The Lightning that Jumps Between

Twenty Eight

Karl's sleepy temperament allowed him more patience than usual; he answered Ethan's questions simply and without pomp. The blond was satiated after some time spent interrogating all of his anxieties, and finally found himself positioned on his side behind the brunette. The storm continued to rage as Ethan curled behind Karl, spooning him as he kissed along the engineer's neck and shoulders. His final question was a whisper in Heisenberg's ear, a gentle request–to be inside Heisenberg again.

Karl answered not so much with words, but physically. He awakened with enthusiasm and the same uncharacteristic patience he'd had all night. Ethan moved with his own new sense of control and quiet passion. He didn't mean to mentally read the other, but it was difficult to filter thoughts during such a close moment: Karl wanted to give Ethan a semblance of control. Submission was not merely physical for him, it was an attempt to meet Ethan's emotional need.

The sentiment was sweet, and Ethan appreciated it. He was attentive, considerate with every move, showering Karl with kisses and whispered adoration. As he'd always been, he was an attentive caretaker; both rode a long wave of pleasure before exhaustion hit and the pair drifted off to sleep. They slept as intimately as they'd loved, still tangled together, with Ethan's longer body draped over Karl's for once.

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The morning brought an impossibly gorgeous sunrise, and both Ethan and Donna found themselves staring at it through the tall parlor windows. Everyone else was busy setting up breakfast–except for Karl, and who knew what the hell he did every dawn?- so the quiet hum of conversation and motion carried into the next room where the grief-stricken contemplated their losses.

Ethan felt, for the first time in a long time, that he would be able to think about the actual loss of Mia. He had worked through those feelings once, and then Dulvey happened. He'd never considered them since, and now with the bright orange light infiltrating his gaze, he mulled over how in denial he'd been.

What part of that had been the Mold, doing its job? Keeping the 'family' together. What part of it had been him–wildly, foolishly, stubborn? What part of it had been her, perhaps just as stubborn? Just as controlled by the Mold's desire to survive.

He felt as though the Mold had taken something from him after the first time he "died." It had taken away his rationality, his discernment. Everything around him had put Ethan in extreme survival mode, saw him fighting for his own, and others, lives. There were no discernments between life or death, just the fight. And he'd barely had better discernment in Romania. What was he thinking, doing military training? What was he thinking, pretending that he could have an expat life with no hiccups? Again, the day's agenda–raising a mutant's cataloged consciousness from the Mutamycete-seemed more grounded in reality than anything he'd done in three years.

Ethan tore his gaze from the clouds and looked over at Donna; like him, she had her arms crossed over her chest, had a slightly enthralled look on her face while watching the clouds. He could appreciate how the golden light hit the feminine face, accentuating it; Ethan wished he had his camera, made a mental note to draw her later in his journal. He was staring; she caught onto this and turned to look at him with a slightly bemused look.

He smiled at her. With the return of his discernment, if it was truly back after the years of denial, he realized that he held no ill feelings toward Donna. He saw her as a victim of Miranda, no different than himself with the caveat that she'd lost more family members. Ethan wondered if he would extend the same kind heartedness to Moreau or Dimitrescu...he couldn't imagine that he would. Especially with the newfound darkness tugging at his mind and heart, urging him to raze everyone and everything in his path to get to Miranda.