Ichor And Steel

Chapter Thirty-Four; The Fourth Revival Of Ethan Winters

The world buzzed with questions Heisenberg did not yet have the answers for. It was originally instigated by Donna, the doll-maker who remained in the cold outside the tunnels, frenzied with the loss of Angie.

"Where did Angie go, Kar? Where is she?" She fretted, boisterous and shivering. She felt so selfish when her eyes lurked on Ethan, his body wrapped in Heisenberg's coat. Moreau shared quiet condolences, more troubled by their friend's sudden passing than his mother's—idol's—injury, still cajoling in the distance. Rose's hands griped Heisenberg's arm, eventually clambering back onto the blistering, squelching back of Moreau, who held her carefully and asked if she felt alright.

"Just a little faint is all," she responded, petting his slimy forehead.

"You are very kind, Rosemary," he smiled.

Their forming friendship was pierced by Heisenberg's shoulder shuddering sob as he crumpled, Ethan spilling out from his arms loose and eyes stilled. Donna consolidated him with a hug and squeeze around the shoulders, her glance to the gloomy daughter and blubbering brother conveyed she or they could do nothing else.

"Come on blondie," Heisenberg whispered before pressing his lips to Ethan's cold sweating forehead. "Just give my hand a squeeze, as tight as you can, please."

The starkness of a painful memory icily gripped his heart and strangled him; the time he made Ethan that special hand. In a balmy place, alone and close. He recalled that estranged touch of intimacy and it was that afternoon that became the first of many he loved Ethan, properly. Clutching Heisenberg's hand which he shook excitedly.

"Please, please, Ethan," he implored. "Come back, please just fucking come back!"

His trio of friends loomed in leer, waiting for him to give-in. He held Ethan's neck in one hand, the other in his hair, stroking and tugging, hoping for that little flinch he did. He poked him in all the places that made him laugh; shook his shoulders that made his eyes jostle; and, as a last resort despite his firm non-belief in fairytales, laid a kiss on his mouth. Alas, there was no warmth in or out, a simple shell without a husky wind—

Wait.

The shallowness. A rise in his chest, so struggled and determined. He held his ear against his beaten chest, eyes alight with hope. Rose was above Heisenberg, clutching something tiny and brittle. He understood immediately what she showed him and quickly stood, gesturing for his friends to follow. They ran with a desperate pace, feet scuffing and muddling, and the ascent to the lab was hasty, almost dropping the body. Moreau dispersed from them to get water from a well while Donna fetched more medicine for Rose who refused to acknowledge her exhaustion.

On a bench she once sprawled on—like father like daughter—Rose assisted in placing Ethan on. But there, where hope and light graced him, Ethan ceased breathing and Heisenberg's head crashed into his hands. Pent up acrimony blustered from him, muffled into his arms and Rose panicked.

"No! He had a pulse just a minute ago!" She reassured and reached across the table, hitting Heisenberg. "Hey! Can't you do something—"

"No! I can't!" He whined, shaking his hands, and grappling at his hair, last tied up by Ethan; he feared if he took it out, he'd never have something of his blondie to hold onto again. "No, not this time."

"Why not?" Rose yelled, giving a great flailing gesture. She retrieved the item that inspired such short-lived ambition down in the tunnels; the remnants of a slow, breathing mechanism. The heart Heisenberg took in his palms, an invention he had not felt for three years. The girl hovered her hand over it. "Heisenberg, if you did this once, you could do it again—"

"I can't," he sobbed dryly, "because when this was first made, I didn't know if it would work or not and he was stronger than..." his head hung, swaying limply, "...I didn't love him—it didn't matter as much as it does now."

Rose understood it with the weirdest depth but maybe just not personally. Instead, she had witnessed it between Chris and a stranger, how one can do something in the past to their friend but then, a few years later and with deeper affections, everything just gets harder. You care more, that's simply it. This metal manic in front of her humanised within seconds, just by showing her his wet eyes and the full weight of who they both cared for, right there between them, bought her head down in a sullen bow.

"You probably never did this for me but, thank you," she said quietly, thumbing the cold palm of her father's hand. It was only at her following words did Heisenberg realise what she spoke was for him to hear and indulge in. "You let me see him again. You rose him from the dead, you Frankenstein wannabe."

Heisenberg snorted, telling yet again she was her father's girl; he was certain once Ethan had said something similar. "I want him to see more of you, Rose. He's missed...so much."

Rose only nodded, biting her lower lip in ponder. "I think you can repair this, Heisenberg. I think you can bring my dad back—"

"Please, it's Kar, kid. Kar," he reminded, fondling with the shattered heart in his hand; the weight, the texture, the workings were so delicate. How the fuck am I going to do this without hurting you, Ethan?

"Ok then, Kar." Rose looked up, squaring him in the eye. "Can you help my dad?"

Heisenberg released his pursed lips and glanced to his workbenches. "Yes, yes I can."