snapped, worsening his anxiety, “can you tell him to leave?” she asked, grinding her teeth, the colour on her cheeks matching her sweater.

“It’s a free country,” he mumbled, knowing that didn’t apply here, but figuring if they were in a US military base, some of those rights might transfer over.

“So, you’re just gonna let him talk to your wife like that?” she asked, offended.

Ethan plopped his spoon into his porridge, pinning Mia with a look. “You could also move, if it’s that big a deal.”

“You’re a coward, Ethan Winters,” she croaked, “spineless fucking man.” Mia stood, tossing her untouched breakfast.

Ethan held his breath until she was out of earshot, letting it go in one shaky exhale. He shoved his cooling porridge down his throat, fighting the urge to vomit. There was no reason to believe her, none at all, her words shouldn’t affect him if they had no merit, yet they did, shaking the frightened creature which craved freedom but had no means of obtaining it.

He jumped, gaze snapping to the man responsible for the obnoxious throat-clearing inches from his ear. “Fuck off,” he grumbled, twisting so his back was to Heisenberg.

“If it makes a difference, I don’t consider you a coward,” the other said instead, shuffling closer, “we should talk.”

“About what?” Ethan huffed, chiding himself for taking the bait, regardless of intent. Karl’s silence tugged at Ethan’s curiosity, at his eyes with invisible strings, until they locked on his. Without his sunglasses, the cafeteria lights reflected off his pupils, highlighting the specks of gold embedded in the green. “About what?” Ethan asked again, quieter.

“We’ve yet to have a proper reunion,” Karl hummed, “you left in such a hurry, I don’t remember hearing a goodbye.” Their thighs brushed for a blink, confining Ethan’s tongue to the back of his throat. “I think we should exercise our ‘assigned enrichment break’,” he quoted, standing to dispose of his tray, “unless you want to spend the rest of your days in your room.”

“A break could be good,” Ethan heard himself say, wincing at the cyclical nature of his words. Karl noticed too, but didn’t mention it—why would he? He’d been there.

“Where would you like to go?” Karl asked, leading them to the trash, the guards following suit.

“Where can we go?” Ethan mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“The library,” Karl answered, holding up one finger, “and a room inside the library which doubles as a glorified theatre,” he added, putting up another finger, “it’s a television on wheels,” he whispered, compelling a chuckle out of Ethan—his first sound of genuine joy.

“Seems like you’ve been there before,” Ethan said, folding his arms across his middle.

“Well, one gets bored when poked with needles,” Karl admitted, “and exploiting the reverse is how you get your scientists to talk,” he said, his smile bright, “some of them even let you look inside on your way back to your cell.”

“You’re quite comfortable getting ordered around,” Ethan observed, narrowing his gaze, “I figured after Miranda, you’d be sick of being told what to do.”

“It’s all about perspective, Ethan,” Karl said, leading them out of the cafeteria, their assigned guards catching up in double-time, “I chose this.”

“Why?” Ethan asked, his confusion pure and warranted.

Karl looked over his shoulder, making a face at the guards’ proximity. “We’re just going to the library, boys, do all of you need to be here?” he asked, pointing to the extra set of hands and their guns. Perhaps not, seeing as a few fell back, leaving their assigned duo. “That’s better, thank you,” Karl enunciated.

Ethan figured he’d either been ignored or not heard when Karl didn’t answer his question. It’s not like his original excuse of ‘boredom’ didn’t suffice—it just didn’t seem... Ethan didn’t know where he was going with that. He’d known Karl less than a day—he shouldn’t overstretch his conclusion of him.

Karl stopped in front of a set of double doors, opening it for Ethan first, forced to keep it open for the nameless guards—his distaste palpable.

The room was surprisingly cozy, the harsh fluorescence substituted with warm incandescence, each aisle separated by ceiling-to-floor wooden shelves. There were mismatched runners on the floor, cushioning their footfalls, and an honest-to-god reading nook—though Karl veered them towards the table, picking a random book before sitting in the chair. Ethan did the same, overwhelmed by the shift in scenery, adjusting because he had to.

The guards remained by the door, close enough to tackle them if they needed to, yet giving them enough privacy that any muttered conversations might be lost on them.

“Can I share a secret?” Karl asked, flipping through the book with little interest. Ethan motioned for him to continue, unsure why his permission was required. “I don’t think they know how my powers work.”

Ethan leaned forward, “What do you mean?”

“This is useless,” Karl said, jiggling his collar, “I deactivated it the moment they clicked it around my neck.”

“What?” Ethan breathed, touching his own shock collar, “so, you’re here willingly?”

Karl shrugged, smiling at Ethan’s reaction. “Like I said, it’s a choice.” How could he be so blasé about it? Ethan couldn’t fight his bonds without severe emotional punishment—physical punishment not far behind—and here Karl sat, with a glorified necklace, pretending to be a prisoner. For what? Because he could? Because this was all a big joke?

Why—

Ethan’s train of thought was interrupted by the rough entrance of one Chris Redfield, who didn’t know subtle if it was force-fed down his gullet. He beelined towards their table, his glare deepening. “What are you doing?” he asked, polluting the atmosphere with his tone.

“Reading, what does it look like?” Karl answered for them, lifting his book for emphasis, “or does the military not teach you about this?”

“Don’t antagonize him,” Ethan sighed, unaware of the placating hand he rested on Karl’s forearm until their warmth mingled. The sting of recognition rushed to his cheeks, where blood bloomed beneath the surface.

“Did you forget your schedule?” Chris asked, choosing to ignore what he saw in favour of chastising Ethan, becoming the parent he never asked for.

“How many samples do they need before they can say what’s wrong with me?” Ethan grumbled, yet stood, closing his book. “Are you drinking it or something?” he mocked, shaking his head.

Chris’ silence was telling, but not enough to trigger any flags not already raised.

Ethan lowered his head, letting out a soft sound when the warm water cascaded down his back, torrential and therapeutic, worming beneath the knots in his shoulders, attempting to undo them one string at a time. He scrubbed his arms, minding the soreness at his antecubital, the large-bore needle giving him the shivers.

His blood was still red, at least.

“Room for one more?” a voice spoke up, shuffling into the communal shower regardless of Ethan’s opinion on the matter. Not that either of them had a choice.

Well, Karl did.

“Knock yourself out,” Ethan muttered, shielding a bit more of himself, not yet comfortable being this vulnerable with the man. Not again. Some of the guards had relaxed to a quasi-voyeuristic surveillance approach, others nearly stood under the stream.

Tonight, it seemed they’d have their privacy—assuming they didn’t talk too much.

Ethan had been through with his shower, enjoying the feeling of being warm, clean, and alone. The things he did in these semi-private moments he did quickly and quietly, saving him the trouble of a sticky mess beneath the bed covers. Shame would only come if he was caught—which—if he had been, he didn’t know. The guards weren’t in the business of saying much.

He’d yet to get to it today.

Ethan wouldn’t begrudge Karl’s interruption, if the man knew—

“You know what I miss?” Karl asked, dipping his head beneath the spray. This wet, his long waves lay flat over his face, a human hair curtain.

“What?” Ethan said low enough that the shower muted their conversation to a murmur.

“My cigars,” Karl replied, moving his locks out of the way, winking at Ethan before letting them fall back.

Ethan’s eyes widened, uncertain what to do with that information. It disturbed another memory, pulling it from its unsteady slumber, and to the forefront of Ethan’s mind. The water did a good job mimicking the temperature, but it lacked the pressure, the tightness, the sparkle of some very green eyes—

Ethan dug semi-lunars into his palms until he was sure they bled. He took a deep breath, thinking about dead things—like his marriage—before replying, “I miss my daughter.”

His confession seemed to suck the air out of the room. Karl’s shoulders slumped, his good humour deflating. “What an awful thing,” he agreed, washing the scars over his chest, “to have fought so hard for her just to lose her to bureaucracy.”

Ethan forgot he wasn’t supposed to be staring, swallowing back the river of saliva pooling in his mouth. “I didn’t have a say, either way,” he growled, shutting off the tap so he wouldn’t have to think about anything anymore. He walked towards his things, drying off with short, harsh pats.  

Karl passed him, giving his shoulder a delicate squeeze. It did nothing for the amended knots, if anything, they worsened with unfulfilled anticipation.

Their trek to their cells was silent, the click of the lock expectant as it was discomforting. Ethan stared at the wall until the lights shut off, then shuffled to watch the door, placing his dominant hand on his heaving stomach. He didn’t know the threshold for the collar, but he must be approaching it, and the last thing he needed was a shock to his fried system.

Ethan focused on breathing until he could count his heartbeats without losing track. A yawn broke his concentration, reminding him he was in bed to sleep. Nothing more.

Click.

Ethan jumped, the sound kickstarting his panic. He hadn’t seen anyone—

Click-click.

Ethan waited, resigned to dying to this mysterious force opening his—oh.

Of course.

On the third click, Ethan stood, shoving his feet into his canvas shoes, sneaking his way to the door. He met Karl’s stare across the small hallway, a finger to his lips, his smile barely concealed.

The compound was riddled with cameras, and with that awareness, Ethan should go back to bed. He didn’t know what Karl was planning, but if they were caught, the only one who’d suffer would be Ethan.

But then Karl opened his cell door and came to his, the tips of his canines digging into his bottom lip, as if he couldn’t contain his excitement without the intervention, and Ethan was at a loss to stop himself from complying. He opened his own door, accepting the hand lacing their fingers together.

Ethan couldn’t focus on how they did it, wasn’t sure if he was awake for half of it, if this wasn’t just an elaborate dream. There was a moment where he swore he heard the march of soldiers behind them, or sirens blaring their escape, but when they settled, everything was quiet, dampened by rows of hardcovers and carpet.

“What—” Karl hushed him, leading them farther back, until neither friend nor foe could see them between the leather and wood. This late, Ethan had to rely on his nocturnal vision, sub-par for his species—he could admit that much. Despite his limitations, he could read intent when he felt it. Pushed into the wall as he’d been, Ethan would have to be an idiot not to.

Or a coward.

It seemed Karl couldn’t help himself when he brought their lips together, seeking permission with a wordless hum. Ethan nodded, hooking his arms over the man’s neck, pulling him closer, blurring the edges separating them.

They didn’t last long, his collar limit reached, discharging. Ethan gasped, clawing at the damned device, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t cry out.

“Shh, here,” Karl murmured, locating the chip responsible for Ethan’s torture, disarming it with only a flinch. “You’re okay,” he promised, pressing a kiss to Ethan’s forehead, running a hand down his hair, massaging the back of his neck, mindful of the burn marks. “Are you okay?” he amended when Ethan buried his head in his chest.

“I don’t know,” Ethan whispered, trembling as if he were cold, “I should be happy,” he lamented, “my wife isn’t dead, my baby is well fed,” he continued, sniffling, “yet, I’m miserable.” The knuckles kneading his muscles paused by his spine, pulling him away enough that he was forced to look up—weeping face and all.  

“I wouldn’t exactly call this a winning scenario, Ethan,” Karl said, far more empathetic than Ethan ever gave him credit for.

“What are you doing here, Karl?” Ethan asked, pressing a hand to the man’s cheek, unable to quell his desire any more than he could compel time to stop. “I thought your plan was to run once she was dead, we agreed—”

“Hush,” Karl said, sweeping Ethan into another kiss, purposefully chaste, “I needed to see you again,” he said, exposing his metaphorical underbelly, “I wanted to let you know that...that...”

“That what?” Ethan encouraged, adding his maimed hand to the other side of Karl’s face, lifting it so their eyes had no choice but to meet.

“That I couldn’t let you go,” Karl said, nearly losing his voice with the admittance, “I want it to be you and me again, Ethan,” he whispered, squeezing him hard enough that it should hurt.

It could always hurt more.

“With Rose?” Ethan said, tentative as the hope wringing his heart dry.

“If you want that,” Karl said, remembering the last time he’d overstepped.

Mute and underprepared for the feeling in his chest, Ethan nodded—fast, dizzying snaps of his head. Their subsequent kiss robbed him of breath, of free-will, his limbs weighty and grateful for Karl’s support.  

Ethan rubbed against the thigh pushed between his legs, shaking with want, with need, threading his fingers through Karl’s hair. The lava in his belly travelled southward, following Karl’s digits as they unzipped his coveralls, hissing where their bare skin touched. Ethan arched into the sensation, knowing from experience his blush spread to his chest.

Karl kissed a trail from Ethan’s jaw to his neck, nipping the inner corner with intent to bruise, the consequences of which would be a problem for another Ethan—one who wasn’t drowning trying to catch his breath.

“Ah,” Ethan gasped, jumping at the thumb circling his nipple, the bud hard and sensitive. Karl shuddered into him, his breath stuttering. He couldn’t see his face, but the teeth on his shoulder clamped down hard.

“Ethan,” Karl whispered, pulling back enough that the cool library air pebbled Ethan’s skin, “how far do you want this to go?” he asked, exercising restraint if his tense silhouette was any indication.

How was that a fair question? Ethan looked at himself, at the mess of wrinkles and folds in his grey jumpsuit, halfway off. He twitched against the firm muscle keeping him in place, afraid he’d rut like a dog if given the chance.

“W-what do you wanna do?” To me, was the unspoken part of his retort.

Karl huffed a chuckle, shaking his head, massaging absent circles into Ethan’s sides, where his hands aimed for polite and patient. “I asked you first,” he said, a hint of serious consideration in his tone.

Ethan swallowed, the rock in his throat jagged. “Um, I, er, well, I’ve never, well, not never but, I, you would be the first, I—” Ethan felt himself glitching, and forced his mouth shut to compensate. How was one man meant to convey to another a desire long-repressed by marriage and circumstance? Perhaps he should take a page out of Mia’s book and ignore the contractual obligation of his signature on their license.

Without a word, Ethan led one of Karl’s hands to his lower back, hesitating. Before Karl, the thought of doing something like this to himself was just that, a thought. It manifested itself as all curious and intrusive thoughts did, attaching themselves to the vulnerability of his loneliness.

After Karl, it’d been a different story.

(One he only replicated out of desperation—his fingers couldn’t quite compare.)

“We’re already here,” Ethan murmured, steadying his voice, “you might as well finish what you started.” He rolled his hips, bringing attention to their mutual predicament.

“I’m glad you agree,” Karl said, digging through his pockets for a small glass bottle. The label read antiseptic, but the liquid that flowed through the lip was too viscous to be alcohol. “Oil,” the man reassured, warming it through his fingers.

Ethan’s face pinched into a bewildered point, asking, “Where did you find oil?” And more importantly, why were you saving it?  

“It comes with our meal,” Karl said, finding nothing wrong with being frank.

Ethan let himself be undressed, blinking like he’d been blinded, trying to recall where. He wrapped a hand around Karl’s forearm, stopping him for a moment. “You mean the olive oil that comes with the salad?” There’s no way—

“Yes, I ask for it on the side,” Karl replied, amused by Ethan’s incredulity, “can’t afford to be picky, Ethan,” he teased, “it’s either this or spit.”

Ethan let go of his arm, overwhelmed with another question. “How long have you been planning this?” Those serving cups were a tablespoon at most—the antiseptic bottle was at least a few ounces, and judging by the way it sloshed, it was nearly full.

Karl’s smile was ironic and a bit self-congratulating, worsening Ethan’s blush—though, in this light, it’d be difficult to tell. “Ready?” he asked, his coated palm squeezing one of his cheeks, drawing him nearer.

Ethan nodded, not trusting his voice to work, and pushed back into the roaming fingers with an eager shyness. This was familiar, despite being new—though he’d prefer a bed to the wall’s uneven edges.

Maybe someday.

Ethan held on to Karl’s biceps, trying not to tense from the intrusion. He reached forward, burying a low moan in their kiss, accepting the reciprocation with a tremble. “Karl,” he said through a breath, the second finger pushing the limits of his tolerance. The sting was manageable, dulling to nearly nothing with soft, persistent repetition.

“I regret not doing this to you earlier,” Karl purred, assuming more of Ethan’s weight, “I still wish we’d had more time,” he lamented, kissing up Ethan’s jaw to whisper in his ear, “don’t you?”

Ethan’s nails dug into the muscles beneath them, the introduction of a third finger overshadowed by the quick snake coiling around his insides. Regret, what a dangerous feeling.

“I think we had plenty,” Ethan mumbled, remembering the wait as being the worst part of the whole night. It’d been up there with getting his hand chopped off and realizing Miranda had split his daughter into four jars.

Karl’s chuckle rang in his ear, distracting him from the demons in his memory. “No bother,” he hummed, “we’re fixing that now.” He curled his fingers, stretching Ethan further before removing them, shushing his quiet protests.

He’d be offended by Karl’s arrogance if it weren’t responsible for the flutter in his heart.

With one hand still supporting him, Karl used his other to unzip his coveralls enough to pull himself out. Ethan watched as he poured more oil into his palm, slicking his cock until his strokes glided freely. If Ethan weren’t so paralyzed by anticipation, he’d have helped.

“You look terrified,” Karl cooed, yanking Ethan’s attention upwards.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, clenching his teeth.

“Right,” Karl replied, unconvinced, “here,” he said, gentle when he brought their lips together, urging Ethan’s mouth to open and relax, to let him in. Too late did he realize it’d been a double-edged tactic, used to divert his awareness to anything but the cautious push against his entrance.

“I’m not made of paper, Karl,” Ethan bit back, heaving through his frustration. When he wasn’t assumed to be a fool, and a coward, they thought him fragile—fucking great.

Instead of answering, Karl sank a little deeper, holding Ethan’s body steady against the wall. They shivered into each other, cold air seeping in where their skin didn’t touch. Ethan ran his hands over Karl’s shoulders, letting them fall to his chest and around his ribs, dragging his nails across his scarred back.

Karl gave an involuntary jerk, hissing in unison with Ethan, who bit his tongue to quell his groan.

Every man was fallible.

“I want to take you away from here,” Karl confessed, giving them a moment to adjust once fully inside of Ethan. “I’d like to stop censoring myself,” he continued, molding his lips around Ethan’s nipple, kneading it between his teeth, “I want to hear you,” he implored, “the things I’d do to you if we were alone.” His voice had lost all semblance of politeness, and for a moment, Ethan feared the swiftness with which those words affected him, the evidence dribbling out of him.

“Could you do it?” Ethan asked, wondering if these were the mad ramblings of a lustful man, or the promise of freedom he’d been craving.

“I could do it tonight,” Karl swore, bucking upwards, hard, “they’d never find us.” He started a rhythm, impatient with himself.

Ethan’s eyes rolled back, the burn assuaged by the passion in Karl’s declarations, the subtle quiver in his voice, which told of more than empty platitudes. He meant it and Ethan believed him. “Take me, take me,” Ethan whimpered, the double-meaning going over his head. “Please, please, please.” He squeezed around Karl, vicelike and deprived, fearful he’d disappear if he didn’t hold on.

“Just, fuck, just tell me when,” Karl growled, encouraged by Ethan’s desperation. He picked up the pace, hoping the adjacent wall led to the outside and not a room. Shaking as it was, he’d hate to wake anyone.

“Karl,” Ethan keened, curving into him, chasing the overwhelm like a lunatic. It started deep and low in his abdomen, climbing with each stroke, each tightened grip, the consequences of which would be evident and bright in the morning. Ethan let his body do what it wanted, which saved him the trouble of trying to decide what felt good. He found himself mouthing nonsense on Karl’s shoulder, his tongue lapping at the hot skin, teeth a bit sharp when they nipped.

It made Karl falter, which filled Ethan with an odd sense of pride that such strength was undone by his simple gesture.

“I’m—oh, please,” Ethan begged, grabbing his neglected cock with a clumsy grip, matching the speed of Karl’s thrusts. He gave up halfway when just the pressure of his hand alone got him to come. It’d be humiliating if Karl hadn’t followed him over the cliff, diving in for a kiss, deep and poignant.

“You’re so polite,” Karl observed after a minute of stillness, his tease going unregistered due to their shared breathlessness.

Ethan tried to glare, but…see above.

“Don’t get used to it,” Ethan murmured instead, having a clear misunderstanding with his personality.

“You’re up early.”

Ethan’s face fell, the spoonful of cereal he’d been aiming towards his mouth going back in the bowl. Mia rounded the table, her breakfast an apple and some milk. “Morning to you too,” he mumbled, burying his distaste in his orange juice.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Karl piped up, finishing his banana in two bites. It’d been a lie, by the way, Ethan slept like a baby.

Sore, but satiated.

Mia looked between them, keeping her expression controlled, revealing nothing but what she wanted them to see. “Honey,” she began, much to his annoyance, “have you reconsidered getting that bedroom together?” she asked, trying her hand at reaching for his, stopped at every turn.

“No,” Ethan replied, chewing his cereal as if it’d been made of nails.

“Have you considered it at all?” she pushed, her smile waning.

Ethan closed his eyes, massaging his forehead. “What do you think?” he retorted, shovelling another spoonful in his mouth. Something warm touched his upper thigh, brief but shocking. Ethan tried not to react, but his complexion had never been on the same page as his mind.

“Shouldn’t a wife and husband sleep together?” Mia pestered, her pout growing, “you must be awfully lonely in that cell of yours.”

Ethan jumped, the pressure on his thigh returning, tighter, hotter. Their backs were facing the wall, hence Karl’s boldness. Ethan tried to shift out of the way without bringing attention to them, but to do that would be to squeeze against the frosted window.

“I’m fine,” Ethan muttered, dropping his left hand to his lap, moving Karl’s hand away. Bastard, he wanted to say, don’t be so cocky.

Mia looked on the verge of giving up, her apple untouched. “Ethan, if you give me a chance, I can try to get us out of here,” she said, tone sweet, expectant, “I can see if they’ll let us take Rose.”

“You really think they’re gonna do that?” Ethan huffed, shaking his head, “it’d be provisional at best,” he pushed his breakfast aside, narrowing his gaze, “they wouldn’t let us keep her.”

“It’s a compromise, Ethan,” she said, trying to make him understand, “you’re both mutants, if anything were to happen—”

“It’s all or nothing, Mia,” he said, rising from his chair, taking his tray with him, “but you never cared about that.”

Returning to the library after last night felt inappropriate. Ethan’s skin itched, worried the act of walking was enough to give them away.

They’d cleaned up as best as they could, sneaking back to their cells, the click of the lock too loud for his liking. There’d been so much he wanted to say, to ask, to verify. Did Karl mean it when he said they could leave? Did he know Ethan meant with Rose?

“This should do it,” Karl said, dropping a map on the table. It was a diagram of the compound, the fire exits outlined in red.

“What is this?” Ethan asked, tracing the names he recognized with a finger.

“You can’t be pretty and dumb, Ethan,” Karl groused, “it’s unbecoming.”

“I mean, what is this for, you asshole,” Ethan said, flushing bright red.

Karl flashed him a smile, mindful of the guards hovering by the door. “I’m sure they didn’t let you see the entrance when they flew you in,” he began, pointing at the outskirts of the compound, “and I’ll be honest, I wasn’t really memorizing my way in here,” he continued, marching two fingers to their cells. “Do you think your wife knows where Rose is?” he asked, giving Ethan whiplash.

“What?” It’d been a puff of air.

Karl looked at Ethan over the rim of his imaginary glasses, his gaze softening. “You don’t think I’d forget about her, did you?” Something in Ethan’s face must have answered for him because Karl continued, nearly insulted. “You did.” The man sighed, sweeping his eyes towards the guards with contempt. “I’ll admit, it’d be easier to take you and run—if you want me to, I can.” He returned his stare to Ethan, a challenge in his bright greens.

“No, I want Rose,” Ethan rushed, trying not to seem too anxious, lest he inspire the agents to step closer.

“My thoughts exactly,” Karl said, motioning to the map and its maze-like layout, “now to figure out where she is.”

Ethan tried to look at the map, but his eyes were glued to the man beside him. He’d never known what compelled him to take Karl’s offer the first time. It’d been a simple ‘yes or no’, ‘do or die’—join me, kill Miranda. The details grew muddled with time, but Ethan recalled there being quite a caveat to the ultimatum: Rose (who’d still been in pieces).

It’d been a fight to get her off the table, to remind him she was just a baby. Ethan nearly blew a hole through the man, or at least would’ve if he didn’t deflect every metallic object thrown his way.

Their treaty was nebulous at best, but after braving the horrors Miranda unleashed on him, Heisenberg was all he had.

It seemed to be a pattern that liked repeating itself.

“And what’s this?”

“Baba.”

“That’s right, a sheep,” Ethan said, folding over the next page of the picture book. Rose sat in his lap, eating her hand.

His limit had increased to twenty minutes—what a privilege.

“And this?” he asked, pointing to the cartoon monkey.

“Eek, eek!”

“I don’t know what monkey that is, but sure,” he laughed, ruffling her hair. They reached the end of the book, her handler taking it from him and stashing it under her arm. She’d brought some of Rose’s toys, but Ethan wanted to spend his last few minutes enjoying his daughter’s warmth, her company, her milestones.

“Hey, Rose,” he began, her blue eyes meeting his, keen, “who am I?” Ethan pointed to his chest. He wasn’t sure what they taught her when he wasn’t there, what they told her when he left. All he knew was that as long as blood still pumped through his veins—he’d remind her.

“Dada,” she replied, never disappointing him.

It was enough to make him cry.

“That’s right,” he nodded, “dada.”

“It’s time, Ethan,” Chris spoke up, interrupting them.

“I love you, Rose,” Ethan said, pressing a kiss to her scalp. He refrained from saying goodbye, too final of a statement.

“Lub yu,” she parroted, returning to her caretaker.

Chris said nothing about the tears leaking down Ethan’s face, leading them towards the decontamination chamber, an expectation more than a requirement. “You don’t think I’m weak, right?” he whispered to the agent.

“I’d be an idiot if I did,” Chris said, giving him a half-smile.

Ethan nodded, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand. He didn’t need the man’s validation, but it was nice to be reassured regardless.

“Why are you still in the cell?” Chris asked, too specific to just be curious.

“Did Mia tell you to ask me?” Ethan replied with his own question, his eyes hardening.

“Christ, not everything has to be a fight between you two,” the agent sighed, “and as a matter of fact, she didn’t.”

“Then why does it matter?”

“Because those cells suck,” Chris returned, his smile ironic, “I’m surprised you can sleep in the cold.”

“I’m fine,” Ethan mumbled, “if she’s complaining, I’ve told her plenty of times she can leave.”

“I know you don’t want to believe this, Ethan,” Chris began, rounding in front of him, “but I am your friend, and I am trying to make this as comfortable for you as possible.” The decontamination chamber chimed its completion, waiting for the agent to open the other side.

“A padded prison is still a prison, Chris,” Ethan retorted, “but thank you for trying.”

Click.

Click-click.

Ethan startled awake, swallowing back his heart when he located the disturbance.

Karl.

He stood, tired enough to sleepwalk, and opened the door, not expecting the man to push them back inside his room. A finger went to his mouth, the universal sign for “be quiet”. Ethan complied, unsure what else he wanted, but willing and able as long as they didn’t get caught.

Karl led them to the bed, squeezing tight behind Ethan, an arm wrapped around his middle, lips to his ear when he mouthed, “I didn’t get to see you today.”

“What do you mean?” Ethan whispered, unwilling to admit he’d been endeared, “we ate breakfast together.”

“And then you fucked off to god-knows-where,” Karl returned, one of his hands deviating to Ethan’s zipper, revealing a sliver of skin for him to caress.

“I was with my daughter,” Ethan said, taking a deep breath, “and then tests, which you had too.”

“That doesn’t take all day,” Karl mumbled, pressing kisses where Ethan’s collar didn’t block his neck.

“For me it does,” Ethan shrugged, straining to stare at the man, “did you miss me?” he teased.

“No,” Karl was quick to reply, though his body language betrayed his indifference, “but I have news.”

“And it can’t wait?” Ethan grumbled, annoyed he’d been woken.

“Too many ears,” Karl said directly into Ethan’s own, “I know where they’re keeping Rose.”

Ethan nearly sat up, tensing with the urge to jump. “How?” he hissed, fearing he’d been too loud. Mia slept in the cells out of spite and had been a light-sleeper since he’d known her. To wake her now would be disastrous.

“I have my ways,” Karl promised, kissing Ethan’s shoulder before giving it a reassuring rub, “I’ll tell you more in the shower tomorrow.” He pulled away, or tried to, but Ethan kept his arms in place, warmer than he’d been in months. “Ethan,” Heisenberg warned, though found it hard to refuse such a telling request.

“Just stay for a sec,” Ethan sighed.

“Okay, just a second.”

No such second came.

They woke the next morning having only the timed lights as an alarm. Karl was first to sit up, squinting at the brightness with scorn, cursing at the fact he was not in his room. The mad dash back to his cell would’ve been comical if Ethan cared to let his panic settle.

As it were, he nearly missed the guards giving their morning orders.

“You sleep like a rock, Ethan,” Karl said under the spray of water, sudsing up his hair. 

“And whose fault was that?” Ethan grumbled, mindful of the guard staring daggers at their backs. “I was already asleep when you bothered me,” he said, stepping closer to Karl.

“Return to your spot,” the guard said, loud enough to cut through the torrential storm localized over Ethan’s head. If they ever left intact, the showers would be something he’d miss.

“Your wife wasn’t in bed when we woke,” Karl muttered.

Ethan froze by the soap dispensary, narrowing his eyes at the man. “Do you think she saw?” he mouthed.

“I don’t know,” Karl mouthed back, turning to the agent, “hey, creep, enjoying the show?” he asked, purposefully antagonizing.

“What are you doing?” Ethan hissed, switching between anger and panic.

“I think he is, Ethan,” Karl sneered, doing a slow turn, “give ‘im a twirl.”

“Karl, don’t—” The man had moved closer, pulling Ethan into a quasi-spin.

“Return to your spot,” the guard instructed, his only reaction being the slight twitch of his fingers on his gun.

“I’m sure this is exactly what you wanted,” Karl purred, his hands roaming over Ethan’s shoulders, his sides, settling on his hips, tapping little patterns into his red skin, “you military types are always repressed.”

“Please, stop,” Ethan ground out, his only solace being the lack of cameras in this part of the shower room.

“Not until he admits he’s liking it,” Karl mocked, irritating as he was successful, “or he gives us some fucking privacy in the shower.”

Before Ethan could tell him to stop with a kick to the shins, the guard cleared his throat, catching his attention. “You get ten minutes,” he said, twisting on a heel.

“Make that fifteen,” Karl tempted.

“Ten. Minutes,” was the agent’s only reply before he left the room for good.

Karl waited until the door closed before turning to Ethan, his grin showing off his canines. “Don’t look so smug,” Ethan grumbled, slapping him away, “that was risky.”

“I was right, though,” Karl hummed, licking his lips, “he was enjoying it.”

“How could you even tell? Half their face is covered,” Ethan huffed, his heart erratic.

“And that, my dear Ethan, is why you’re in a loveless marriage,” Karl teased, relenting when Ethan’s mood soured further. “My apologies.”

“You got your privacy, now what?” Ethan muttered, washing over his arm with too rough of a scrub.

“Your little one is under max surveillance on the other side of the compound,” Karl rushed out, speaking in the small space between them. Ethan looked at him, forgetting the entire reason they were showering simultaneously. “There are about three air gaps and ten feet of concrete between them before anyone can reach her,” he continued, “the only two people with clearance are her caretaker and the General.”

“H-how did you—”

“I’m used to playing along,” Karl interrupted, his tone grim, “if we’re doing this, we’re gonna need all the help we can get,” he sighed, letting the water run over his head.

“How are we gonna get help in here?” Ethan whispered, his confidence bordering on arrogance with how little he believed they had anyone but each other to rely on. Karl looked at him, his silence telling. “We are not using Rose!” he hissed, knowing he’d guessed correctly when Karl’s shoulders fell.

“Ethan, she’s the only one who knows how to get in and out of that room,” Karl said, firm but gentle.

“She’s. A. Baby,” Ethan enunciated, livid.

“A baby with an entire network of mold beneath her fingertips,” Karl retorted, trying to make him see, “all you have to do is unlock it.”

“I can’t listen to—”

“This isn’t like before, Ethan,” Karl said, stepping closer so they shared the torrential storm, “you can’t just shoot your way out of this one,” he lamented, hedging his bets when he placed a palm on Ethan’s cheek, “I’m sorry.”

Before Ethan could reply, the door to the showers opened, cutting their private time to zero.

Karl gave his cheek a final caress before returning to his side of the shower, killing any emotion on his face that wasn’t mild contempt for the guard reclaiming his post. “I gave you twelve minutes,” he said, surprising them both with the unprompted speech.

“Very kind,” Karl replied, his smile tight.

“Don’t, Ethan,” Mia sniffled, her eyes bloodshot, “please don’t be like that.”

Ethan pulled out of her touch, shuddering with quiet indignation. How dare she?! How dare she continue to ignore the hypocrisy with which she claimed her victimhood?

He’d returned to his cell that night to find himself blocked from his own room. The guards wouldn’t budge, and Ethan was too dense to realize they weren’t going to let him through. He looked back at Karl, who seemed just as confused by the odd behaviour.

It wasn’t until Chris came in, Mia in tow, that the puzzle piece clicked into place.

It’s unnatural, Ethan, he’d said, leading him out of the cell, his arms strong and persuasive, moving Ethan’s stiff body for him, a man should be with his wife, and legally I cannot keep you separated.

That sounded like a crock of shit.

Try to fix it, Chris encouraged, dumping him in the bedroom, having the audacity to shoot him a “good luck” and a smile.

“What did you tell him, Mia?” Ethan rasped, massaging his throat. He didn’t know if he should keep his ire to himself, self-combust with hatred for the biological mother of his child. It’d save him a headache.

“The truth,” she said, to which he whipped around, eyes widening. Something wicked passed through her gaze, settling into faux-sympathy. “That I missed you, and that I think with help you’ll be more agreeable to letting Rose go,” she rubbed his cold shoulder, freezing it, “we could always adopt if you’re feeling that paternal.” Her fingers traced the edges of his long sleeve, stopping by his wrist, trying to sneak into his fist. Before he could pull back, she flinched, swallowing her disgust at his maimed hand. “We need to get you a prosthetic.”

“What I need, Mia, is for you to step away,” Ethan warned, “and don’t touch me.”

“I’m your wife, Ethan,” she jeered, “no amount of space or time or denial is going to change that,” she reminded, wielding the truth like a weapon, “I needed to pull you away from him—he’s a bad influence.”

And there it was.

Ethan’s chin dropped to his chest, knowing where that rhetoric led, and entertaining it anyway. “How?” he spat, twisting to look at her, “because he’s never lied to me, Mia, not once—even when it fucking hurts.”

“Don’t act like such a fucking saint,” she spat back, snarling, “you think your little crush can help you in here?” she asked, baring her teeth, “no, Ethan, I’m the only one that can make sure you leave, unscathed, with a pardon,” she continued, “all you have to do is give up that mutant child.”

“She’s not just a mutant!” he shouted, the veins in his forehead popping, “she’s my daughter, you heartless bitch!”

“Give it up, Ethan!” Mia groaned, throwing up her hands, “I’m the one who carried her for nine months, not you,” she reminded, lifting her shirt, “they cut her out of my fucking stomach, not yours,” she sobbed, tugging it back down, “so I don’t know why you think you have more say in this than you do.”

“Was this the plan all along, Mia?” Ethan said, his voice a deflated balloon, “hide my condition from me, conceive a child, and donate her to the government?” he listed, convincing himself that’s exactly what happened, “was that part of your pardon?”

“You think you’re so clever, huh?” Mia huffed, her brown eyes glassy with the tears falling down her cheeks, “figured it all out,” she shook her head, wiping her nose, “didn’t even stop to consider that I may have wanted a child with you because I love you.”

“I loved you, Mia,” Ethan said, “died because of it,” he hissed, “and I love Rose—I’ll die for her before I let you, or anyone else, take her from me.”

“So, that’s it then,” Mia said, swallowing back her sniffle, “you’re not gonna give up.” He shook his head. “You’re gonna rot in here, Ethan.”

“I was gonna rot regardless.”

“I can taste your stress from here,” Karl muttered, pretending to find the book he held quite captivating, “what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ethan said through an exhale, resting his head on his folded forearms. He hadn’t slept a wink, the floor not kind on his bones. It’d been the only choice he had in the room that wasn’t standing. He hadn’t even registered the bed as existing in the same plane.

Karl hummed, flipping to another page.

“She says you’re a bad influence,” Ethan muttered, rolling his head so he could peek at Karl, watch his reaction. There’d only been a flicker of a smile on his lips, disappearing just as quick.

“I can be.”

“She says I have a crush on you.” That got Karl to look at him, the fire in his eyes kept between them.

“Do you?”

Ethan shrugged, not giving the man the satisfaction of a verbal answer.

“Perhaps she’s jealous of our relationship,” Karl purred, flipping to the front of the book, starting over, “you are here, with me, when you could be out there, with her.” Ethan said nothing, the churning in his belly worsening. “Should she be worried, Ethan?” he asked, keeping up pretenses for no one but his amusement.

He shrugged again, tapping Karl’s shin with his shoe. Everything in him bent towards the man, as if he’d learned to control more than metal.

“Seems you’re in a bit of a bind,” Karl concluded, “have you reconsidered our solution.”

“Shouldn’t it be considered?” Ethan mumbled, tapping his shin again, hooking his foot behind Karl’s calf.

“No, Ethan, you’ve already considered it and found it unacceptable,” Karl retorted, narrowing his gaze.

“Is that the only way out?” Ethan asked, distraught with his options.

“It’s the only one I see,” Karl admitted, closing his book, giving Ethan his undivided attention.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, right Karl?” Ethan asked, stretching out a hand, almost as if to grab Karl’s.

“I don’t see any reason to,” the man replied, meeting Ethan halfway, but no more.

“Okay,” Ethan nodded, “if that’s the only way, then it’s the only way,” he relented, his lips quivering, “but before we do anything irreversible, I’d like to worry my wife one more time.”

Karl caught on immediately, his smirk sharp, predatory. “Where?” he asked as if he weren’t planning Ethan’s undoing.

“Bathroom?” Ethan said, unsure, “I thought I saw one in the back.”

“Go,” Karl said, patting Ethan’s thigh under the table, “I’ll meet you there.”

Ethan tried not to look at the guards when he stood, keeping his steps measured, unhurried, even as boiling desire ran through his veins. The waiting was miserable, every creak made him jump, humiliating both him and his reflection—which he avoided.

He thought—for one horrible moment—that Karl wasn’t coming, that he’d been pulled away, too magnetic for his own good. But then there was a knock on the door, and a voice that asked, “What are you doing in there so long?” and it took Ethan’s entire resolve not to collapse on himself. “Well?” Karl said, waiting for Ethan to react. He did, opening the door just enough to yank his partner inside, and kill him with a kiss.

They stumbled towards the closed toilet, undressing enough to be accessible. “Karl,” he heaved, swallowing a mouthful of air. Those sneaky fingers were a reprimand, Ethan knew it, how were they so slick already? There’s no way he just carried a bottle of covert lubricant wherever he went.

“Shh,” the man hushed, working Ethan open with hurried, shallow thrusts of his fingers. “As much as I want to hear you, I don’t want them to,” he whispered, nipping one of Ethan’s pecs, leaving a light red mark.

Ethan understood, biting his lip bloody with his attempts at silence, nearly failing when Karl hooked his fingers, pulling out in one torturous motion. As retaliation, Ethan bit Karl’s bottom lip, tasting the coppery crimson.

Karl completed their kiss, positioning Ethan above him, keeping him steady when his anxious shivers started in earnest. Despite their time constraints, he was gentle when he pushed in, kneading Ethan’s lower back where he felt his muscles strain.

Ethan gasped against Karl’s mouth, locking his arms around his neck, shuddering when he bottomed out. “Fuck,” he whispered, “so good.” He ground against Karl on his own accord, tiny moans squeezing past his lungs, filling the space between them. “Please don’t leave without me,” he begged, resting his forehead on Karl’s.

“Oh, Ethan,” Karl rumbled, “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.” He helped Ethan set the pace when he faltered, emotional fatigue weakening him.

Ethan’s face was a mess of tears, sweat, and blood, most of which sat beneath the skin of his cheeks, his neck, spreading to his chest, his arms, his thighs. He riddled one of his hands in Karl’s hair, the other he used to caress his brow, the scar covering half his face, his beard, so distinctly masculine, so not Mia, that comparing them would be useless.

Karl nuzzled into his palm, kissing around his missing digits, the healed skin still tender under too much pressure.

Ethan cried harder, ignoring the burn in his hamstrings as he fucked himself faster on Karl, breaking his vow of wavering silence when the man wrapped a fist around him, stroking until it was just a blur of flesh. Split in two, Ethan chose to let the tide take him, swept into his climax with a rough shudder.

Karl thrust, one, two, three times before he followed suit, filling Ethan in a way that should feel disgusting, obscene. Yet he sunk into it, clamping tight to keep everything inside.

“Hm, Ethan, if we get caught, this time it’s your fault,” Karl puffed out, his fingers trembling when they tucked Ethan’s hair behind his ear, taking his chin in a delicate grip, flattening his thumb over Ethan’s broken lips.

Ethan couldn’t help believing it’d be worth it.

Wait for the alarm, don’t tip anyone off, I’ll come to you.

Ethan repeated the mantra in his head, unable to help the stiffness of his limbs when he crawled into bed with his wife, keeping an acre’s worth of space between them.

Wait for the alarm, don’t tip anyone off, I’ll come to you.

“Is this your idea of an apology?” Mia asked, trying her hand at comedic timing—it wasn’t very good.

Wait for the alarm.

“No,” Ethan replied, turning to her. She looked like a husk of herself, a shell of the woman he thought he’d known. Despite her reassurances that they could start over, they wouldn’t be the same, he knew her too well now.

Don’t tip anyone off.

“I just got tired of the floor,” he continued minutes after she gave up waiting for an answer.

I’ll come to you.

“I can work with that,” Mia said, flashing him a smile, the grimace it was hiding behind it.

Wait for the alarm.

“What the hell is that?” Mia asked, whipping her head to the sirens, “not another one,” she grumbled, massaging her temples.

Don’t tip anyone off.

“Where are you going?”

I’ll come to you.

“I just wanted to see...” Ethan said, peeking through the door’s peephole.

Don’t tip anyone off.

“See? See what?” Mia asked, not quite getting it yet.

I’ll come to you.

“What a kept promise looked like.”

I’ll come to you.

Ethan had tried the door once, knowing that as long as his presence was a must, they’d lock it behind him. It wasn’t locked now.

He flung it open, closing it again once he was in the safety of Karl’s embrace.

“Ethan!” Mia screamed, banging on the wood, tearing at the handle, “you can’t leave me here, Ethan!” she shrieked, “you can’t leave me!”

Ethan didn’t spare the door another glance.

They ran faster than Ethan thought his legs could carry him. He trusted Karl to know where they were going, since, if he had to be frank, he’d never paid much attention to the maps. Too soon, the agents caught on that they weren’t running for sport, and chased them through the compound, firing indiscriminately.

Ethan flinched, and Karl deflected, keeping their fingers laced tight, knowing he’d be faster without him and holding on anyway.

“Don’t let them get to the child!” Ethan heard one of the guards shout, blocking the first door to freedom, to Rose. Karl yanked the handgun out of his grip, dropping it in Ethan’s hands, trusting him to use it wisely.

They burst into the outside together, the first breath of snow freezing Ethan’s nostrils. He forced himself to ignore the frost, to keep pushing, to not slow them down. This was his daughter they were rescuing, after all.

Karl barricaded the entrance with one of the many armoured vehicles, buying them some time. “She’s on the other side of the field,” he said pointing to an unassuming semi-circle, “underground,” he clarified, sounding no worse for wear than if they’d been strolling through the park.

“Let’s go, then!” Ethan urged, already feeling the brunt of the soldiers on their back.

“Wait,” Karl growled, “once we go down there, I need you to prepare yourself for what you might see,” he said, holding both of Ethan’s shoulders, “she’s still your little girl, even if she doesn’t look like it.”

“I know,” Ethan said—in retrospect, he’d been thankful for the warning.

“Perfect,” Karl said, “let’s go.” He compelled a jeep to them, letting Ethan enter first before starting it. No key necessary. They sped through the field, maneuvering through the men in their way, crashing through the first set of double doors. Ethan didn’t know humans could build so low and so long, mentally ticking off the floors and miles they had to cross just to reach the first insulated barrier.

The jeep screeched to a halt, throwing Ethan’s heart outside of his body.

When he caught his breath, the first thing Ethan noticed was the silence, the deep thrum of the underground more of a vibration.

“Shit,” Karl cursed, seeing something Ethan couldn’t, “they’re already here.”

“I didn’t tell anyone—”

“It wasn’t you,” Karl reassured, kicking the door open, fashioning it into a crude bat, “their type is always paranoid.” Ethan nodded, leaving no more than an inch of space between them, holding his handgun with less confidence than he did slippery soap.

The first barrier opened without protest, but the evidence Karl had seen presented itself to Ethan, forcing his eyes to follow the trail of black and red on the concrete floor. It wasn’t until the second barrier that Ethan heard the screams, the random burst of machine-gun spray, the renewed quiet.

“Ethan?” Karl asked, holding the door open, pulling him out of his thoughts, “are you ready?”

“Is she doing this?” Ethan breathed, holding his stomach at the bile threatening to climb northward, the blood on the floor thickening.

“She’s just a baby, remember?” Karl reassured, his smile soft, devoid of any cruelty and I-told-you-so’s.

“With an entire network of mold beneath her fingertips,” Ethan echoed, steeling his resolve, “she’s angry.”

“She’s scared,” Karl corrected, “can’t you hear her cry?”

Now he could, once the second door shut behind them. It was high in pitch and unbroken. Inconsolable.

There were actual bodies within this barrier, still warm, a quick river of red weeping out of their fatal wounds. Ethan ignored them for the sake of his health, his guilt, and his daughter, knowing all three couldn’t coexist without killing one of them.

“I’m coming, baby,” he promised, rolling his shoulders, “daddy’s coming.”

The third barrier proved a challenge, the door barricaded by something organic, hence Karl’s inability to push it aside. “Ethan, step back a bit,” he said, gripping the only metallic portions of the concrete door—the trim. He pulled, flexing every muscle he had until he wrenched it out of its hinges.

Ethan almost wished he hadn’t, the pile of bodies that tumbled forward enough to make his stomach turn. Again.

“How did you know?” Ethan exhaled, looking at Karl, watching him pinch the bodies out of the way, making a face at the smell.

“Know what, Ethan?” he replied, his tone light, unassuming.

“That she’d be...like this.”

Karl paused, pushing up the glasses that weren’t there. “It’s this curse, right?” he began, pointing at his chest, “Mother Miranda’s gift?” he added as an aside, “you’ve seen it—we all have a second form.”

Ethan nodded once, his grip on the gun slackening. What was the point?

They stepped inside Rose’s room, a macabre mix of blood splatter, viscera, bright colours and the large shapes of her toys. Her caretaker stood in the middle of her room, trembling, and crying whilst she held onto Rose, rocking her, trying to soothe her wails. Large, molded trunks sprouted from the centre of the Earth, wriggling in time with Rose’s discontent.

“It’s okay, little baby,” the caretaker cooed, protected from the bloodshed, “they’re not coming anymore, they’re not—” Ethan and Karl stepped into her line of sight, interrupting her pacifying. “Thank god,” she whispered, “please take her,” she begged, rushing to drop Rose into Ethan’s arms, holding a hand to her own mouth to cover her whimpers.

Rose hiccupped, blinking to clear her eyes. The moment she saw Ethan, she smiled, reaching a tiny fist towards his face. “Mmm, dada,” she sobbed, burying her wet face in Ethan’s neck. Her roots returned to the ground as she calmed, closing the earth above them.

“What did they do to you, baby?” he asked, breathing her in, holding her near, feeling her fall asleep, “we’re gonna leave, okay, we’re gonna leave, and no one will ever hurt you again,” Ethan swore.

“I can’t let you do that, Ethan,” a voice said, one Ethan was sick and tired of telling him what he could and couldn’t do.

“Six months, Chris,” Ethan huffed, turning in a slow, deliberate circle, “you’ve kept my daughter in this prison, experimenting on her, drugging her, taking her blood,” he accused, his face twitching with righteous anger, “you said she was fine.”

“And she was fine!” the agent barked, holding an RPG, “do you not see what happens when her tantrums go unfettered?”

“She was defending herself,” Ethan breathed, motioning to the room, to Chris and his choice of weapon, “none of these men had to die,” he began, “if you’d just let me keep her.”

“I’m sorry, Ethan, I—” A (makeshift) bat flew into the agent’s temple, knocking him and his weapon to the ground. Chris held his head, rummaging his pockets for the remote to their collars, pressing the red button in the centre.

Waiting...waiting.

The look that passed through Chris’ face was equal parts betrayal as it was quiet resignation.

“Like I said,” Karl began, crushing the collar in two, finally able to remove the façade, “I can leave at any time.” He did the same for Ethan and rooted around Rose’s neck for something.

“Did you microchip my daughter?” Ethan wheezed, “what was she to you, a fucking animal?” His offence took him to the concussed agent, his gun aimed between his temple, where red streaked down his face. “Answer me!”

“Don’t do this, Ethan, this isn’t you,” Chris implored, looking at him—the disappointment in his eyes would’ve gutted Ethan once.

“I don’t think you know who I am,” Ethan hissed, cocking his gun, “and you’ve severely underestimated what I’m willing to do for this child.”

To his credit, Chris didn’t flinch.

A moment of clarity passed through him, taking the form of Rose’s shudder. Ethan drew a deep breath, stepping back from the agent, from the line that separated revenge and murder—though a part of him would always feel justified if he went through with it.

“You were my friend, Chris,” Ethan said, giving Karl the gun, watching him crush it to a ball and toss it over his shoulder, “I hope I never see you again.”

The agent nodded, understanding.

“You’ll catch a cold doing that,” Ethan said, pressing a kiss and cup of hot tea into Karl’s cheek, letting him take it before walking away. “Hello, little miss, what are you building?” Ethan asked, bending low to pass a cup of hot chocolate to his daughter, cooled enough that it wouldn’t burn her.

“Snow-man!” Rose exclaimed, slurping her drink.

“Technically, it doesn’t have sentience yet, so you can’t possibly know what it’s decided to call itself,” Karl said, meeting Ethan’s unamused stare.

“That’s a cute snow-creature, Rose,” Ethan said, tucking her more unruly blonde locks into her cap, “lunch will be ready in about ten minutes,” he informed, talking over his shoulder, “so, keep that in mind.”

“Did I marry a clock?” Karl hummed, sipping his tea, “or a dictator?”

Ethan stood, trying to glare, but unable to. He walked towards Karl, tapping a light pattern on his covered chest before saying, “You technically haven’t married anything,” he held up his left hand, showing the lack of a gold band, “at least I don’t see...well, never mind.”

Karl chuckled, circling Ethan’s waist, bringing him close. “We’ll be there in ten,” he murmured, nuzzling Ethan’s neck, planting kisses along his jaw.

“My ten, or your ten?” Ethan mumbled, accepting the kisses with a begrudging smile.

“That’s a matter of perspective,” Karl replied, pressing a kiss to Ethan’s red nose.

“Make that fifteen, then,” Ethan agreed, reaching forward to share a chaste kiss, “since I’m at the mercy of your perspective.”