Resident Evil; Fic; Hanging by a Limb
Jun. 19th, 2020 02:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sperriTitle: Hanging by a Limb
Fandom: Resident Evil
Prompt: Loss of Limb/Amputation/Mutilation
Medium: Fic
Wordcount: 1,319 Words
Warnings: Referenced spousal violence, death, and harsh language.
Summary: While recovering in a makeshift hospital set up within the Dulvey bayou, Ethan takes a moment to recall the reason he fell into this nightmare to begin with and realizes that he has a difficult decision to make concerning his relationship with his wife.
Relief washes over Ethan as he slumps in the cot and passes the phone back to Captain Redfield, smiling wryly as he does so. His voice is still a little hoarse, but he manages a breathless 'thank you' before Chris excuses himself to deal with another matter, promising that he'll return shortly to check on Ethan again.
Time left alone is something that Ethan hasn't had much of within the last day or so. At least, not quiet time to reflect or clear his head of base instincts purely driven by survival. The skeletons prance out of the closet as he does quiet his mind but they aren't nearly as frightening as they used to be.
A painful twinge in his wrist kicks his adrenaline into overdrive and he's reaching around the room for a weapon to react, be it an axe, knife, gun or anything else that can do lasting damage. His breathing is ragged by the time he realizes that there's no real threat, so with a huff he flops back onto the pillow behind him.
"Damn," he mutters and lifts his injured hand to examine it. "She really did a number on me."
Mia, his wife, is the one who initially severed his hand from the rest of his arm at the wrist. He recalls the pain well, searing like a branding iron, and the blood gushing from the stump left where his hand should have been. The staples that Zoe used to temporarily reattach his hand have since then been removed, replaced with a surgeon's stitching and a fancy wrap coupled with a splint.
His fingers flex a little and it hurts worse than when Zoe first patched it up, probably because of the staples having been removed only hours ago, he surmises with a grimace. A thousand 'what-if' scenarios still race around the tracks of his conscience but one sticks out in particular.
What if I had never met Mia?
The woman he loved is nothing more than an enemy combatant, an agent dispatched to deliver a weapon that endangers the lives of millions and all for the sake of testing said destructive capabilities. A decision looms on the horizon, he knows, and it's far scarier than any of the unspeakable horrors that the Baker ranch had to offer.
"Ethan?"
Looking up from his hand with wide eyes, Ethan parrots back, "Yes, captain?"
Chris Redfield stands in the threshold of his tent, bulletproof vest and additional body armor traded for camos instead. He walks over to Ethan's bedside and pulls up a chair.
"I've managed to stay the interrogators from interviewing you for the time being. You must have a lot on your mind," explains Chris, leaning over and folding his hands in front of himself. "Rest assured, though. Zoe Baker, and her uncle Joe as it turns out, are safely in BSAA custody now. The last of the E-Type mutants are being hunted down and dealt with as well."
Ethan frowns a little. "One of the soldiers told me about what happened in the mines. I'm sorry, captain."
"Don't be," Chris corrects him. "Lucas Baker has been eliminated as planned and the remainder of the E-Type research along with him."
Sighing again, Ethan rests his hand at last and asks, "How do you do this every day?"
"I take really long vacations whenever I'm afforded the luxury," Chris jokes, still reeling himself from the men he lost in the mines, but putting his own anguish aside in favor of staying brave for those around him, those who looked to him for reassurance and support. "Your wife made a deal with the Attorney General, I'm told."
"Full immunity for her testimony," murmurs Ethan, feeling the pain ebb and surge within his arm again. He turns his eyes towards Chris, his expression grave. "Guess I have a decision to make?"
Chris sighs this time, knitting his brows. "I've never been married, so I can't speak for either one of you."
"She lied to me," Ethan starts, well aware that Chris can give him little counsel on the matter, but also appreciative of a shoulder to lean on. "Hell, she tried to fucking kill me on more than one occasion."
Lifting his arm again, Ethan displays his injury for Chris and flexes his fingers once more, wincing as he does so.
"Did this to me," he gestures. "I know she was under the influence of the mold, but she's the one responsible for bringing the damn thing here to begin with. Not only did she fuck up our marriage, but she also fucked up the Baker family."
"You have to ask yourself something, then," Chris finally offers. "Could you continue where you two left off in spite of everything that has happened?"
Ethan grits his teeth and lowers his injured hand again, taking more care with it this time. Mist clouds his vision and although he struggles with his own resolve, a tear manages to escape.
"Sorry," he apologizes and gnashes his teeth harder. "It's this damn humidity. Messes with my sinuses."
Chris's expression softens and he gently claps Ethan on the shoulder, drawing his attention away from the ceiling of the tent. "It's okay. You don't have to put on an act of bravado or anything."
"Just have to face the facts, won't I? Nothing is going to be the way it was before this nightmare began," Ethan admits at length, lifting his head to look Chris in the eyes. He can see the hurt lingering behind them but not allowed to manifest by sheer force of will. "How do you do it? Go on living your life after something like this?"
"You're a strong man, Ethan. That much is certain," Chris says, squeezing his shoulder for good measure. "Sometimes it's not what we do in crisis but what we do during the hereafter that defines what kind of strength we possess."
Ethan's defenses crumble and the tears start to fall, jerking at Chris's heartstrings a little too much for the Captain's comfort and he's compelled to offer more.
"Your wife may have betrayed you, but there are others wiling to support you. Zoe Baker, for instance, has spoken very highly of you and her uncle feels the same." Chris moves his hand so that he grasps the back of Ethan's head, supporting him as he does so. "I'm also here should you need me."
"Captain..." Ethan croaks.
"Incidents like these only serve to strengthen us and weed out friend from foe. While you're contemplating your relationship with your wife, ask yourself this," Chris says as he leans forward. "If you're to ever fully recover from this incident, then you have to do what's best for yourself."
A BSAA soldier peers into the tent and flinches as Chris turns to look at him, apologizing, "Sorry, sir, but there's a call from Blue Umbrella it the Communications tent. It's urgent."
"Give me a moment," Chris informs him and then turns back to Ethan again. "I'll return in a while to look in on you if that's okay?"
Ethan smiles a bit and nods, watching him rise from his seat and walk to the entrance of the tent before glancing over his shoulder at him. Once Chris is out of sight, Ethan reaches into his button-up shirt to produce a gold ring on a silver chain, clasped safely about his neck.
"Mia," he breathes and bites his lip. "Why?"
The ring is filthy and tarnished, nicked in a few places, and even the engraving on the inside is barely visible.
To my Hero and Best Friend, Love Mia.
Heaving another gasp, Ethan looks up toward the ceiling of the tent once more as the tears fall and his hand closes around the ring. Stricken with conflicting emotions, he teeters between outcomes and weighs the possibilities with only one certainty remaining: things would never be the same again.
Fandom: Resident Evil
Prompt: Loss of Limb/Amputation/Mutilation
Medium: Fic
Wordcount: 1,319 Words
Warnings: Referenced spousal violence, death, and harsh language.
Summary: While recovering in a makeshift hospital set up within the Dulvey bayou, Ethan takes a moment to recall the reason he fell into this nightmare to begin with and realizes that he has a difficult decision to make concerning his relationship with his wife.
Relief washes over Ethan as he slumps in the cot and passes the phone back to Captain Redfield, smiling wryly as he does so. His voice is still a little hoarse, but he manages a breathless 'thank you' before Chris excuses himself to deal with another matter, promising that he'll return shortly to check on Ethan again.
Time left alone is something that Ethan hasn't had much of within the last day or so. At least, not quiet time to reflect or clear his head of base instincts purely driven by survival. The skeletons prance out of the closet as he does quiet his mind but they aren't nearly as frightening as they used to be.
A painful twinge in his wrist kicks his adrenaline into overdrive and he's reaching around the room for a weapon to react, be it an axe, knife, gun or anything else that can do lasting damage. His breathing is ragged by the time he realizes that there's no real threat, so with a huff he flops back onto the pillow behind him.
"Damn," he mutters and lifts his injured hand to examine it. "She really did a number on me."
Mia, his wife, is the one who initially severed his hand from the rest of his arm at the wrist. He recalls the pain well, searing like a branding iron, and the blood gushing from the stump left where his hand should have been. The staples that Zoe used to temporarily reattach his hand have since then been removed, replaced with a surgeon's stitching and a fancy wrap coupled with a splint.
His fingers flex a little and it hurts worse than when Zoe first patched it up, probably because of the staples having been removed only hours ago, he surmises with a grimace. A thousand 'what-if' scenarios still race around the tracks of his conscience but one sticks out in particular.
What if I had never met Mia?
The woman he loved is nothing more than an enemy combatant, an agent dispatched to deliver a weapon that endangers the lives of millions and all for the sake of testing said destructive capabilities. A decision looms on the horizon, he knows, and it's far scarier than any of the unspeakable horrors that the Baker ranch had to offer.
"Ethan?"
Looking up from his hand with wide eyes, Ethan parrots back, "Yes, captain?"
Chris Redfield stands in the threshold of his tent, bulletproof vest and additional body armor traded for camos instead. He walks over to Ethan's bedside and pulls up a chair.
"I've managed to stay the interrogators from interviewing you for the time being. You must have a lot on your mind," explains Chris, leaning over and folding his hands in front of himself. "Rest assured, though. Zoe Baker, and her uncle Joe as it turns out, are safely in BSAA custody now. The last of the E-Type mutants are being hunted down and dealt with as well."
Ethan frowns a little. "One of the soldiers told me about what happened in the mines. I'm sorry, captain."
"Don't be," Chris corrects him. "Lucas Baker has been eliminated as planned and the remainder of the E-Type research along with him."
Sighing again, Ethan rests his hand at last and asks, "How do you do this every day?"
"I take really long vacations whenever I'm afforded the luxury," Chris jokes, still reeling himself from the men he lost in the mines, but putting his own anguish aside in favor of staying brave for those around him, those who looked to him for reassurance and support. "Your wife made a deal with the Attorney General, I'm told."
"Full immunity for her testimony," murmurs Ethan, feeling the pain ebb and surge within his arm again. He turns his eyes towards Chris, his expression grave. "Guess I have a decision to make?"
Chris sighs this time, knitting his brows. "I've never been married, so I can't speak for either one of you."
"She lied to me," Ethan starts, well aware that Chris can give him little counsel on the matter, but also appreciative of a shoulder to lean on. "Hell, she tried to fucking kill me on more than one occasion."
Lifting his arm again, Ethan displays his injury for Chris and flexes his fingers once more, wincing as he does so.
"Did this to me," he gestures. "I know she was under the influence of the mold, but she's the one responsible for bringing the damn thing here to begin with. Not only did she fuck up our marriage, but she also fucked up the Baker family."
"You have to ask yourself something, then," Chris finally offers. "Could you continue where you two left off in spite of everything that has happened?"
Ethan grits his teeth and lowers his injured hand again, taking more care with it this time. Mist clouds his vision and although he struggles with his own resolve, a tear manages to escape.
"Sorry," he apologizes and gnashes his teeth harder. "It's this damn humidity. Messes with my sinuses."
Chris's expression softens and he gently claps Ethan on the shoulder, drawing his attention away from the ceiling of the tent. "It's okay. You don't have to put on an act of bravado or anything."
"Just have to face the facts, won't I? Nothing is going to be the way it was before this nightmare began," Ethan admits at length, lifting his head to look Chris in the eyes. He can see the hurt lingering behind them but not allowed to manifest by sheer force of will. "How do you do it? Go on living your life after something like this?"
"You're a strong man, Ethan. That much is certain," Chris says, squeezing his shoulder for good measure. "Sometimes it's not what we do in crisis but what we do during the hereafter that defines what kind of strength we possess."
Ethan's defenses crumble and the tears start to fall, jerking at Chris's heartstrings a little too much for the Captain's comfort and he's compelled to offer more.
"Your wife may have betrayed you, but there are others wiling to support you. Zoe Baker, for instance, has spoken very highly of you and her uncle feels the same." Chris moves his hand so that he grasps the back of Ethan's head, supporting him as he does so. "I'm also here should you need me."
"Captain..." Ethan croaks.
"Incidents like these only serve to strengthen us and weed out friend from foe. While you're contemplating your relationship with your wife, ask yourself this," Chris says as he leans forward. "If you're to ever fully recover from this incident, then you have to do what's best for yourself."
A BSAA soldier peers into the tent and flinches as Chris turns to look at him, apologizing, "Sorry, sir, but there's a call from Blue Umbrella it the Communications tent. It's urgent."
"Give me a moment," Chris informs him and then turns back to Ethan again. "I'll return in a while to look in on you if that's okay?"
Ethan smiles a bit and nods, watching him rise from his seat and walk to the entrance of the tent before glancing over his shoulder at him. Once Chris is out of sight, Ethan reaches into his button-up shirt to produce a gold ring on a silver chain, clasped safely about his neck.
"Mia," he breathes and bites his lip. "Why?"
The ring is filthy and tarnished, nicked in a few places, and even the engraving on the inside is barely visible.
To my Hero and Best Friend, Love Mia.
Heaving another gasp, Ethan looks up toward the ceiling of the tent once more as the tears fall and his hand closes around the ring. Stricken with conflicting emotions, he teeters between outcomes and weighs the possibilities with only one certainty remaining: things would never be the same again.
