Ichor And Steel

Chapter Twenty-Seven; The caring kind of betrayal

Rose remained within the unforgiving clutches of a deep, painful sleep. Ethan tediously watched over her for a day and half an evening, no breaks to eat or breathe. He lamented aloud once that when they first laid eyes on her corpse in the snow, it was difficult to believe...to grasp that was his little Winters, his little girl. The only real connection he could muster was the pang that felt instinctual, a shrilling thrill from his toes to skull. It screamed guilt, abhorrence and passion. Without hearing her voice, witnessing an awkward skip in her steps, or seeing her wipe her nose a lot more fiercely than necessary, Ethan would be unsure if Rosemary was his daughter; those traits were his...they had to be hers too, right?

Heisenberg hadn't long given up on Ethan yet—he wasn't capable of such a weakness. Blondie, his blondie, so frail and pale beneath the miserable hanging light swaying over the almost-dead girl. At least they'd moved her to a couch but that was more so for Ethan's sake so he could kneel on carpet instead of wood; the floors had bruised his knees and, if under different circumstances, Heisenberg would've joked he was jealous.

When the third dawn was merely upon the factory with a flush of pink light, Heisenberg emerged from his bedroom to search for the warmth he once laid beside. His warmth was found in a lingering state, swaying like long thin grass in a breeze.

"She's getting conscious, Kar," Ethan whispered without glancing to see whose presence had joined his in the room. Heisenberg's hot skin pressed against and through Ethan's shirt, the ardor sprawling to his chest in a pleading hug.

He pressed a kiss into his blond hair. "Please rest—"

"I can't!" Ethan cried, shuddering and his pent-up impatience bled out along his face in the colour of a fierce red. Heisenberg pursed his lips, feeling the infliction of his frustration; Donna was sent a day ago and had not returned successful, only with news that it was difficult to get into the medicine cabinet at Lady Dimitrescu's. Once, as Ethan had heard, there was a man, a Duke...The Duke, who wandered the village with a carriage enchanted with whatever one needed. He had vanished long ago, and Donna had repined this before she set out on her first attempt. Ethan wished this Duke still existed.

Ethan fretted how quick the days were passing but in the dim of the living space, filled with the gentle, struggling breaths of Rose, Heisenberg soothed him with a hand on the back of his neck.

"I will go in tonight...I hate how you feel, blondie..." Heisenberg bit his tongue in fear his words would be repented or how he had phrased his words; he cared so much but, whenever he went to verbalise his feelings, there was still a barrier between them. Alas, Ethan remained silent, head crashing onto Heisenberg's chest.

"Just let me go, Kar—"

"No!" He said a little too loudly.

"Why not?" Ethan hissed back before reconsidering his tone. He relaxed and rubbed his palms together, eyes flicking between Rose and Heisenberg. "Haven't they hurt you enough, Kar?"

Heisenberg's eyes casted downward, unwilling to show those shameful colours of torment and other anguishes that had bleached his past. He cupped Ethan's hand on his cheek, thumbing his knuckles still scratched up from hauling Rose in from the snow. Heisenberg refocussed himself on the teenager—God, too young to be here. He narrowed his eyes, wanting to know what she saw...what hurt her or, the scarier important thought, what Mother Miranda wanted from her. Despite being the black sheep, Karl Heisenberg was wiser than those above him; he knew Ethan Winters would always be the more powerful figure...how did a century of planning miss that fact?

"Kar?" Ethan prod, poking his ribs with an elbow.

"Mm?" He turned, recognising the hesitance on his friend's face with the additional crimson of withheld anger. He sighed, shoulders slumping but not yet in defeat; he would fight for his right to leave tonight and help Rose. "You need to sleep, blondie. One of us needs to go in and it can't be someone half out of their wits."

He witnessed a small rebellion in Ethan, clenching up his fists and teeth squeezing down on his bottom lip. He muttered something about getting water but didn't move until Heisenberg had disappeared into his room for shoes and a shirt. Ethan reached out and tapped Rose's head.

"It's alright kid, leave this up to this dad," he whispered, a quick glance to Heisenberg's doorway where a light flickered on. His eyes remained trained there as he shuffled to the kitchenette, hand fumbling for the glass jug of water and a cup. From two days of watching, Ethan knew off-by-heart the place Rose's sedatives were kept, having given them to her once. The cupboard creaked quietly, and Ethan cringed. However, in that moment of tensed stillness, he reconsidered his plan; he wouldn't rely on water to drug Heisenberg—

Jesus Christ, that sounded awful...I'm sorry Kar.

Carefully, he slipped the odd pill under his tongue and threw aside reluctance. He forced a sense of purpose into his stride and leaned into the room, Heisenberg on the edge of his bed tying his heavy boots. When he rose, he found Ethan hovering before him. He hugged him around the waist and Ethan lowered to his lap, embracing kindly. Innocence masked true intention, even when their bodies briefly parted, faces grazing and noses nudging. Chins tilted and lips fused. Heisenberg felt remorse, thinking how awful his descent into the basement would be soon; he was unbeknownst to the pill, flicked through his mouth when their tongues met. Ethan drew away, quickly brushing his tongue of the dissolving remnants on his sleeve and raised his chin at Heisenberg who experienced an instant effect, consciousness dwindled and slipping.

"I'm so sorry," Ethan breathed, laying the metal man down as a paralysis enveloped his limbs and twitching face. He gripped the blond's wrist, a rough snatch that weakened and felt ultimately useless. A horrendous guilt ripped through Ethan followed by the exertion of leaving. He managed to depart with a dim light and wet eyes, frightened for the aftermath of Rose's recovery; his daughter might be fine, but his new relationship creaked on thin ice.