{fic recs} music rpf ▪︎ original work ▪︎ Victor Gideon
{blurb recs} music rpf ▪︎ Victor Gideon
mainly Bad Omens RPF and Resident Evil
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Content Warnings: 18+, unprotected anal sex, references of past sexual encounters, knifeplay, blood, violent intrusive thoughts, stalking?? (kinda, I guess?? Noah is watching will sleep)
Word Count: 2k
A/N: this has been my plan since the very first part, so, forgive me. also, the last scene was a kind of a last minute decision bc I had I Know Where You Sleep by Ten56. on repeat for a little bit one day.
divider by saradika-graphics
The knife danced softly across Will's thigh, slow and languid. Noah let him have his thoughtless little moment—head tipped back and eyes closed, mouth parted with quiet, little gasps—as he just as leisurely rode him. When he wanted Will's stupid, glossed over eyes back on his, he'd just have to slice into him. A shudder paired with a filthy moan that would tempt Noah to do it again. And maybe he would, if Will looked at him pathetically hopeful enough.
But Noah didn't have to. Not yet. Will's eyes fluttered open as he rolled his hips with more determination. A breathless swear escaped his kiss bitten lips and he leaned forward, planting trembling arms and hands on Noah's sweaty chest. His unsteady gaze found Noah's and locked, mouth still parted.
Noah had the thought to slip the blade between Will's small, perfect, pretty little lips, fuck his mouth with it until crimson came in a steady flow so he could use it as lubricant to shove his cock down Will's throat and finish there instead—he almost did; he raised the knife to Will's waiting mouth, he even opened wider for Noah, but he stopped just shy. The blade rested on Will's bottom lip, begging him to do it.
"I want to fuck you up so badly." Noah rasped.
Will huffed, the corner of his mouth lifting. He wrapped a hand around his leaking cock and sighed.
"You do," Will panted. "All the time."
He bent down just close to enough to tease Noah with a feather light, barely there brushing of lips; it could hardly be called a kiss.
"It's hot."
No. That's not what Noah meant. He wanted to hurt Will. Hurt him. Bleed him. Cut him. Cut him. Cut him. Stab him. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.
Noah grabbed Will by the throat, startling a gasp out of him. He positioned the knife to his stomach.
"I want to fuck you with this," Noah corrected, voice emotionless. "So, so badly."
As gears slowly started turning in Will's head, more obscene, violent images flashed in Noah's, beyond the usual desire to carve into Will whatever he pleased. His blood was such a beautiful shade of red and delectable on his tongue. Noah wanted more of it, so much more. The initials scarred on Will's flesh, collars with his name, the—reluctant—public eye was no longer enough for him. Truthfully, it scared Noah, this sudden carnal and… borderline psychotic desire, but that was normal when you loved someone, right? To want to devour them whole, maim them and caress inside out? Outside in?
Will let out a nervous chuckle, expression faltering. "What do you mean?"
The knife's point bit into Will's flesh, not enough to cut or pierce but enough for his breath to hitch.
"I want to fucking stab you."
Steam drifted up, dancing in the air as Will stared out into the trees, thoughts racing so quickly they may as well have been still, waiting for his coffee to cool. Somewhere in the house, the cats were zooming. A blue jay landed on the railing outside. It seemed to have looked right at Will before squawking loudly and taking off. And Will continued to stare—stare, stare, stare until the tree line burned his retinas. He could see it in his cup as he took a tentative sip.
The automatic cat feeder went off and Will smiled, chuckling softly hearing his beloved furry son and daughter rush to it. He watched them devour their kibble like they've never had a meal in their entire lives. He decided he would spoil them later with wet food.
Other than the crunching of "starving felines", the house was quiet. The quietest it's been since Noah returned to LA over a month ago. The quietest since Will decided he was ending things.
Will loved Noah, so much it made his chest ache. He was so kind, thoughtful, funny, attractive, and so humble and down to earth in a way Will envied. The reservations and concerns his friends had of him and the marks inflicted mattered nothing to Will, because he knew Noah. They didn't know Will wanted Noah to hurt him.
He loved the way his hand felt around his throat, the force he could use to change the color of his face to match the bruises sucked into his skin. He loved the bright red welts on his cheeks—face and ass. Noah was so fucking good at humiliating him and he loved it. Will loved bleeding for him, being the reason he sharpened knives. He loved when Noah would cut his initials, his name into his flesh, because not even the collars were enough to brand him as his. PRETTY BOY, PROPERTY OF NOAH. That's all Will ever wanted to be.
At least, he did, up until the point Noah said he wanted to stab him. And he very nearly did.
After the confession, Noah had grabbed Will and pulled their chests flush. It happened so quick he hardly had time to think, let alone say anything. Will let out a cry, thinking he'd ben stabbed when he felt the hot edge sliding against his waist. But Noah only mimicked it, over and over, matching, mirroring thrusts with the knife and his cock inside Will. He hadn't been nearly as into it as Noah, but he allowed him to fill him with warm seed, mostly because he was scared and Will himself was already so close.
Will still donned ragged, scabbed over cuts from the excursion. Sometimes they'd crack and bleed, and Noah wasn't around to clean them.
Being followed home and held at knife point while Noah jerked him off then forcing him to his knees to blow him was merely a blip to that; insignificant.
In a different universe, maybe they could work out. Maybe there was a version of Will that could willingly indulge more in Noah's growing unhinged desires. Maybe there was one where neither of them were twisted and mangled and just… existed together profoundly in love and making a life together. He's dreamed it once or thrice.
Because Will loves Noah. And it's because he loves Noah that he has to break him.
Will turned his attention to the bag sitting on the counter. Noah's flight was delayed which meant he had to wait. Will hoped he didn't lose his nerve by then.
He supposed all the reasons he loved Noah were the same why he shouldn't. Will hoped he didn't break too badly, too.
Noah closed the trunk and gave the driver a wave, sending them on their way. Suitcase rolling behind him, he walked the short distance up to Will's door. He smiled when he saw him step out, but faltered when he shut it behind him.
"Hey," Noah greeted. He attempted to kiss Will's cheek but he turned his head.
There was a bag in Will's hand and his heart picked up pace.
"What's in the bag?" He nodded towards it.
Will looked down at the inconspicuous brown bag, handles intertwined and clutched tightly in his fingers. Without a word, he handed it to Noah.
Inside were leather necklaces, some no thicker than his finger, others a few fingers. Confused, Noah pulled one out—except they weren't necklaces. The bag was filled with Will's collars. The first one he grabbed was PET—a simple black leather band with brushed nickel lettering, by far the least impressive of the collection. BOYFRIEND, the next one, was three fingers thick with the top and bottom edges adorned, bedazzled with gems and shiny, glittery gemmed silver lettering.
He held it up in question.
"I… can't do this anymore." Will's voice was firm, but Noah heard the slight pitch, the crack he tried to hide.
"Do what anymore?"
Will gestured between them. "This. Us."
"Wha—" Noah started, but stopped. He tried again, starting several sentences but failing to complete any of them. So, he settled on, "Why?"
"You almost stabbed me, Noah."
Noah looked at Will then the bag and back again. He opened his mouth but no words came out. What could he say, really? He was blindsided and also had no defense. They didn't talk about it, so Noah assumed it was fine.
"Can we go inside and talk about this?" He made a move to step around Will, but Will out a hand to his chest and gently pushed him back.
"No." Will's voice was stern, leaving no room for argument but—
"Why?" Noah wavered. His eyes flicked between Will's, desperately searching for anything that told him his mind could be changed. All he saw was pain; pain inflicted by him that wasn't pleasurable.
"If I let you in," Will started, sucking in a shaky breath. "I'll cave."
"So cave!"
The bag dropped from his hands. He gripped Will's hands; he didn't pull away, but he did look elsewhere.
"I've already decided—"
"But I haven't!" Noah interrupted. "Will, please."
Will blink rapidly and slowly plucked his hands from Noah's. "I'm sorry."
Noah watched him turn away. Just like that? That's it? Over… broken up… Just like that? Like they were nothing? Because Noah got a little intense? It was more than that, Noah knew, but it was hard to think rationally with a shattered heart.
In a final, desperate attempt before Will disappeared, Noah said, "But I love you!"
He hardly recognized the frail, broken sound of his own voice.
"I love you, too."
If that wasn't enough for the rest of his heart to break, watching the door shut in his face and hearing the lock certainly was.
Will slept peacefully; deeply. The rise and fall of his chest steady, lips parted and quiet snores escaping. In the comfort and safety of his own home, he wore only boxer briefs—and his bonnet. Hair washing day.
Slivers of moonlight peaked through half closed curtains, bathing parts of his exposed body in the radiant light. His cuts bore fresh blood, small little pinholes that would undoubtedly stain his sheet.
God, isn't he beautiful?, Noah thought.
It would be so easy to crawl in beside him, wrap their bodies together, pretend the evening never happened, and that Noah didn't sit on Will's doorstep for far too long, lingering like a stray. He knew where Will kept his knife; he could carve an apology in his unmarked skin; or Will could turn the blade on him, show him just how badly he hurt him.
Noah instead chose to just watch his beloved kitten sleep. If he woke him, he'd feel guilty.
The break up would probably hit him when he returned home, possibly even mid flight, but right now Noah was still in denial, in shock. His kitten still loved him and wanted him and would be purring for him again in no time. He just needed to sleep; Will wasn't thinking straight, that's all.
In the darkness, Noah offered a small smile as he crouched beside the bed and continued to admire Will. Unable to resist, he traced the edge of his jaw with his knuckle, feather light so he wouldn't wake him.
"I love you so much, you know that?" Noah whispered. "I know you love me too. You just had a bad day, that's all. You don't need to apologize, but I forgive you."
Will stirred and Noah froze. But he didn't wake; he adjusted slightly then sighed heavily. He looked so peaceful and content in slumber. It made Noah's chest ache. It was his turn to sigh.
"You've always been so good and obedient for me," he started, staring at Will's closed and unmoving eyes, "I guess I can be obedient for you."
Noah pressed his lips to Will's forehead, hoping he wouldn't wake him, but also not caring if he did. He waited for a reaction. When he received none, he pressed a lingering kiss to his lips.
Before leaving, Noah left a note and key where Will was sure to see it the next morning.
You should see about changing the locks. I love you
18+ below the cut. (monsterfucking (it’s werewolf fucking werewolf), mention of knotting, fighting for dominance (literally))
Folio knew he place before he even tried challenging Darius, but what’s the harm in a reminder?
Both of them going at, in wolf form. Bared teeth and viscious growling, biting the fuck outta each other to get the other to submit. Folio out up the best fight he could, but in the end, Darius comes out on top. Gets him pinned beneath him, and maybe Folio should be a little embarrassed by how easily he submitted despite their brawl, maybe he should be embarrassed by how easily Darius mounted him, but he can’t find it in his stupid canine brain to care when his already throbbing and slick cock slides easily inside. All Folio can do is just take it and pitifully whine like a bitch as Darius ravages him, pants and growls above him as his own cock unsheathes and grows hard.
But he’ll get no release, he knows that. He’ll be left aching and to his own devices as soon as Darius can safely unknot him. No one ever dares to touch Folio after his and Darius’ excursions, no one wants to encroach on his territory.
Darius pissing on Folio to further mark his territory then what???? Like how far is too far???? Is here a “too far” with werewolves??? Cuz like, they’re not “official”, they’re just “fucking around” but like…. Folio wouldn’t mind being below Darius full time.
Darius can’t breed Folio like he would with a female wolf, but he can still breed folio, ya know????
a yandere fic that’s purely the aftermath of the noncon….youre sore and sticky and you can’t seem to stop crying….they’re humming as they get you all clean again…kissing the spots that hurt the most….its all hazy already… like maybe it was just an awful dream…
Victor whispering in your ear "I know, I know" & shushing you gently while he impales you on his massive [REDACTED]... each whimper making him throb inside you... he's so tender & grossly intimate that it makes you want to sob, but you don't even know why - you can't think of anything else but how he's stretching you to a sense of total fullness, his voice reaching to a place you've never had anyone enter before; you're disemboweled, degloved, everything inside on the outside... you've never put so much trust into anyone before & he knows that, that's why he's telling you just how good you're doing, that there's no need to be afraid, you can feel safe with him. it's almost humiliating how your body seems to so readily betray your pretenses of caution & restraint, yet this surrender feels better than anything you could possibly imagine. don't resist the inevitable, let him in, let him redefine everything, intoxicate & corrupt you save you from yourself
just god.... victor overpowering leon is so fucking hot, man. just needs to slam leon up against the wall and keep him on the edge of consciousness while groping him through his pants. let leon try to fight while sapping his energy slowly strangling him,
leon tries anything and all victor's gotta do is squeeze just right and... shhh.... :]
Apologetic CNC but flipping the script. Instead of “I’m sorry, I need this so bad” it’s “I can’t help it, I know how bad you need it.” “You’re gonna feel so much better after, just hold still.” “Please cry and get it out. I’m trying to help.”
can't stop thinking about re9 leon who has learned that he likes fucked up things. likes gently spreading your lips with the handle of his pistol, watching you gag at the gunmetal that hits your tongue, eyes tearing up from the unnatural stretch of your mouth. likes when you call him dad and view him as a mentor/father figure, someone to look up to that will protect you, to follow blindly because you trust him. likes using his physical strength to pin you down or force you into a certain position, likes being in control and you knowing that you can't push him away.
cockwarming a werewolf while giving them a bath, washing away the blood sweat and dirt from their last hunt while their cock throbs in you. you can see the fire in their eyes as they try to be good and patient, letting you take care of them but they're burning to bend you over the side of the tub and rut into you.
Okay hear me out with this over the top fantasy, but kidnapping a sub and them escaping only for that Stockholm Syndrome to kick in and they come crawling back. They get tied down as a precaution "Just until the trust is earned back, you understand, right, honey?”
Waiting for punishment that comes in the form of being cucked as you invite another much more obedient sub into your once shared bed. Fucking the new sub dumb while the escapee brat pulls against their restraints, stricken and desperate for forgiveness.
summary: f! reader is a daughter of a wealthy man, Nathaniel is employed to keep her safe. he agrees to put his life on the line because she reminds him of a woman he lost. everything slowly gets out of control, emotions clouds judgement, even when both parties knows - it's wrong. people has their own secrets and you cannot hide three things for long: the sun, the moon, the truth.
trigger warnings: alcohol consumption, age gap, throwing up, guns, swearing
word count: +6.9 (reading time : 25 mins)
divider: limes
authors note: i'm back with oc again. if you read the fist one (happy if you did) this one will be a slightly different, but you can bet, it's gonna be as fucked up and as dark as the first one. more gore, taste of something different will come. if you're already here, it's enough for me. if you enjoyed it - let me know. sorry for czech , if it's wrong. sorry for mistakes in general , for sure left some in there
Early. Sun just started to reach hill over the forest. Birds singing. Watch displayed 6AM. Too early. Yet everyone around was awake. Insects crawling on the rocks in the tall grass. It moving like a sea, catching the wind. Songs of no man land. Tree trunks cracking. Palm of invisible deity stroking the hair. Wind messing up everything. Hexa running around and hunting flies with her mouth. "Easy there, don't eat a wasp" I said and shook my head. No reaction, of course, that damn dog doesn't hear what she doesn't want. I covered my forehead.
Rays breaching through leaves. German shepherd at last sat next to me. Morning beauty got to her amber eyes too. I patted her back, leaned back when her snout was all over my shirt " Hexa, sit" She whined but got on her back legs to the spot in the grass. Cap didn't help me with burning line of light. Shirt moving with nature's dance. Jeans were a little muddy from our walk near the river not long ago. Slightly damp. Necklace hanging around the collar. Deep breath. " Let's go" My hand went through her fur, tail swings from left to right.
Sometimes I meet old couples in grocery store, nod and that's was the only silent agreement. Everyone here had their own not written rule of not getting into anyone's business. That's why I chose this small village, if you can even call it that. Escape from all the people. Peace and no temptations. Trapped in a box of your own choosing.
Going back to the cabin. My home. Wildflowers catching me by knees and thighs, trying to tie my legs. Dog was bouncing around as it was snow. Running recklessly. Eyes full of light. She found a twig. "Okay, okay" I got my arms up, surrendering myself. She dropped it in front of my feet. Took it in my palm, wide swing back and the swirl of wood disappeared on far right. She went so fast. I smiled to myself. Steps were easy when I got closer to my side of the hill. There were few neighbors, but much further, this area was less livable, it was closer to the edge. People didn't trust nature, it would come to take what's her's.
I stopped. "Hexa" Called out but not a sound. My body turned to direction I threw her nature's chew toy. Whistle. " Come here, girl" Nothing. This was not funny anymore. Animal got to her? A lot of them around, but none would attack her unprovoked. Only humans do that. Going down the hill got a kick in the thighs. Muscle tensed up but my trail was stopped. "If you say so" She said with a big smile, answering the call for my dog. Not meant for her. Not in her place. Hand on Hexa's belly. Stick in dog's teeth. " What are you doing here?" I asked with my hands in pockets. "Came to visit an old friend" Freckles on her cheeks indicated vacation not long ago. Tan line on her finger also showed that she took her wedding ring off. "Yeah, sure" I cleared my throat and scratched neck with a thumb, " What do you want, Gia?" Crossed my arms and moved my palm in the circle gesturing whole silhouette " What's all of this?"
"Not even gonna offer me coffee? You know it's quite a hike to get here" Brownhaired woman exhaled and stood up. In heels too. Full suit. " Yeah, it's gonna be even worse for you to get back, have fun" I smiled, forcefully. " Hexa, go" Patted on my thigh and she ran to me. Eyes up, my maneuver to the house. Passed me and went straight to open doors of the cabin. Commands on her works sometimes, I wished it did on Gia "Come on, for good time's sake" Out of breath. I closed my eyes, brushing my fingers against eyelids. "Okey, cup of coffee and then you're gone" Gia smiled. I didn't. "I almost didn't recognized you with that bear and the hair" She brushed her a finger dark strands while passing me, suddenly all of her strength got back, so typical. "Clearly too recognizable still, how you did tracked me?" I walked slower, didn't try to catch up to her. Tiny waist, the one you could break in half.
Hexa was laying on her armchair. Wiggle of the tail. Didn't feel the threat. I did. "Black?" Gia sat on the sofa next to bookshelf. Collected decent amount of literature in these years. " You know it" White teeth and legs crossed one on another. Silence while I made it. Put mug on small wooden coffee table in front of her and sat in the opposite direction. Both elbows on armrests. " You came all the way here for shitty coffee?" I said and tilted my head slightly, trying to catch her facial expressions, those were hidden behind falling hair strands. Fresh. Barbie out of the plastic box.
"Just some luck, I guess" Shrugged. I don't like these answers. " Very believable" Dry tone. Stepped to the side, for her to walk first. "Cozy" She said looking around cottage house. She didn't mean a word she said. Body language showed it. She liked shiny, pricy, artificial. This too close to earth and at the same time too far from civilization for her taste.
"No, with an offer" I covered my mouth, hiding a smile "Offer? Please, Gia, this might be good" I relaxed in the armchair, head touching soft fabric and raised my eyebrow, already throwing everything out of the window, doesn't matter the cause. " I need you in Prague, pays well" Pouted lips and a nod, like it was impressive, what she said.
" So, rich prick got into some shit and now someone has to keep his heritage from dying? Why he or she is a target?" Gia moved her shoulders and a sip of black mass. Visual disgust. " I was instructed to get the best". Nod from me. "I'm off the grid for any bullshit you think of, okay? You can leave" I moved to the kitchen area, opening cabinet. Hunger spiked. "Okay, I will, I'm just gonna leave some files, if you change your mind" She put a folder from her bag onto coffee table "I won't, good luck to you" I said putting ingredient's wooden top. " Okay, Nathaniel, see you" Perfectly dyed lips said their goodbyes.
"Sorry to hear that you ruined your pricy shoes walking here for nothing" I finished my sentence while breathing out, last words almost went silent. Got up from the armchair " Not interested" Adding to finish the blow. "She looks like Annie" Her voice made my legs freeze into flooring. I didn't turn to her. She can't see my confusion. I cleared my throat and scoffed. " And that's big of a reason for me to go to Europe? To do what exactly?" At last turned to her. Her eyes narrow, the thin winning smile , she already thinks that war was won. " Y/N is a daughter of important man, who needs someone to protect his precious girl for this getaway" I raised my eyebrow.
In the corner of my eye. It was laying there. I took my plate and a mug, right before pouring food for Hexa. Opened it with index finger. Gonna look at it for a second. Your name in big letters. Your picture. You did resemble like her, old love. Still studying. The difference of years. Your smile. Wide and pure. New moon. Hair and the depth in those eyes. So many similarities but at the same time - two different people. Annie died long time ago. It seemed that memories faded, even though it wasn't that, it was me trying to erase her from my mind, from my heart, from my life. And there you were. Different color eyes, hair, lips, but still there was something I couldn't shake off. Turned other page. The only child. In pictures with a man, dad, your smile was tinnier, forced. You didn't want to attend those big events. Squeezed in between old businessman with foxy eyes and handshakes. Yet, there to support him. Mom was out of the picture. In some there was younger woman who was clearly that day's menu. Turned another page.
Half of face covered with palm, other hand on coffee table, fingers tapping surface. I can't just go because you reminded me of someone from my past. Staring at me like an open wound. To the other end of the world. Gia's number at the last page of the folder. Placed there on purpose, she knew I would check whole file. Hexa's head on my lap. This is where I'm suppose to be. I need to stay away. You, you don't need me to stepping inside your life and messing it up, even if I would be staying silent, watching you closely but being a wallflower.
I shook my head, not believing what I'm thinking of committing. Few weeks in Prague to look after you. I am no savior. I've done too many mistakes in my life and this would be another one. Even pathetic in a way. And yet. Phone in my hand. [I'm in] and the few seconds after [I'll text you the details]. She waited and knew I'll write, just like that I made a deal with the devil, having no idea what I'm signing myself up to. The warmth of wooden walls, colorful furniture and the view of mountains changed into 8th century city.
Early flight. Shaved my hair, almost at zero on the sides, just some on the top. No beard. Felt naked. Just a bag with some clothes. Everything else taken care off, like Gia said. My dog at daycare. Felt wrong leaving her for so long. Got used to solitude. Private plane. Oh, those rich people just love spending money. Few other man in suits. I sat next to the window. Wooden small table on the side. Leather seats. Blond curly guy sat in front.
" Charlie Trond" He said with a smile, stretching his arm to me "Nathaniel" I said looking through the window "Oo-ukey" Kid said wiping his hand on the suit like now it was dirty. "I'm gonna be working with you" excitement in his voice. Actually, the way he looks, guessing he was younger than you. Wind in a jar. " Let's go team" He said with a smile. Okay, that one almost got confused smile out of me " New on all of this? " I turned my head to him , he nodded. Others were laughing, silently, but I knew it was because of this kid. Charlie's smile got smaller.
" Don't give them your time, kid. It doesn't matter" I managed to get my lips just slightly up for it to look like a friendly grin. "Yeah, you are right " His head moving, it was more of a pray for himself than me. Seems like I would need to take care of this one too. "Why are you not wearing your suit?" Curly asked in genuine tone. "Not on my shift, why should I?" He looked at my boots, jeans and hoodie. "I'm here to get my career going as personal bodyguard and they pay really well too, I'll be set for some time" Blue eyed guy was looking at the clouds, proud smile. "Money is not always what you should be chasing after" I said to him, not trying to start any serious conversation, but I think it managed to set fire to it anyways.
"Why are you doing this for then? " Clicked with my tongue " Get a nap or something " I moved my palm, whooshing a fly away, he smiled. Too friendly. "True, I barely slept, never went to Europe either" Eyes sparkling. Rushing to live. " You should get some sleep" I said closing my eyes. " But we will get there in the middle of the night, I think we should be awake" Confusion in his voice "You do that" I saluted him, his eyes narrowing "Are you gonna pretend that you are sleeping?" He asked with distrustful voice " Most likely I will" I said with my arms crossed on my chest.
City lights from above. Alive. Tiny sparkles on the roads, yellow lights on the streets adding feeling of nostalgia. Gia was the one who greed us. " So classy" She said looking at my outfit " You look like a clown on the other hand" I said mockingly and she punched my shoulder , didn't move me from my direction. She worked at the FBI and now she's just someone's goon shoved in a tiny suit? Never would've have guessed she would change her career path. Seemed the one who will always gonna get justice for people, when her little girl got to experience the darkness of this filthy world.
"Who's the clingy ?" She asked looking back, I checked through my shoulder, curly was walking behind me. "Not your recruit?" Gia shook her head. The way her eyes tracked him. Weak. That's what she thought. Everyone who's weak in her mind is not worth living. Be strong or don't exist at all, yet people around her tend to be the weak link "My partner" I said looking at her hazel eyes. " Whatever works for you" Her long nails cut hair strands. It was warm here. The end of spring. " They didn't arrive yet, so detail is first on the scene, guys" She said louder, for everyone to hear, seemed like shouting to me.
More people. More and more. Adding to the group. Until we got to hotel, I counted five cars. Someone wasn't really trusting person. Getting his whole team to another country, the bald man is afraid. We got our phones. Well, the ones they provided. Earpiece too. "Everything else you need will be in your rooms" I walked up to reception, with my glue on the side. " Charlie Torn" he said again and guy in front asked full detail of mine" Nathaniel Harrow" .We got keycards. My room was right next to partner's.
"You wanna go to see th-" Curly asked while I was opening the doors. He didn't mean nothing wrong but I didn't need a friend. " Thanks, I'm gonna crash, goodnight" I said closing the door before hearing his answer to my statement. Dropped the bag on the floor and took my shoes off. Sliding into slippers. Peeled hoodie of myself. Golden necklace on my neck with a oval shape pendant. Room smelled new. But it wasn't. Fresh flowers on the side table next to the balcony door's. Bottle of champagne. Not alcoholic. I walked closer to the windows.
View was something you already saw, something you craved and never knew you needed. Cathedral from the distance. Lights under bridges. Could've slept on the plane , because now my body was starving for rest. Suit was hanged next to wardrobe. For everyone to look the same. Small case on table. Welcome card with Wi-Fi password. Don't forget to connect yourself. Into conversation, into network, into someone else. Be a part of whole organism. And yet, feel alone in crowded room. Urge to be with a label, seen or forgotten. Just something to think about before sleep. Something when the water's silky fingers brush the days waste from your skin. I felt it. Place I were just eight hours ago turned into a memory. White sheets taking freshly washed tired body in. Not even minutes passed. Blackout.
Loud knock on the door. My eyes glued to direction of the sound. "Harrow" Voice stated "The family is coming soon, we should go to the lobby" Curly knocked again " Fuck" I murmured " Yeah" I said with louder raspy voice, and deeper, didn't manage to fake it, still stuck in sleep. He stopped knocking " Dude, you were sleeping?" I heard a smile in his voice, even some cockiness. I rolled my eyes and got out of the bed. Pants, shirt, jacket, whole suit. Shoes. Earpiece in. Case had a gun. To the holster. Phone in the pocket. Poured water in me and popped a mint. Opened the door. "If you had longer hair it would be messy" He said mockingly " Fuck you, Charlie" I said with my eyes half closed. Pushed him out of the way. But his steps were following me like a ghost.
"Who is this man?" He asked walking behind. "Pharmaceutical's, so they claim" I yawned and press the button. I felt his glimpse. "What? You think he sells some migraine meds and got all of this? No" I shook my head and pressed back to lacquered walnut wood wall. He didn't ask more about my conspiracy theories. "I'm on his duty today, with others" Curly said looking down at his polished shoes. I didn't move my head but looked at his stance in reflection of the lift door. Uncomfortable. How a kid like him got into this mess? Doesn't seem like his cup of tea. "You'll be fine" I said looking at our uneven shadows in golden color mirror "If they try to do something on their own teammate, well" Wavy imagery but his head was turned to me " Someone gonna lose a teeth or two" I finally turned to him, kid had a proud smile to have a person who was owning a spine.
Everyone looking the same, only the faces change. Clones of a same goal. All in line. I walked to the back of it. Gia was standing with someone from the hotel, didn't read the card on their jacket. Her eyes wider. I shrugged. More suited men and a woman. Tall older man, father, walked in first. Straight as string. Posture so stiff that he seemed like a robot, coded on his command to walk. Power. You can feel intimidation even from afar. Piercing eyes might cut your lenses in half. You could say presence is enough for this one. Charlie will be scared of him. Should I be?
"Ok, Torn, Lerman, Peterson and Castillo with Mr" Following like dogs on orders. "Harrow, Chen and Monroe with Y/N" My last name broke the silence. Footsteps. Crowd of people. Blurring them. I walked to the side. Bright. Aurora in the sky. The only smile in concrete faces. Looking to direction of the stairs. Checking surroundings or understanding that I need to find an exit. Might've pushed myself into a hole without ladders.
You. Hair tied. With hoodie and sweatpants, airport outfit. Unlikely combo but your face,you made it work. Your eyes following a line of faces. You didn't catch mine, your father cut interaction short, asking you to go. I knew staring was wrong but seemed like sun got into this lobby. People looked. Maybe your father made the room cold but you managed to burn it to the ground in seconds. My eyes to marble beneath my feet. I looked at this painting in the gallery before. I ruined it. I can't do this again.
Following you to the lift, one of the suited. Hotel staff taking your bags to next one. I walked last. Pressed the button. Almost the last floor. "A bit crowded" You said brushing your hair, reflection showing me enough. None said a thing. Usually it's best to keep interactions at minimum. "Tough crowd" You said with a lip bite. Ding. And the doors were open. Two in front of you. Me at the back. Perfume trail to follow. Earpiece ringing with talks. Chen unlocked the door with your keycard. She walked in first.
Checking the room like someone could've put a bomb there. I felt your gaze on me. Looking straight to open doors and black haired woman walking around. "Y/N, nice to meet you" Your chin up, head to my direction. "Nathaniel" I said half cut tone. Victory in your face. Someone talked. "Okay, Nate" You said it like we were old buddies and just walked into room. I don't like when people decides to delete some parts of the name and make it their own. But I didn't intervene with it. We stayed behind closed doors. Chen stayed inside. Presence. It felt it through the walls. Ballet and then a party. That's the plan for today? Somehow seems like marketing stunt. No way this person is not involved in something, or maybe it's just my character to judge everyone who I found slightly suspicious.
Chen walked out first. You right after it. Different clothes. Kept my eyes straight but I saw colors float away. Was this an act too? Or you were just like that? Clear water with nothing to hide. Staying true to what you are? I'm definitely not the best for this role. We got back to the lobby. Your father already there, he smiled but I saw how he grabbed your arm. My eyes went to the grip. "You're late" He said, wearing the mask, it was almost falling now. "Just five minutes" Whisper. Glimpse said it all, not happy. Are you sure you are related? Seemed like two different worlds. Few staying near the door. Others following. Instructions in earpiece. I got shotgun spot. Chen and Monroe in the back with you. Driving to opera house. I didn't need to look , imaging your face was glued to the window. "It's my first time in Prague" talking into the void again. Everyone's job to keep you safe, again, it's not to be your friend.
Your hands on one seat, another squeezing the seat , pulling yourself closer to the driver's and passenger's. I looked to the left. Your face almost touching mine. " You should stay in the back" I said piercing your profile, you looked at me. Questioning authority for a blink of a second. "Whatever you say, Nate" You sat back. I hate that. I hope it won't stick. Driver looked at me. Silent confusion.
You can see blooming magnolia still. Streets full of people. Sun shining in the sky. Busy. Tourists walking back and forward looking at their phones. Construct of their own world. Surroundings was the the background of their game. Your face held by your own palm. My head turned slightly to your direction. You felt it. Your eyes slowly tracking mine. Shared few seconds of contact and drifted my eyes back to front view. It was uncanny. I'm suppose to keep an eye on you.
Memories rushing. It was not yours, it felt like it was. I'm sorry that the moment I looked at you, I saw her. Reading a book you did before. Maybe every tiny detail was forgotten but the further you go, the more you remember. It's wrong, in any case, this was wrong. But I chose to be here, to see you. A clone of a past, different script, different font, different story, just a visual of so called character from poorly written ending. Maybe Gia's plan was to get higher in chain, that way finding someone who would take a bullet for you was the only option, and that's why I came to her mind first. Or was it her seeing the way you look? Digest it as much as you can, it won't make sense yet. I know it was not for my good.
I opened the door. Holding it. Your tiny pressed smile, it was a thank you. Your dress holding itself on the chest, naked shoulders. Hair down. "Liliom, ever been?" Your soft voice touched my ears and I nodded. "Something about tragic love story, I just…" You hands pressing small purse, head turned to me. " Let's go" Chen disrupted whole talk with a gesture. Your father arrived, some people in costumes looking back. Murmuring. Creeping at you? Or just judging? We're always enjoy a smudge of hurt, if there's comfort, or leave us thinking how could've done it better.
Me and Monroe were standing near you. Uncomfortable , I saw. Champagne in your hand. Chen took your purse so you could move more freely, but yet your hand was under your ribcage. The bald man ,your dad was laughing, you standing a little further, looking around, searching for someone you knew, but none was there. Photographers came and he got you. You smiled. He did too. They took pictures. Right after he got back to his vultures. Some snaps of the camera too. Chen got her directions and left your side. You, alone on melting iceberg. Polar bear on slippery surface.
Second glass of champagne. I felt Monroe eyes follow me. Steps behind you, still not too close but in a reach of a hand "I would limit those" Said looking straight. Lots of fake laughs fill in the room. More men with earpieces around, faces I didn't care to know, but I was sure important people was searching here, in their hunting grounds. "It's fine, I can handle my liquor, Nate" Your sassy tone and roll of the eyes. "On an empty stomach?" I asked with my arms behind my back. Assumption? Most likely you didn't eat in plane, there was no room service while I was waiting for you to leave the room. Empty stomach. Pretty sure heard the growl from the beast in the car too.
Chen got back to her spot, so I got back to my position. Intended, not the one I tried to achieve. You slowly looked through your shoulder, tracking from the head to toes, following my steps. " Don't try to reason with her, she doesn't listen" Monroe talked at last. " Everyone has their approach, if you know how" I said stretching my back by moving shoulders a little. "Woke up on the wrong side?" He asked with a smirk. " Every day" I shrugged. He laughed like it was the best joke. His gray hair bounced. Side eye from me, but he didn't care. Wrinkles in his lips showed that he usually breaks the skin with wide smile.
Smile hidden with a glass. Peripheric view, blurred movement. " Shouldn't you mind your business as all of them?" A little dry, a little salty. Where's your sun now? Is it because your father acted like you were not here? I looked at you finally. Gaze met, your face challenging me, I shared one back, but it was empty " Well, you are my business, so it would be my best interest if you didn't fall from the stairs" Scoff out of your lips" I liked you better when you talked less" You shook your head a little and eyes searching in the crowd. Did I put too much salt on the wound?
"Chen, can you come up?" Radio silence. "Shit" I said to myself, maneuvered around the armchairs. Squatted down. " You're okay?" My had on one of the armrests, it took you some time to look to my direction " Yeeah" Sleepy smile. Not convincing. "Let's go," I said getting up and my hand to your waist, your arm on my shoulder , no resistance. " What the hell are you doing?" The man's voice, didn't hear him before " Sorry , sir, but she's not feeling well" I said without turning back. Your head placed on my chest, feet getting tied up with each other.
Lodge. Just few faces. Me and Monroe inside. Charlie was near the door too. Another glass for you. In dim light, only from the stage, I saw your half closed eyes, slightly open mouth. Tiredness or alcohol, both could be the case. Holding in a cough or something worse "Where's Chen?" I asked quietly. Monroe shrugged, pressing his earpiece of assistance. She's the only woman on our team and I saw that soon there will be an emergency to the bathroom. Your head moving slightly to one and other side. Fingers massaging lips, it won't help to hold down what's trying to erupt like a volcano.
Empty corridor. Holding you to place, my embrace. "Can you stop for a minute" Your eyes closed "My head is spinning" Your palms on your cheeks. Forehead holding it's center pushed to my collarbone. My hand on silky dress. In half made hug, palm on your back. I saw three at least but there were more. Could smell it. Women's bathroom sign seen from afar. Don't throw up on me , please. "Okay, Y/N, let's go" Silence and deep breathes onto my shirt. Nod. Walking slowly. I opened the door. Some older lady putting on the lipstick " Tohle jsou dámské koupelny" she said with anger, covering her neck, clenching her diamonds. " I know, but she doesn't feel well" I said and opened one of the stalls, you on your knees right after, couldn't hold back anymore. Hand on the toilet. Women walked fast out of the area, heels tapping the floor.
Gathered strands, they kept falling on your back and shoulders. I took your hair in my palm at last. Creasing it in a tail, few strands still managed to fall on your face. My back bent. Liquid from your mouth. Body trembling and twitching while you were throwing up. Just water. Just champagne going though the drain. Your mascara stayed even when eyes were filled with tears. Cheeks red.
"All good" I said , I wanted to place my hand on your back, it was naked, but kept fingers in your hair instead. Soft and silky. " I hate this" You said with tired voice, wiping your wet lip " Well, you had too much to drink" I said squatting down next to you, locked between my knees, not enough space for two people. " Not this, him" Your lip shaking a little, eyes glassy. Face to me. " Your father?" I asked to be sure what where talking about. You nodded. " Whatever I do, I'm not enough" You bit your lip.
Hands around the toilet. Dress was a little to tight on the chest. Legs scattered on the floor. "He didn't even look" Gaze on the floor, lost in your own mind. Was this on purpose? To make him flinch? " I don't think you should ruin your day for someone's approval" Letting your hair go and placing myself on the floor. Legs bent. Hands on the knees. Back to the stall. And moment was cut short. You started to vomit again.
Shared silence. Your eyes to the front as mine was, not meeting halfway through. You moved, trying to fix the dress, which was slipping. Hair sticking to your lipstick. " Such a great impression" Smile of shame and a sniffle, this time it was genuine. You cleared your throat right after it. "Could've been worse if you thew up on my shoes" I said crunching my knuckles and a chuckle left your lips "True" Another after that. Still dizzy and a little bit drunk, it wasn't that funny. Alcohol smell reeking from the distance. You twisting your rings. A lot of them on your fingers. Anxious. A habit? A tell? My fingers tied between each other. No rings on mine.
You washed up your face enough not to be a massacre. Mascara crumbles under lashes. Chen walked in. " You're okay, Miss?" She asked with scared undertone and you nodded, looking at her through mirror. " I'm taking her back" Chen looked at me, shaking her head " We should be her until nine" I reached for your purse "I'll take her back" I said again, she hesitated "Then I'll ask Monroe to drive" Blackhair walked out. Your front of the dress was wet from the water. Lips dripping of it. "Fuck" you said under your breath, looking at your reflection. Wiping face with a towel. " I can't go like this" Covering your face and then hugging yourself. There was vomit on your dress which didn't wash.
Your legs straight, flat on the surface. Blinking slow. " I know you have orders" You said looking at me, but the target was my chest, maybe my shirt wasn't buttoned up fully. " Can you take me back to the hotel? I don't want to stay at the party" Sa frown. Stomach gurgling. I can't. Breaching the rules. Rearranging the plan, your father might fire me for that. Seemed like a guy who needs everything to go exactly to his plan, even if tornado would hit. People should get new directions to change their positions. Everything placed in their own designed spot on the chest board. " Y/N , I don't.." You eyes followed trail to my face" Please" Soft, hurt and lips into thin line after the words. Deep breathe." Okay" I said getting up from the floor. Gave up too fast.
Purse on the sink. I took my jacket off and put on your shoulders. You looked up. Sliding your arms inside sleeves which was too long for you. "There, covered " I said taking into my hand the tiny purse and giving it to you. " Thank you" Your eyes watery from brushing. Chen got back with Monroe by her side and we walked out. You step by step near me, bumping into me from time to time. Tripping on your own dress. Charlie looked at me with a question mark on his face. I shook my head, later, not now. Walking the stairs was the hardest for you. You almost fell but the arm, your fingers caught on my elbow. Holding yourself closer.
"Sorry" You said looking at your feet, not to catch another wrong step.
Sun was not even set yet. Just a orange strike in the sky. Balloons hanging in the entrance at ballet, to indicate that Liliom is showing today. You got in the back of the car. Flat on your stomach. Me passenger's seat. Your face covered with hair. Hand near your lips. " You know he won't be happy about it" Monroe said looking at the rear mirror. " I don't really care what he thinks, he can fire me if he wants" My pupils followed pedestrians. Groups of tourists walking to Charlie bridge. Probably that's what Charlie wanted to offer to see yesterday. " Losing a lot of money for a mistake" Monroe looked at me for a glimpse. I shared one back to him. Enough for bodyguard to stop talking.
"Let's go" I said with open doors. Your head unglued itself from the seat. "Oh" you just said sitting up, I stood on the side, so you could get out of the car. A stumble. Heels didn't help with uneven sidewalk. Monroe drove right after to park. "Such a mess" Lips pressed together , your hair fuzzy, palm on forehead. Walking to a lobby. Slow but more confident. To the lift. Push of a button. Melody in the back. You pressed in the corner. My back to you. No sound. Just breathing. I saw your eyes in reflection. Following my figure. Scanning for a reason to be here? I was no a threat. Not to you.
Doors opened and you walked, dragging your feet on carpet. Flowers in vases placed on every tiny table next to a painting. "Keycard" I said pinning myself next to your room's door " Yeah" You tried to open metal bubble looking things on your purse, fingers slipping,, clip didn't open " Let me" I took it from your hand and it was wide. Phone, lipstick and keycard. Beep. The door's were not longer an issue for you. I walked in to look around. Your clothes in the bag still. Nothing. Balcony open. Checked it too. Empty. " All good, you can go" I said passing you. Your fingers on my wrist stopped me. "Thank you, truly" Lips formed into hesitation. There's more to it, but you didn't speak. I looked at the gesture. I nodded and walked out. Breaking the handcuffs you tried to put on.
Closed the door behind me and stood next to it. Hands in front of me. One palm covering the burn on my wrist. Earpiece was filled with voices but I didn't hear them. You could be more like your dad, more of a prick, rich person but you weren't. Too normal. Not looking at someone below you to be less of a human than you were. That made you even harder to resist. I know I already painted your image because of the way you looked and it hurt, but this can't and won't happen. I just hurt people and make them go down deeper into the dark, I won't do the same for you. I won't do that to you.
"Your jacket" Your voice interrupted my inner monologue. You were standing with wet hair, no makeup left, with shorts and tank top. "Thank you" I said taking top of the suit from your palms. Your shoulder resting on the door frame. "Actually a life saver, so you might be good fit for a bodyguard" Sparkle in those eyes was proof that not all lose it in time. " Might be ? " I asked looking through my shoulder but getting back to surrounding's right after " You don't seem that, to be clear" I scoffed and turned my head to left. " What?" I still could smell alcohol from you, just with shower gel mixture. You used yours, it was not the same smell as the one hotel provided.
" You know , you have that" You moving your head, putting a play in your head " I could kill you with my bare hands" Your voice got deeper and you made a angry grin. " That's your impression of me? " I shook my head " I don't sound like that" I put my jacket on. Your perfume was already written into the fabric. " But you do" You smiled because you got a reaction out of me, not amused. " Fuck the rules, punch someone in the face" You pouting your lips and chin up. Damn, you're still drunk. "Y/N , I think you should go to sleep" I looked back at you. "Yeah, I actually felt like shit" Whisper, confirmation to yourself. Back to your voice, not the mockery of mine.
"I didn't really sleep in plane" Resting your head and eyes up to the ceiling " Goodnight, Y/N" My eyes drifted to the side, not catching your gaze for the wishing. "Goodnight, Nathaniel" Sounded more like a promise. Doors cracked and it was shut. I stood there for few hours. Until my shift change came. Charlie. "What happened?" He asked quietly, if it was a secret. " She just got too drunk" Blu eyed whistled " Old man was not happy" I exhaled with a scoff " Sure he wasn't, but I'm pretty sure he's still at the party?" Charlie nodded, I raised my eyebrows and shook my head, father of the year indeed. " You should go eat" Charlie stood in my place " Yeah" I brushed my hair with fingers.
Walking to my room, in my cell. Same floor but much further from yours. Another suit in the room. Hanged this one for dry cleaning. It was getting rid of the evidence , the smell of your hair, your skin. I got into my casual clothes. Took my phone. Gia wrote few messages, politely saying why the fuck I did that. [none died, it would've been worse is she stayed], not a fan of messages, but it would be better than see her face in person. Out. With my headphones on. Some 'Alice In Chains' was the great choice for evening. Spring air filled my lungs. Small restaurant owned by a family. Food made me feel complete again. Walking around Prague's old town. Sitting near clocktower. Even in nightfall, square was full of people.
Stretched my legs. Gia was in the lobby " Nathaniel, let's agree you won't do this again, I had to talk him and confirm that you are great at what you do" She still in a suit, living with it like second skin " What you thought I would do? " I passed her, taking my headphones off "I don't know, maybe let her throw up and get back? " She said it slow, trying to push a nail into my skull. " Uhu" I said walking to the lift. " Come on, I vouched for you, stop doing this" She walking next to me." I'll try, crossing my heart" She walked inside golden rectangle too "Uhu" Mimicking me. People just love to do that I see. "She does look like Annie" I said quietly and Gia looked at me "She does" Brown hair woman fixed her collar.
"Does that bother you?" She asked, unbuttoned her jacket. " Less than it should" I said honestly, looking at the numbers lighting up, getting closer to my floor. Gia left off a floor before mine. Linger. Not of her. Of the thought I let out of my lips. Less than it should. First day. One please was enough to change whole fucking plan. I don't think I'm going to be the bad influence, you will use this. You'll use the moment of weakness I let you have. I fucked up.
— Victor Gideon x Fem!Reader (Resident Evil Requiem)
Pairing: Dr. Victor Gideon x Fem!Patient!Reader
Fandom: Resident Evil (Requiem)
Word Count: 8k
Part II
Synopsis: You’ve been a patient at the Rhodes Hill Chronic Care Center for months now, and despite their constant “treatment”, you never seem to improve.
When a fellow patient points out that the center's director seems to have an eye out for you, you fail to notice ...
Until he makes it clear just how much he knows about you.
Warnings: Explicit 18+, Fem!Reader but not explicitly described, Victor Gideon is a warning on his own, creepy behavior, mental health issues, medical abuse, non-consensual medical procedures, implied past suicidal attempt, implied self-harm behavior, depression, doctor/patient power imbalance, predator/prey dynamics, non-sexual nudity, but he's hella creepy, non-consensual touching, kinda dub-con?, emotional detachment, mentions of childhood neglect, probably inaccurate virological science (idk),
A/N: I need to establish a better taste in men from games, but that voice tho ...
“Nurse Bethany has been giving me a nasty side-eye all morning.”
Whether or not you’re actually paying any attention to what she’s saying, Selena Corey either doesn’t seem to particularly notice or care. She just prefers to speak when there’s someone around her, and today - like most days - it happens to be you.
And you don’t have the energy to deject her.
In her defense, between her and the rather lackluster breakfast presented in front of you on the table, she’s the more noticeable addition to your morning. Exactly what she wants, no doubt.
“Nurse Bethany?” You prod with as much interest as you can be bothered to garner while scooping your scrambled eggs to the left side of the plate. “Doesn’t she always look like someone pissed in her cereal?"
Maybe you could give this mush to either Timothy or Thomas. They’d slurp it like it was a delicacy, no chewing required.
Selena leans closer to your ear, as if to whisper, but her voice doesn’t dim in the slightest. “I bet she’s envious of me.”
A not-so-subtle giggle - like a child - pushes past her lips, and a few strands of her bright-blonde hair tickle your cheek at the exhalation.
“I had Dr. Beckett sneak me that nice bottle of shampoo the other night. You know, that really expensive kind from that fancy store in Wrenwood. She can probably see that. That's why she's looking at me like that. She wants it too.”
You briefly glance at her hair from the corner of your eye, and truth be told, you really can’t spot much of a difference. Like always, her hair looks good. Annoyingly good.
She smells fresh, too - floral and sweet. Too sweet, and too strong. Soap and lotion of a fancy kind. A stark contrast to your sterile surroundings.
Smelling salts would've been more merciful to your nostrils.
Selena has always been beautiful - anyone with or without a prescription can see it, but mentioning it aloud might just cause more problems than you're comfortable with. She thrives on attention, and even if you give it to her by the crumbs, she'll inhale it like cocaine.
And if you’re at this center, it’s a given that you already have problems in dire need of specialized, professional aid; you don’t need to tip the scales that determine whether or not you can get out of here at some point. Even if you have no urgency to leave.
You stab your fork through the toast, and force it into your mouth while you reflect on which kind of answer to provide her with that won’t blow out of massive proportion. “Must be that, then.”
Her eyes brighten with validation you’re not sure you intended on giving, and she leans even closer to your personal space than you’re comfortable with. The warmth from her body clashes against your own cold temperature, and the sickeningly sweet scent only further irritates your sinuses.
“You see it too, right? I knew you could! It’s so obvious that's it!”
Her shoulder bumps hard into yours, and given what the last doctor said about your iron levels, you’re confident you’ll develop a bruise in a few hours.
“She just can’t stand the fact that she’s past her prime, and I’m flowering into mine!” Selena voices haughtily, almost without a care if anyone could hear and interject with their own opinions on the matter.
You peek over to look at the aforementioned nurse, hoping that your observations will shed some light on the situation you've unwillingly been pulled into.
Nurse Bethany observes the patients from the entrance like she does every day, scribbling on her notepad, seemingly or willfully oblivious to Selena’s typical outbursts. Maybe she’s just used to them? Most of the inpatients and staff here seem to be.
You know you are.
Bored as the charge nurse looks, however, she doesn’t seem to be in a scrutinizing mood based on jealousy. The likelihood is simply that she has a resting bitch face.
But you don't mention it to your table-companion.
“You know,” Selena says - yet again -, her tone now more wistful and airy than moments before. “You can probably borrow some of it, if you want? I think you’d look really dashing if you started caring a bit more about your appearance. I know how to look pretty, and I can help you.”
As she says this, she raises her hand to draw her fingers through your hair. Her nails lightly graze the surface of your scalp, and for a moment, you envision her severing the skin underneath. There's no knowing when her mood might take a turn for the worse, but at this point, you really couldn't care less.
After all, it's the first time anyone's touched you outside of medical necessity.
She probably means well, you think to yourself. In her own special way.
In all the time you’ve known Selena since you first got to Rhodes Hill, she has struck you as someone who knows how to keep her appearance pristine regardless of the resources available, with alarming precision.
That, and her penchant for … charming the male staff members doesn't go entirely unnoticed either.
You can't help but compare her to those girls in fashion magazines with shiny, flawless skin and voluminous hair who write tips and tricks on how to take care of yourself.
And given how you’ve let yourself fall victim to sleepless nights in the time you’ve been here, and even long before, you require neither mirror nor Selena’s comments to know you look like shit.
You're not like her.
“Thanks,” you try your best to give her a simple, albeit tired, smile. Even lifting your lips feels heavy. “But I think it suits you better, Selena. Don't waste it on me.”
“It’s no problem at all.” She pulls her hand away and smiles in that way only she can manage at a place like this without looking too eerie. Like she’s completely somewhere else, and nowhere at the same time. “Dr. Beckett is quite easy to convince. I could … talk to him, for you. Get him to get you a bottle of your own. If you took a little bit better care of yourself, maybe you wouldn’t be so down all the time.”
Down?
That’s what she calls it.
Down.
A superficial but surprisingly accurate word to describe your persistent mood, at least by comparison to your own subjective descriptions of it.
Down in hell.
Down in the cellar.
Just generally down.
The doctors, nurses, and those other specialists have other names for it:
"Persistent Depressive Disorder" and "Complex PTSD"
That's what they call it.
That's why you're here. To flourish and return to your "normal" self, even if no one here has any idea of what you're like. If you’re honest, you’re not sure you wholly fit the bill for that diagnosis, but you don’t bother to outright fight the allegations.
You have no cash, no family, no other place to be.
You were orphaned following Raccoon City. Your dad was a researcher at Umbrella, and your mom wasn't around.
You vividly remember seeing one of the infected take a chunk of his jugular, and after that, you were alone, and with no other family left, you were quickly thrown into the system to be bounced around at the whims of others. Apathy struck you first, then the anhedonia (phrased perfectly by another shrink), and then the inability to care much about what happened to you.
You just … didn't care anymore. Whether that qualified for a depressive diagnosis or not, you've long since let it be what it is.
You've been hit, kicked, punched, talked down to, and yet none of it has stuck more than a mosquito bite would. You remember being bitten by one of the infected. One of those … monsters - the same one who offed your dad - bit you on the skin surrounding your shoulder, and yet you just … kept living.
Kept going, just as you are now.
Not even the pain registered properly until you somehow got out of there, and it's a miracle no infection took root.
After that, things just ceased to matter.
And now, you are just … here.
By the social worker’s phrasing, you are fortunate that the Rhode Hill Center is a charity care that favors less than financially stable folks.
In fact, the director himself, Dr. Victor Gideon, seemed to personally have wished you here. He was apparently contacted by your PCP at the time, and he didn't waste time accepting you to Rhodes Hill. You hadn't even formally met the man at that point.
If even half the practicing doctors in the world were as enthusiastic about having a new charge as he was, the world would probably be a merrier place.
A philanthropist who, according to the publications, was personally struck during the tragedy of Raccoon City and opened this center as a way to heal the wounded population. It's not every day that an esteemed doctor of his decree takes an interest in you, so what options were you left with?
Between here and nowhere at all, you couldn't afford to be picky.
And among all the other psychiatric facilities you've been admitted to over the years, Rhodes Hill stands out as the best one yet. Good food, decent staff, and individual rooms for its inhabitants. Hell, they even have a casino.
Patients are encouraged to engage with each other socially, and the ones who can't interact with others aren't wholly excluded either, just adjusted to.
All in all, it's a nice enough place.
If Selena’s miracle shampoo from Wrenwood could fix your problems and make you maybe start caring a little more, you might have taken her up on that.
But you don’t, nor do you have the good conscience to let her blow a member of staff to get it for you.
Even though it shouldn’t be physically possible, Selena manages to lean even closer into you, sling her arm around your shoulder, and inch her lips closer to your ear.
“Maybe even Dr. Gideon would look a little longer if you fixed yourself up some more.”
If anything she’s said in the last ten minutes has made you visibly react, it’s that.
Confusion paints your face in a narrowed hue. “What are you talking about?”
She smiles until her teeth - perfectly white, and pearly - are on show, and pulls a little back from you. "He looks at you the most. I don't know why, but I can tell that he does whenever he stops by to greet us. It's like he's … put in a trance."
Her smile threatens to depress at the mention of someone's attention being on someone else other than herself, but she quickly replenishes her strength to keep going with ... whatever it is she intends to keep talking about. "Imagine if you could score the director himself. I bet he could give you a lot of pretty things."
"Score" the director?
For as long as you've known Dr. Gideon (if you can even call it that), he's always struck you as … something else. Not cold, or cruel, or focused solely on the clinical, or whether you're responding to the medication more than he needs to. You're experienced with shrinks of that caliber, but you can't say that he quite fits the bill on that front.
He asks you specifically how you are, most of the time. Asks questions none of the other doctors have, and seems to have an insatiable curiosity regarding you and your history.
He stands out from the other staff with his overwhelming stature and the sole fact that he basically runs this place. His voice is smooth, his skin pale, and he never seems to get caught off-guard by the many … events that sometimes occur. Unperturbed, even when Thomas Jackson once threatened to eat him whole.
He never raises his voice to anyone - a testament to his experience in this field.
And the times he's directly touched you, usually in relation to blood work and tests, his skin feels inexplicably cold against your own.
Too cold, like he had nothing but ice resting underneath.
Maybe you should have noticed more, like Selena claims?
If you were to put a word to Dr. Gideon, it would be … odd.
Not bad, or condescending, or creepy in an inherent way apparent to you.
Just … odd.
"I'm just one of his patients," you tell her, as neutral as you can while shoving your plate a few inches away. The food is supposed to be exemplary - a luxury compared to what they provide other psychiatric patients in the rest of the county. But the taste is … bland, and unappealing to your palate. Might be the medication they've put you on that's fucked with your tongue. "He cares as much for me as he does the rest."
You can already tell that she doesn't find your answer satisfactory. She wants you to affirm her observations. With words. Always words, and if you do it with a complimentary smile, she might offer to kiss you.
You're afraid that if you agree with what she's said without any scrutiny, she'll consider you her one true love in this world.
"He stares a lot. I notice."
"You notice a lot of things, Selena."
"I notice the way people look at me." Her frown deepens. "Dr. Gideon doesn't look at me like he looks at you."
If it's true what she says - which you somewhat doubt - you haven't noticed it.
Before anything else can be said by either of you, you feel an overwhelming figure cast a shadow over the table where you're seated.
"Are you going to eat that?" Timothy asks, salivating at the sight of your barely touched breakfast. The crumbs on the edges of his lips suggest he's already finished his own, but between the options of him and the trash, the choice is easy.
You push the plate towards him. "Have at it, Tim."
The overweight man doesn't even have the time to properly say "thanks" before he's already forcing the scrambled eggs and toast into his mouth with his fingers. In fact, you doubt he's even chewing it properly.
Selena scrunches her nose at the rather unflattering display.
"Mr. Jackson!" Nurse Bethany yells as she approaches your table. "You have already exceeded your 500-calorie limit for today's breakfast!"
You take this cue to get up from your seat, not wanting to be here in case Timothy gets aggressive about his food. Again. "Thank you for the meal."
As you're leaving, you can hear Selena intruding upon the already fragile situation, as per usual.
"Oh, let him eat. He's a big boy; he needs the energy."
"Please return to your seat, Miss Corey."
"Why? You've been jealous of me all morning, and now you think you can just order me around? Is that it?! Who do you think you are?!"
"Sit. Down. Miss Corey!"
"Don't you — LET GO OF ME, YOU BITCH!"
By the time you shut the cafeteria doors behind you, you hear shouting and screaming, and you have to quickly move to the side as several additional nurses rush past you to de-escalate the situation. Something shatters, Selena's screams resonate through the walls, and you can safely assume that sedatives are a must.
You look back over to the entrance to the kitchens, and while you can't tell what's going on, your best guess, given Selena's declining whines, is that she's already gotten her shot. Again.
"I see Miss Corey needs to have her dosage adjusted."
You should have been able to sense him before he even spoke; that coldness that seeps through the fabric of his coat into the air around you. Yet, you don't properly register his presence before he steps next to you, dwarfing your size by comparison.
"Dr. Gideon." You think that passes for an appropriate greeting, flat as it may be.
"Good morning, my dear." He looks down at you with a polite yet relaxed smile, his arms folded neatly behind his back. The unnatural amber hue of his eyes pierces through your own with a sharp precision that only comes naturally to doctors. "I do hope Miss Corey didn't interrupt your meal. I've read reports that she tends to float in your vicinity, early in the mornings as of late."
"I'm good," you answer and shift your attention back to the cafeteria entrance.
On cue, the doors open, and both you and Dr. Gideon watch as several members of staff escort a rather dazed-looking Selena out. She's smiling and singing and airily caressing any male staff she can get her hands on, letting her fingers graze their ironed shirts while humming softly as they transport her back to her room.
There is blood coated under her nails, and Nurse Bethany sports a fresh set of three superficial scars running down her left cheek.
Ouch.
"Dr. Gideon," Nurse Bethany calls, out of breath, but impressively composed. "How would you like us to proceed with Miss Corey?"
"Yes," Dr. Gideon says, staring at her. More specifically, the scratch across her face. Transfixed, you would call it, but you're probably mistaken. "I'll look over her Lithium dosage, just make sure she's ... comfortable."
Nurse Bethany nods, then shifts her attention to you. "I saw you speaking with Miss Corey. Did you talk about anything in particular that might shed some light on this …?"
"Not really," you answer. "She basically said I could afford to look better, and that you were jealous because she's pretty."
The charge nurse frowns, mumbles something incoherent under her breath that vaguely resembles cursing, then leaves to rejoin the other staff members in escorting the aforementioned patient.
Your eyes follow them until they disappear around the corner.
"It's a shame," Dr. Gideon says, vaguely disappointed in a way that doesn't properly show on his countenance. "I initially believed she had finally begun responding to the treatment."
"If it's any consolation, our conversation did revolve around shampoo for a minute," you feel the need to point out.
"Oh?"
"It was calm, for the most part. She had recommendations."
He takes a whiff of the air above him, and his mouth curls a little, like he doesn't like what he's smelling. "I thought I scented something different than the center's standard array."
"That's most likely it."
He raises his eyebrows in a "you know something I don't?" kind of way. "And you wouldn't happen to know how she acquired said product, would you?"
"I have an idea, and I think you do, too."
If a scowl spreads across his lips, it's a subtle one that evades your notice. He heaves a sigh under his breath and looks over his shoulder to where the staff was previously. "Men are fickle things. Too easily distracted from their assignments once matters of the flesh are presented to them. It seems I will need to do a thorough investigation if Miss Corey is to yield results with her treatment."
Matters of the flesh? Slightly outdated way to speak of giving head if you're being honest, but you don't point it out.
He looks at you again, and his expression softens slightly. "Otherwise, how are you, my dear? Have you been resting adequately?"
You spend a second thinking of an answer that will satisfy him. "I'm … adequate?"
Kind of true, but also not. You're either sleeping too much or not at all.
If you go to bed too early, you're susceptible to waking up early in the night with an aggravating inability to fall back asleep.
If you sleep for too long, you still don't feel rested at all by the time you wake up.
At this point, you've settled on a routine where you just let your head hit the pillow and let your body do what it wants.
If he sees through your lie, he doesn't mention it. Maybe he already knows you're not being entirely truthful, and just elects to leave it be. Not typical for the standard kind of doctor you've visited in the past, but then again, Dr. Gideon is hardly of the standard stock.
He says your name, soft yet firm, like an exasperated parent who's caught their child up past their bedtime. Ironic as that comparison is, it's hard not to feel small when he's towering over you the way he is. "For us to have success with your treatment plan, I need you to be forthcoming with me."
Well, when he puts it like that …
"I do get some sleep," you admit after some careful thinking. Why bother lying when it's clear that he sees through it? If you didn't know any better, you'd think he wore some kind of visor to see past bullshit barriers. "Sometimes a few hours, sometimes the entire night. I just don't feel … rested. Thought the mirtazapine would help, but it just makes me fall asleep quicker, not longer."
He takes a step closer to you, which only further establishes the height difference between you. You're convinced that if he were to try, he could encompass the entirety of you. The unmistakable smell of antiseptics and other chemicals for which you have no name overwhelms your sinuses to a stinging degree. More so than Selena's shampoo ever did.
You remember your father smelling of the same stuff whenever he came home from work, when you were awake to catch him.
Dr. Gideon slowly raises his finger to your face and just barely touches your cheek. Even with a distance, you can still feel the cold spread across your face. It would only take a marginal shift for him to physically touch you, but he doesn't.
"Periorbital edema is always a good indicator."
He tilts his head slightly to the side, like he's observing you.
He is observing you.
Selena's words resurface in your mind: "Dr. Gideon doesn't look at me like he looks at you."
You try to pinpoint the exact way he's looking at you, but nothing comes to mind.
He doesn't look at you like Dr. Beckett looks at Selena when he thinks he's being discreet.
He doesn't look at you the same way Timothy or Thomas looks at their food. Insatiable. Desperate.
But he is looking at you in some kind of way; you just lack the vocabulary necessary to describe specifically what kind of way that is.
"If you wish, I can prescribe you a low dose of zopiclone." He promptly lowers his hand again, but his eyes don't leave you. They never do.
"Thanks, but they already tried that at the facility back in Wrenwood. Didn't really do much for me but give me migraines."
"Nevertheless, it is prudent that you get enough REM sleep. I've also been informed by the nurses that you rarely finish your meals."
You offer a shrug that just barely passes for one. More of a lift of the left shoulder than a gesture of indifference. "I've never had much of an appetite."
He looks at you, and you look at him. A minute goes by without any of you saying anything, but you can tell that he's doing his best to suppress a sigh akin to the one he produces when Selena's having another one of her episodes.
"I wish to take some tests, if the timing is convenient for you."
Before you can answer, he puts his hand on your back and starts guiding you towards the laboratory. While his touch is light, you doubt you could physically resist him even if you put all your muscles into it (which you don't have a lot of).
"… Sure."
The edge of his scarred lip tilts upward by a fraction.
───
Maybe Selena had a point to her rant, rare as they are? Maybe you should start paying more attention to the way he's acting around you?
You don't even feel the needle as it pierces through your skin, nor does the sight of your blood filling several tubes do anything to rattle you. At this point in your life, you've probably become anemic with all the blood that's been taken out of you over the years alone.
You don't even question why he seems to take more than the standard kind of blood tests you've grown accustomed to.
"It's just to see whether your thyroid is functioning properly," he assures you. "As well as a CBC."
Looking at him looking at the vials as they fill up, it's almost like he's … expectant of something.
With your head resting in your other hand while he does his job, you ignore the way his fingers linger on the exposed skin of your arm. Goosebumps have already erupted across the entirety of your arm like wildfire. "Thought my blood work looked good enough last week?"
"It did. Slightly elevated CRP levels, and mild anemia, but nothing too alarming."
"I'll live, then?"
"Hmm …"
Once the third vial is filled to the brim, he gives it a few gentle shakes before replacing it with another.
As the new vial gradually fills, you notice that he gives the filled one a closer look. Pointed. Analytical. Curious. It's like he has questions, and only the crimson liquid in your veins can provide answers.
"You should never underestimate the lengths your body will go to keep you alive." He doesn't look at you as he says this, just maintains focus on the tube like it's the patient, and not you. "You were vaccinated as a child, correct? Your medical journal doesn't tell."
You nod. "My dad did it himself. Perks of being a researcher with an MD. Saved us trips to the hospital."
"How … fortunate." He puts the vial back on the tray to join the previous ones. Four vials now out of (five, six …) seven, enough to make you wonder what other kinds of tests he's taking, if you were the kind to wonder.
"What did his research entail, might I ask?" he continues.
"Not sure. All I knew was that he wasn't around too often, so it must have been interesting."
Truth be told, the memory of your father isn't sour, but it's not inherently sweet either. He was up before the sun, and back around the same time. He didn't hug you, or say much to you, really.
He was there, and then he wasn't.
Injecting you with those vaccines was probably the closest thing you ever got to a father-daughter activity. It was the only thing he seemed to want to spend time doing himself with you, rather than hiring someone to do it for him, as he did with everything else.
One of the previous shrinks you visited suggested that your apathy towards life is directly linked to his absence, both before and after Raccoon City. A bold assumption, but like with everything else going on, you don't bother to debunk it.
Dr. Gideon finishes with the rest of the vials in complete silence. Had it not been for his chest heaving with each breath he takes, you might have guessed that he didn't require air to function.
When he's done, he puts a cotton ball over the injection side. "I should have the results by tonight, and if there are any significant deficiencies, I'll let you know before I clock off." He puts the vials aside. "However, considering that your previous tests revealed some vitamin deficiency, I'm going to give you a shot of B12 before I let you resume with your day."
"Another one? That bad, huh?" It's the third one this month.
"Less than ideal, I'm afraid."
As he reaches for something in the cabinet by the door, you watch his back and find yourself - for once - wondering.
How come this doctor - this one specifically - seems to be the only one in the last decade or so who genuinely seems to have a regard for your well-being? Your previous ones never put this much time and effort into you, even when you were younger and significantly more impaired.
Hell, not even your old man cared that much, and maybe you'd have been a little more well-adjusted if he did.
The pulse heaters you continue to wear to this day - even years after that little misstep you made when you were a teen - prove it.
You didn't get it. You still don't.
He's not like Dr. Beckett, who gives privileges to Selena if she gives him a good mouth-to-mouth demonstration.
He's never struck you as the salacious kind of person - though, to be fair, you probably wouldn't have cared if he were.
So, why all of this extra effort?
"If it's that bad, I'll try to get my Five A Day," you try, and for once, there's a genuine attempt at humor lodged somewhere between the letters. Weak, but present nonetheless. More than Selena's ever managed to get out of you. "Best to save your shot for someone who actually has one, Dr. Gideon."
He pauses for a moment, then slowly looks over his shoulder at you. There's something … unsettling in his eyes this time, as though you've insulted him in some way, without meaning to.
He doesn't blink, doesn't seem to breathe, and he doesn't speak. It uncannily reminds you of the way a snake looks just before it strikes its prey.
Once again, Selena's cryptic words make a reentrance in your mind.
"Dr. Gideon doesn't look at me like he looks at you."
Softly, he asks: "My dear, whatever do you mean?"
Tempted as you are to look away and focus on something other than those unnerving eyes of his, you don't.
"Treatment is for appreciative people," you explain, placid despite the weight behind your words that would've made an ordinary psychiatrist grow pale with occupational concern. "People who can actually contribute to their surroundings. I'm … Well, no one. I have nothing and no one. Me dying wouldn't affect anyone. So, why put so many Band-Aids over a gaping wound that refuses to close?"
You remember saying something similar to your psychologist in the past. For that, you were put on an involuntary psychiatric hold for three days, deemed a danger to yourself, and only allowed to eat under supervision and with those horrible wooden utensils that rendered the taste of your food just as wooden.
It's not like the fact that you're alone makes you sad. Not anymore. There's something slightly liberating to know that even if you were to pass on, from an accident or an illness or by simple happenstance, the world will keep spinning after you're gone.
No one is chained to you in a way that matters.
You look at Dr. Gideon, and he just keeps staring at you. Whether he's surprised, cautious, concerned, or even angry, you can't tell. He's never been easy to read, and now, you find yourself curious as to what he thinks.
Maybe he'll finally deem you a lost cause, like so many others have?
Maybe he'll confine you to your room in restraints and pump you full of drugs until you physically cannot do anything to yourself, even if you wanted to?
Maybe he'll discharge you to another care facility?
The sound he makes next almost makes you raise your eyebrow in confusion.
"Oh,"
Like always, his tone is mild, but now, it feels deeper somehow. Like he's pitying you without really pitying you. As if he's seeing something so obvious that it's a tragedy that you can't.
"You have no idea how special you truly are."
You can only watch as he procures a pre-filled syringe from the cabinet and closes in on you. His steps are measured, slow, as though he's approaching an animal in a trap that's grown weary of fighting against the sharp edges. It's a good thing you've long since outgrown your fear of needles, because that image would've otherwise made even the bravest soldier quiver.
"There's no one in this world like you." He whispers your name like it's a secret only he truly knows of. "I can assure you that if you were to pass, I would be devastated."
Then he does something that makes you damn-near short-circuit.
With his unoccupied hand, he reaches forward and places his fingers gently on your cheek. Not a caress, not truly, but intimate nonetheless in ways you are unaccustomed to. It's not like Selena, whose touches and caresses feel consuming and overwhelming despite being considerably smaller compared to Dr. Gideon.
It feels light … and genuine, in a way you can't describe or properly understand.
The chilly temperature of his digits spreads from your face down to your toes, yet you don't move away.
You can only continue to look at him.
"Even if you do have your reservations, I have no intention of letting you die. This, I swear."
And the strangest thing yet: You believe him. You believe that he will not allow you to die, even if you were to attempt it yourself. An animal in a gilded cage cannot harm itself without the handler noticing.
He removes his hand from your face, slowly, then gestures for you to fall into a position you've already grown used to.
You're not sure if it's your brain messing with you or not, but you swear that this injection feels … sharper.
───
That night, you lie shivering in bed with a fever spike of 104. The Tylenol the nurse administered just a few hours ago didn't work for shit when you first began to notice that you were coming down with something.
You never come down with anything, not this intensely. Every fever you've ever had has been mild at worst, or subfebrile. It passes quickly and never settles long enough for you to notice.
But now you do.
Reluctantly, you called the nurse, and before you knew it, you were surrounded by all kinds of staff who took different tests, blood work, vitals, and hung up a liter or two of saline. You've never been susceptible to infections, but judging by the nervous look that the new intern got on his face when they took your vitals, you got an inkling that something was seriously wrong with you.
Well, outside of the usual, that is.
Everything hurt.
Everything is a blur.
Your body is soaking through all of your covers.
You taste blood in your mouth.
Needles poke your arms at a rapid interval, but they are a kindness compared to the ones already piercing through your organs and your head.
If you were truly dying, you might have had some more reservations about it if you knew it was going to hurt like such a bitch.
More blood is drawn, more staff appear whose faces you can't even register beyond the haze of your mind, and then, everything turns dark.
At first, it's overwhelming. You feel hands touching you, large ones, grasping at you with bruising intensity like you're dangling above a cliff and they're unwilling to let you descend into the abyss.
But it's too much … too intrusive. You don't like it.
Let go.
Let go.
LET GO!
You claw, and you grasp, and you scratch. Like an animal. Like a rabid beast in need of euthanasia.
Warm wetness coats your nails. You hear your own shriek reverberating around you, and yet the invisible hands don't relent at all.
They keep clutching you, undeterred by the physical mutilation of their flesh.
Then you hear it, quiet yet loud at the same time.
"Shhhh …"
"Rest now,"
"We have much to do."
And you disappear.
───
When you wake, there is nothing.
You don't feel cold or soaked anymore.
You feel … fine.
That's what surprises you.
Exhausted. Depleted of any kind of energy, but … fine.
The more you stir, the more you gradually begin to notice.
Something is carefully stroking through your hair. Gently. Like they're braiding through something fragile of significant worth. No one has ever stroked their fingers through your hair before, and it feels … strangely soothing.
You want to fall back asleep and hope that you can get a full night's sleep for once.
"Are you finally awake, my dear?"
You blink once, then twice, and the room - and figure seated by your bed - finally aligns in your vision.
Dr. Gideon looks down at you, a gentle smile spread across his lips as his fingers continue to weave through your knotted strands. "I was almost worried that you wouldn't wake, but I'm glad to see that you continue to pull through as you always have."
You try to say something. Anything. But your throat is dry, and despite evidence of an IV in your arm, the bag of saline that's connected to you has partially failed to do its job. The words you attempt to pronounce instead come out as incoherent gargles that promptly force you to cough for several harsh rounds.
"Here."
You don't fight him when he leans over to tilt your head back, his hand firm against the back of your skull, nor do you object to the feeling of cold water intruding upon your mouth. You cough and gag at the first drop, but it doesn't take long before you're all but inhaling the liquid.
"There, now," Dr. Gideon coos as he pulls the empty glass away, waiting for you to catch your breath again with a pleased look in his eyes. "Doesn't that feel better?"
"What—" You struggle to gather and recognize your own voice, your thoughts still hazy and disorganized. "What … happened?"
Dr. Gideon spends another minute just … staring at you, tilting his head to change angle now and then, like he's looking for something. Anything. You don't know what it is he's searching for, but after a short while, he finally decides to answer your inquiry.
"Something truly … miraculous. You are miraculous."
You don't feel miraculous. If anything, you feel a flicker of annoyance at his intentional inability to elaborate.
Though your body feels like lead, you still force yourself to sit up. The position is crooked and likely doomed to fail, but it provides a window for you to properly look at him now.
"What happened?" you ask again, more forceful this time.
Dr. Gideon releases a soft hmm through his nose, looking completely in awe at what's presented in front of you. You don't know why he would. Even if you don't have a mirror, you can only assume you look like shit.
You think he will deflect again. Say something cryptic that only he knows the context of.
"Did you know that your father was a prominent researcher for Umbrella?"
You didn't expect that.
"What?"
"Oh, yes. He wasn't much liked, but you couldn't deny his efficiency."
"… What does that have to do with anything?"
He leans closer, as if to whisper a secret only you can know.
"Everything."
He gets to his feet and starts slowly circling your bed. A vulture, you imagine him as. Soaring over prey that has yet to expire.
"I only ever met the man once. We worked at separate divisions, but his reputation was … recognized. A scientist of unrivaled decree. No one knew much about him, nor did he seem like the sort who willingly engaged with people outside his designated area."
He stops and looks to you again, as if alternating between different inclinations might give him more information. "To discover that he had a daughter he left behind was … unexpected."
You want to say something, but you imagine that he'll take your silence as permission to continue, so you don't bother with interrupting him this time.
He rests his hand on the bedpost, dragging his fingers slowly from one corner to the other. "Have you never wondered why you've never been sick? Physically, I mean. No long-lasting records of bacterial or viral infections in your history? No acute case of appendicitis? Or meningitis? Or even a simple staph infection from using a bottle shard to sever your skin. Now, isn't that odd?"
You briefly glance down at your wrists. The heaters are gone - probably taken off to check for viable veins to insert the IV. The doctor assigned to you following that incident said it was fortunate that you survived, and you never gave thought to how or why. Only that you failed.
It was just … miraculous, by his phrasing.
You're really starting to dislike that word.
"When Umbrella declared bankruptcy years ago, numerous documents were confiscated and eradicated. A contingency in case someone of my Master's caliber decided it was worth picking up. Many have, and so far, none have succeeded." He frowns as he says this, and this time, he looks truly displeased. "Idiots, thinking they could simply replicate Spencer's work."
It only lasts for a second before he resumes.
"However, I managed to get my hands on several of them before the government seized the remaining assets." He opens the inside of his coat to pull out what looks to be a document of sorts, text invisible to you as he lets his eyes drift across the content. "Your father managed to do what few had done before. He managed to develop a serum to completely counter the effects of the T-Virus."
The T-Virus?
"What is that?"
"My Master's greatest work, and the cause of his downfall. Partially, the reason why Raccoon City was sterilized in the manner it was."
Spencer?
T-Virus?
You swear you've heard these names and words before, but you can't recall. Maybe your old man mentioned them sometime in passing?
You should have questions, a hell of a lot of them. They are circling your head, a whirlwind of who and what and when and whys, yet none manage to gain coherence.
What did your father do?
What did he do to you?
What is all this?
But you don't ask them. Not yet. You just keep looking at him through a narrowed lens, hoping he will come to some kind of point.
Dr. Gideon puts the document down on the bed by your feet, expecting you to take it. Though you eye it warily, torn between caution and curiosity, you don't pick it up.
"Your father's serum, however, was flawed. It could not erase virus in hosts already infected, nor could the immune systems in adults tolerate exposure in the way he desired. Every attempt, every procedure, was doomed to fail. The bodies broke, time and time again. He went through thirty-six before he elected to turn to a different approach altogether."
When he looks at you next, you can somehow already tell he's implying.
"He had you. The moment you exited your mother's womb, he had his work cut out for him." He bends a little to tap pointedly at the document. "Introduction to the antigen before you were even a day old. Controlled exposure to a modified strain, repeated again and again. Letting your body adapt to it as you grew.
Every injection, every exposure, every test, every drop of blood drawn, he had it documented. No cognitive impairment, no physical deformity, no mutation."
His smile widens further and further with every word he says. "Isn't that miraculous? You were reportedly found with a prominent bite mark by the paramedics who rescued you, and yet, you had nothing more than a mild fever at worst, and a full recovery without intensive care."
He sits down by the edge of the bed, and the hinges creak loudly at this added weight. Without having to lean too close, he carefully pulls the collar of your shirt to the side, exposing the residual scar that's served as a constant reminder of your survival for almost twenty years.
The smile on his lips suggests he finds the view pleasing, and he can't keep himself from letting his fingers drift over it.
"Near-complete immunization."
You don't look at him, even as his cold fingers slide across your skin with what you can only assume is manic glee.
The revelation that you were not born, but bred, should send you into some kind of existential shock.
Anger. Resentment.
You should curse the man who gave you life only so that he could determine the outcome.
But you don't.
Your father is dead. Has been for years. His skeletons remain his own, however deep they're buried, even if you are the ones having to carry them in you.
You look at Dr. Gideon from the corner of your eye. "Did you do something to me?" you finally ask, vaguely surprised by your ability to stay subdued, even now. "What did you do to me?"
He tuts gently. “Nothing that hasn’t already been done to you before.”
His hands lingers just above your clavicle. "Modified strains of the T-Virus. Different from the kind your father used, but necessary for me to confirm my hypothesis. I've used mild doses up until yesterday, but I had to be certain, and I was right."
You fully turn your face to look him directly in the eyes, and now, you understand.
"You've been infecting me all along."
Your presence here was not because of an altruistic doctor who saw an impoverished patient and decided to step in to provide aid and stability.
Everything was designed for this outcome.
You are not a patient. You were never a patient.
You are a subject.
You were always a subject, from the moment you took your first breath.
His fingers lift from your skin, but he doesn't move away. Not entirely. Seated as he is now, you're not sure you could evade him, even if you tried. "You were difficult to track down. Patient confidentiality, you see, can be a nuisance to bypass. I tried for years to locate you, yet you were like a moth. Never at the same light twice. So, when Dr. Henry from Wrenwood Facility himself wrote to me about a possible transfer with your name, I knew it was meant to be."
Meant to be? Weird way to phrase it, like divinity had some part to play in this whole situation.
You're not devout in the slightest, and you're not about to start now.
"I can see you have questions, but first," Like before, he takes a deep breath through his nose. Of your air. "you need a bath."
A bath?
Just as he stands up, the door opens, and Nurse Bethany enters. Upon seeing you awake and alert, she looks visibly relieved.
"Nurse Bethany, would you be so kind as to prepare her a bath downstairs?" Dr. Gideon asks, courteous as ever, with no evidence of what's just transpired on his face.
"Of course, Dr. Gideon." She gestures for you to come with her.
───
The water scalds your bare skin as you descend into the tub, yet it's a comfortable kind of scalding. Not warm enough to hurt, just enough to make you come back to the reality of your situation. Soap has already been added, coloring the water to a white hue, and effectively blocking the view of the rest of you.
Thoughts come and go, more questions, no answers.
Umbrella.
Your father.
T-Virus.
Raccoon City.
Immunity.
Apparently, you're not entirely normal. You've never been entirely normal, and you don't know how to feel about it.
The cells in your body were altered, adapted, and used to fit the whims of a man who is no longer around to claim credit for his product. Everything was planned, and you had no part in it. No autonomy. No choice.
Your body is not your own. It never has been.
What should you feel about it? Is there anything to feel about it? Your body recovers, and your mind has to pick up the weight as compensation instead.
Maybe your head is so heavy because your body isn't?
So, your old man decided to play god and fuck around with your immune system to survive some kind of fictitious-sounding virus that turns out to be the cause for your home city being blown to shit.
So, the director of your hospital turns out to be an odd scientist with a penchant for subjecting his patients to experiments?
It doesn't change anything in a way that matters to you.
You're still here.
You dip your head under the water, and you don't resurface for what you hope is a while. You stay under until your lungs threaten to give in, until you feel the pressure in your head threaten to break open your cranium. It doesn't sound anatomically correct, but what does it matter?
What matters anymore?
Just as you start to feel light-headed, a loud slam ruptures in the bathroom, and you quickly resurface with a gasp.
Dr. Gideon stands in the entrance, his coat folded neatly in his arms, looking like he's exactly where he's supposed to be.
"Personally, I find death by drowning in a bathtub to be terribly wasteful."
You drag your hand over your face to wipe off some of the water. "Wasn't planning on it."
"Good."
You stare into the water, even as you hear his measured steps echo around until he's right behind the bathtub. Right behind you.
You continue to stare even as you feel his cold, long hands clamp down on your shoulders. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to ground.
And you continue to stare ahead, even as you feel him lean forward and place his head right next to your own.
"I made sure to purchase a specific brand of shampoo from a store in Wrenwood," he whispers, smooth and inviting. The picture of domesticity. "Miss Corey recommended it."
You don't answer.
"While her behavior might be rather incendiary on occasion, she is right about one thing." He raises his head to look further down at you. "We need to take care of ourselves and the bodies we are born with, regardless of the circumstances life might throw at us. We are born with one, and we die with it."
His left hand lifts off your shoulder, only for those freezing fingers to travel down the slope of your back.
"I know you have had difficulties with it, and you feel lost, but you need not worry anymore. I will take care of you. You might not be the key to Elpis, but that does not diminish your worth. Not to me."
You finally turn around to look at him from over your shoulder, and you finally understand it.
The way he looks at you.
The obsession painted behind his irises.
You notice his arms. They are covered in scratches, some patched and sutured, others uncovered and unhealed.
On display like battle wounds he wears with pride.
"What happened to your arms?"
"Oh? These?" He raises his right arm, looking over them with inexplicable fondness. "Just a scared cat, is all. A frightened, lonesome little critter, digging through the garbage." A glint of his teeth peek past his lips. "But not to concern yourself, my dear. I found it a good home."
He gazes just as fondly back down at you.
"It is exactly where it belongs."
For the first time in a long one, for just a moment, you feel ...
