#day 06

Cuddled close to her dad, Hailey stays quiet for a long time and Steve waits. He knows she’s not watching the movie they’re supposed to be watching; his daughter’s watched Zootopia at least forty times and she’s always laughed herself silly at Nick’s shenanigans in every single one of them.

Except for tonight.

Tonight, they’re already halfway through the movie and she hasn’t let out a single laugh yet.

So Steve waits because he knows that sooner or later Hailey’s bound to share whatever is clearly troubling her thoughts.

“Do you think Papa is really coming home in time for Christmas?”

Her voice is so small and unsure that it breaks Steve’s heart, and the sniff that follows her question makes him hug her even tighter.

“Of course he is, sweetie, it’s only the 21st.”

There’s another silence and then, “But when Grandpa Wayne’s flight was cancelled last year, took him a week to get a new one.”

Sometimes Steve hates how smart and observant Hailey is.

He sighs, tired, anxious and powerless. Gentle fingers card through his little girl’s soft hair as he feels his shirt get a little damp where she’s resting her head.

Steve lets her cry it out for a little while, then carefully eases their hug so they can face each other.

“Your Papa promised he’d spend Christmas with us, didn’t he?” he asks, wiping the remaining tears off her pink cheeks.

“Yes,” Hailey nods.

“And did he ever break a promise before?”

“No.”

“Then he’s gonna be here. Knowing your Papa, if he can’t get into a flight within the next few hours, he’s probably gonna rent a car and drive home by himself if he has to.”

The giggle he gets in response is tiny, but it’s also honest and enough to ease some of Steve’s worries.

They don’t talk about it for the rest of the movie. When it ends, Hailey’s dozing off against Steve’s shoulder, soft snores leaving her slightly open lips.

Any other day, Steve would wake her up and make her at least brush her teeth before bed, but tonight he just scoops his sleeping daughter up in his arms and makes it to the stairs.

-

-

It’s a little past five when Eddie thanks the Uber driver, grabs his single suitcase and climbs out of the car.

The street is dead silent, not a single soul around to greet him after so long away. In the house, all the lights are out, as expected, except for the single porch light Steve always leaves on for him when he knows Eddie is gonna get home late.

The sight brings a soft smile to his lips, and he crosses the damp flagstones towards the front door in a much lighter step than before.

The house is silent too, just like the street outside, but Eddie’s whole body relaxes when he finally closes the door behind him, the familiarity of the place bringing back the sense of belonging that had been awfully absent for the past five months.

He puts down his suitcase in the entryway, takes off his boots and leaves his shoes there with his coat and scarf before making a beeline to the stairs, his eagerness to see his family again not allowing him to be as quiet as he would otherwise be in such an early hour.

Hailey’s room is the closest one to the stairs and that’s where Eddie stops first. His hands trembling in anticipation as he carefully pushes the door open.

But Hailey’s not there; her bed is empty and perfectly made.

Eddie’s panic, however, lasts a single second. He turns on his heels and marches down the hall towards his own room, his heart melting in his chest when he’s finally blessed by the sight of his husband and daughter all cuddled up and fast asleep on their bed.

His breath catches in his throat, and Eddie pads into the room without hesitation.

He missed them so much these past months. It was torture not having them with him on tour, like it used to be when Hailey was little. Waking up alone every day, having breakfast with just the guys instead of with his two favorite people in the world.

Eddie hated every single second of it, heart always longing for his family. But now he’s home, and he has his family within his reach again, and he’s not gonna let them go any time soon.

Steve stirs awake the moment Eddie sits on the edge of the bed.

His gorgeous eyes are bleary, and confused, but they light up when he recognizes Eddie. The smile that follows is beautiful, even if a little sleepy around the edges.

“You made it in time.” Steve whispers, their hands finding each other naturally even in the dark room.

TRIGGER WARNING. Domestic violence. Abortion. Please proceed with care. 

“You should leave him”.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the man at the door. Instead, you kept your gaze fixed on the medication falling in small drops from the transparent package into your veins. 

Hospital rooms had such a surreal vibe to them. Nothing seemed real, as if the words you uttered in there weren’t important and would have no impact on your actual day-to-day life. 

It was why you brought yourself to say, still not taking your eyes from the clear medication. “I wish I could”. 

You heard his steps approaching, hitting the floor rhythmically with his cane. 

His staff must have been so confused when he decided to be the attending doctor on your case. It was almost funny imagining the reactions, even though you never met the three young doctors working under his wing. 

You weren’t a mystery, and your case was just boring. You fell down the stairs and broke a couple of ribs, and got a black eye in the process. Nothing much, right? 

Wrong. And Gregory House saw right through you. 

He knew very well you didn’t fall, and he knew that black eye was a result of a very specific injury. 

In all the years he’d known your family, he never would have imagined you would lie for a man who was hurting you. 

The thing is, he didn’t know the whole story. The nuances, the finances. The reasons why you couldn’t just get up and leave. You didn’t deserve to leave.

You turned your face towards him. He was close enough now, so much so you could see the specks of light green in the baby blue of his eyes. He put a folder carefully on the movable table in front of you, and seemed to ponder on what to say next. 

You didn’t want to hear it. “There’s a lot of strings attached”, you simply said, hoping this would end the matter once and for all. “You knew my father and you are a smart guy, you can figure it out”.

“You’re pregnant.”

“No, I’m not.”

He tilted his head. “Sorry, who is the doctor here again?”

You shook your head, as if the motion itself could stop reality. Your eyes filled with tears, but you didn’t want to cry. Not here, not in front of him.

“You don’t have to go through with this. And I mean both the pregnancy and whatever hell you are living back home”, he said in the sweetest way he knew how. He took a small bottle from his coat and held it out in front of you. “Take one pill, and he’ll never know. Doctor-patient confidentiality”.

You smiled a little, mostly because of his tone. House never tried to be funny, but at least he was trying to lighten the mood.

“Your father was a terrible man, and I hated him almost as much as he hated me. Of course, he didn’t sleep with my daughter, so there’s that”.

You rolled your eyes, which hurt due to the bruises. But still, the small smile lingered. House brought up the torrid affair you two shared before your father passed very rarely, and never without a motive.

“You should leave him, kid”, he repeated. Your smile faded, and your face showed only pain. “If you ever need anything, you have my number, my work address and my home address. Call me”. 

By the time the moon begins to light the dark sky overhead, you are hanging outside the saloon, fixing up the barmaid’s stockings. You went in for a drink to clear your mind, get rid of your moody disposition when she made the request, and money is money so you got to work. You’re halfway done one of many stitches along the seam when a rumble comes from somewhere above. Pausing, you look up only to gasp in delighted surprise. “Arthur!” You stand up quickly, almost butting into his chin. He chuckles, taking a step back to dodge any accidental injuries. “Why, good evenin’. Thought I saw you all on your lonesome.” He says, voice gravelly with something like sleep. His hat is crooked and it looks like he forgot to shave this morning, harsh stubble covering the lower half of his face. He adjusts his belt, leaning on his hip. “I’d like to apologize. Shoulda’ left you a note or something before I left.” He murmurs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. You shake your head, feeling your disappointment from earlier drain away. You weren’t really upset, no. All it took was him standing in front of you again to forget your silly worries. “Oh no! No apologies needed, honest.” You reply, hand over your heart. “You’re a busy man Arthur. I don’t expect you to be here all the time.” He lets out an amused huff, eyes shifting to your hand then away. Arthur was at least a little ashamed to admit he was mostly apologizing because he didn’t want no one to be accompanying you like he did in his absence. “Good. Good…” He grunts. He stands there even as the two of you fall into silence. He looks like he wants to say something, but he can’t quite muster the courage, or the words. He whistles low, and scratches his neck. “Say, would you uh, like to come with me to Saint Denis sometime?” He asks, looking uncharacteristically nervous as he looks at his boots. “It’s a pretty nice city—I thought you might like some of the sights. No criminal stuff, I swear. Just me and you.” You smile softly, something about the way your eyes look under the stars has him reeling. You look at him like he’s a doggone gentleman. Not the scummy outlaw he really is. Makes him want to be better. Makes him feel better. “I should like that very much, Mr. Morgan.” You say. He grins. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” You echo his voice with surety. As if the idea was a no brainer, which it was to you.

Your friends called you crazy. The man was married to his job, always in the office and focused on the task. Didn't matter if you had come to bring him lunch and surprise his coworkers that there was, in fact, someone warming his bed at night. You took a selfish kind of pride in that fact, drinking in the startled looks and disturbed gazes of his squad. It was hard to conceal your smile as you raised onto your tiptoes, kissing his cheek lightly before handing over the coffee you had gone to get him. He wouldn't react, of course. He hardly ever did. Gruff and cold, he'd thank you, gloved hand gently pushing you out and away from him. He'd go right back to working like you weren't even there, and you would see yourself out.

They called him toxic. Called him a deadbeat of a partner who couldn't give back what he got. That wasn't even including the secret job as a scientist you kept for him, swearing you'd take that to your grave. You deluded yourself, hanging onto those rose-coloured glasses with tightly wound fingers. It all fell away when he did eventually come to bed, tired and worn but taking his place next to you. It might not seem overly affectionate to anyone else, the way he threw his arm over your midriff, but you knew it was. It was held in the way his breath hit the back of your neck in soft puffs, slowly easing out as he let himself drift asleep. The sleep he denied himself so frequently and seemed to elude him unless you were lying beside him. It was in the way he got up before you did, folding the blankets back up properly once he slipped out, ensuring that the chill of the morning didn't reach you. The way he made sure what you needed was laid out over the back of the chair by the cupboard as he got dressed himself. You liked that he had passion, that he was curious. You liked that he knew what he wanted and how to get it. You liked that he wanted to make a difference in this world, to make his mark.

If only you had known just what kind of mark he was going to make.

When Chris, one of his squad members came to your house, gun drawn, after a particular mission, your glasses were tested. His eyes had been wild, and you were desperate to call for the police if it wasn't for the fact that S.T.A.R.S was the best of them. You hadn't believed anything that he had said at first, shaking your head violently while he hurled accusations of helping him at you. But as the tears pricked your eyes, some of the dots did manage to line up, giving Chris some credibility. It was further backed up when the police report came in from the Arklay incident, and the way that he never came back for you.

Not even once.

You had cried of course. cried for days in fact, at the idea that he had gotten into a dangerous situation and wasn't who he had seemed to be. It wasn't just that fact though. You weren't sure if the reason you were crying was because he had lied, or the fact that regardless, he hadn't come back for you. His uniforms and coats were still ironed and hanging up neatly in the cupboard, his favourite expensive coffee still stocked in the pantry. There were traces of him at every twist and turn of that cramped apartment until you couldn't take it anymore.

You left, doing your best to move on. You had convinced yourself that those rose-coloured glasses were gone, that you had matured and learnt from your time in Raccoon. However, when he turned up on your doorstep, changed but still very recognisable as the Albert you knew, everything was still coloured in shades of pink. You had resisted at the start, you really did. you remembered what Chris had told you about him, about what had happened. you tried to think of the death and the trials and the ethical lines that were crossed in the name of science, the agency he worked had worked for. That is what your brain recited on loop, but unfortunately it was your heart that remembered the way he'd walk on the side closest of the road to protect you, the way his body heat would cling to his jacket he'd offer you, silent and facial expression blank. You couldn’t forget the way his lips would trace across your shoulder the rare times he was actually in the mood, stirring the blood beneath. So, who could blame you when he initiated a hug, something he never did? who could blame the way your body remembered to melt into him, eyes fluttering shut as you cried. You weren't sure if it was tears of relief or not.

Now you were here, in some safe house. The red, rosy hue was gone, replaced with a monochrome grey that was as bland as you felt. Your glasses hadn't just been pried from your hands; you had held on too tight. Instead, the way you woke up to what was happening was the shattering of the lenses, causing a painful awakening. He had said he had a gift, something for your anniversary. You wished you could take away the memory of how your body had warmed in excitement, thrilled at the idea of a gift.

He had definitely changed since he had been away, uniforms ditched in favour of a black leather fit that clung to his frame, black frames perched on his nose. You hadn't cared, if your Albert was back, he was back. However, as he had pinned your arm down on the dining room table, shades tossed to some corner from where you had slapped them off and revealing his glowing eyes, you realised your old Albert was gone. Your old Albert still had some humanity in him.

"To take you with me to the new world." he had said gruffly when you protested and screamed, the syringe hovering above your skin. "To see if you're worthy."

You didn't know what this 'new world' of his was or what he was fighting to inject into your system. You had detached yourself completely from his work, asking nothing. You knew in the back of your mind that you should. That you should ask and see for yourself, but the bliss of having him back paired with the absolute fear that you wouldn't like what you would see kept your mouth shut. When that needle breached your skin, it had burnt like fire.

You screamed; face contorted. When the plunger was fully dispensed, he let your arm go and you stumbled away, tripping over your own feet. Holding your arm to your chest you sobbed, making out the shape of his boots as they appeared in your tear blurred vision. He crouched down, softly petting your hair with a tenderness that now scared you. "There." he hummed, satisfied with himself. "Now you'll be more than human. You'll be what you deserve to be."

"What do you mean?" you had forced your throat to croak out, trying your best to not throw up.

"The Uroboros. It will fuse with your body on a cellular level soon enough, and then you can rule with me. Usher in the new dawn and set the sun on the age of man."

His words and smug tone had begun to scare you, tears slipping down your cheeks. However, you didn’t get a moment to ask him what he meant as your body arched, jerking at the sudden pain that overtook you. It felt like your bones were all snapping, a burning hot liquid coursing through your body. It was as if your veins had been replaced by acid, contorting your mouth into shrieks and wails as it raced around your system. It was the worst pain you had ever felt in your life, and the last thing you could make out before your brain blacked out was the face of a monster peering down at you, red eyes boring into yours like the devils.

Then you awoke here, in the safe house. A place only he and his closest employees could access. Your room was lush, bed was soft and comfortable. decor was a little dated, but it still complimented each other regardless. The closet filled with your favourite clothes, brands and pieces that you had lost back in the bombing of Raccoon. The small tea cupboard was stocked with the ingredients needed for your favourite hot drinks and fresh groceries were dropped off every week through a dumbwaiter. It might have even been enjoyable, save for the fact that the walls were glass, separated from prying eyes of the outside only by the curtains you pulled across it.

Not like you had many visitors anyways. Wesker himself had only visited you twice, caught up in his major plan and crushing Chris Redfield under his heel. He had stroked your face sweetly, but the cold of the leather now sent unpleasant shivers down your skin. He promised he would return for you when the new world he envisioned was on the horizon, and he'd come back for you to usher in the new age.

Then he was gone, leaving you alone save for the virus he'd planted in your body. Now you lied on your side atop the large mattress, tracing over your arm. Your skin bulged and warped unpleasantly where you traced, fingertips bringing vine-like contortions to your skin, disfiguring it. You healed faster than you ever had before since he injected you, the most fucked up anniversary gift he had given you to date. He had been thrilled of course, praising you. Telling you that, 'He knew you would be perfect,' as if you hadn’t now turned into some monstrosity. Your veins flared black when you got angry, and everything became overwhelming.

The lights were too bright, sounds too loud. You moved faster that you meant to, creating bruises as you bumped into things before the dark marks healed before your eyes. He had said something like this would happen, when he tried to coach you through it. You had spat at him to leave. You didn’t want to partake in the tenderness he now offered, now twice as affectionate now that the virus had taken root in your system. He was convinced you would come around, if you only knew.

With each passing day that felt more and more unlikely. Empty syringe canisters decorated the top of the dresser, the one thing that was helping you still feel moderately human. He had cases of it sent to you twice a month, telling you to take it regularly in order to maintain your new 'gift'. You didn’t care about his gift. Didn't care if it died a slow, painful death within your body, but you didn't want to go down with it. The Uroboros inside you calmed when you took it, no longer trying to press against your skin uncomfortably, no longer speaking words into your mind and filling your thoughts with dramatic urges for violence.

As you depressed the syringe plunger in your leg, it was a like a breath of fresh air after forgetting how to breathe, clearing the mist from your eyes. Your jaw drops in relief as you take your medication, eyelashes fluttering. You only had three left, enough to last you maybe under a month if you were lucky. Despite sending notes back up the dumbwaiter asking where your next case was, there was no reply.

The fear had begun to set it in. No one knew where you were, and if someone managed to have stopped your crazed ex-partner, there'd be little to no chance that he'd give up your location, even if it meant saving you. He was too prideful for that, something you used to find endearing about him. You rub your thumb over the puncture site, lip trembling as you fight back the urge to cry. There was only so much medication left, and when it ran out you knew the urge inside you would take over. You would lose your humanity just like he did, hands just as stained.

Your tears were stained deep into the fabric of your pillow as you cried again that night, fear and shame wrapping claws around your chest like usual. You could feel it asleep under your skin, coiled like a snake waiting to break free from its prison. Maybe this was your punishment, to have to count down your days in silence, dreading the next dose you'd be forced to take. All alone, waiting to either get more medication or to become a monster. You slowly slipped into sleep once you let exhaustion take you, wishfully hoping, praying that someone would come to get you. Anyone but the man in uniform who had become your downfall.