arklaycounty | but who's gonna push my wheelchair around when i get sick?

but who's gonna push my wheelchair around when i get sick?

[ Two officers shot in local standoff following raid on drug compound. That had been the headline, nonspecific. And yet—"someone just walked over my grave" was how superstitious idiots would probably phrase the feeling of cold dread that had washed over William as he watched the words scroll across the bottom of the screen, as the footage cut to a reporter standing in front of police tape and a mess of red and blue light. Ambulances, police cars. He knew. He didn't know how, but he knew.

His hands ached with the tension of his grip on the Volvo's hard steering wheel as he made the drive to the place—taken to Robert Fleitcher Memorial Hospital, the news had said, God only knew how long ago. There was a short argument with the bitch at the front desk before the protected information he already knew was finally disclosed.

Albert had been shot. In the side and the thigh, and the uneducated receptionist wasn't able to give him the crucial specifics that might give him an idea as to whether or not he would be attending a funeral or a hospital visit. Still in surgery. Another two hours, added to the four he'd already been on the table long before William knew.

His name was listed as next of kin, as he expected. Not like there was anyone else. It took him another hour after the conclusion of the operation to come into consciousness, an hour in which all William could do was stare at the IV line and the bloody drain tubing and the readings on the screen behind him while trying to assemble his mind into something coherent.

At last Albert opened his eyes, lifted his head. All at once the fear gave way to fury—how dare he? William had told him this was a horrid idea. ]

You fucking idiot.

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[ While he hoped he wouldn't have to use it, Albert took the emesis basin just in case. He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly, trying to urge his stomach to settle. ]

Yes.

[ Lying back down could potentially help, but it had taken so much effort to get up, and he didn't want that effort going to waste. Hopefully the nurse would be prompt. The strain of vomiting was bound to be hard on his sore throat and injured side. ]

[ William wasted no time in hunting down a nurse—again. He didn't believe for a minute that the call button could be trusted; the promptness of response to the first call, when he'd just arrived, had undoubtedly been a fluke.

It took longer to get someone this time, but he did. They chose metroclopramide IV, according to the bottle the nurse drew from—a woman with a huge mass of frizzy red hair down to her shoulderblades this time, not the guy that they'd seen earlier, which is who William would have preferred administer it. He'd have to look that up in the Physician's Desk Reference when he got back to the lab, whenever that might be. Annette was definitely competent enough to keep things running for the next few days, or however long this took.

William stayed silent while the nurse was in the room, even as she reminded them of the presence of the call button, worded in such a way as to imply she actually cared about his own efforts in coming to get someone as opposed to having to do her job. He glanced down at Wesker when the door closed. It had been a long time since his friend had looked so pitifully human. ]

Is it having any effect?

[ He gagged a few times while William was gone, almost sure he was going to lose the war his stomach was raging on him, but each time he managed to stop himself from being sick. Sweat beaded on his face and neck. He felt hot but knew that it wasn't hot in the room.

Seeing the nurse come in was an immense relief. He didn't hear everything she said, as he gagged again while she pushed the medication into his IV line, but what she had to say didn't matter as much as making this stop. Nothing was coming of it.

Strands of loose hair hung around his face, and his voice seemed very weak when he replied. ]

It'll take a minute.

[ It occurred to him that there was probably nothing in his stomach to bring up anyway, but that didn't make the situation any better. ]

[ Pity—an exceedingly rare emotion for William Birkin, but still one he was able to feel. He felt it now, watching his closest friend try not to vomit, or maybe sympathy was a better descriptor; Albert had never been pitiful in William Birkin's eyes, nor could he ever be. Whatever the feeling, it was unpleasant, twisting deep in his gut and joining the generalized chaos of every other emotion this whole nightmarish situation had managed to elicit.

William reached out absently, squeezed his shoulder with a bare hand as he stood beside the bedrail. Neither of them had ever been particularly tactile with other people, but there were exceptions in Birkin's world; this was one of them. Hopefully the touch was grounding, or at least would give him something to focus on other than trying not to vomit.

On some level, it soothed his own nerves at least a modicum, too; the bones and muscles of Wesker's shoulder were solid and immovable under his hand, still warm with life. He hadn't gone anywhere, and hopefully wouldn't be in the near future. ]

Breathe deeply. Through your nose, not your mouth.

[ William's hand on his shoulder was helpful. It gave him something to focus on other than the persistent churning of his stomach and the feeling of needing to heave. While touch wasn't always something Wesker appreciated, it was welcome now.

When he thought it was safe, he took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled slowly. Repeating that cycle a few times helped, and soon enough the urge to be sick passed. It seemed that the cool air of the room was able to reach his skin again. He calmed, his relief apparent in his expression and the way his muscles began to relax.

Wesker reached up to touch William's hand as a sign of thanks, though he didn't say so. ]

I think I'm all right.

[ A fleeting, nonverbal touch was offered; naturally, William understood the meaning of the fingers briefly grazing his own. There wasn't a need for Wesker to verbally thank him, or to thank him at all, but the brief moment of contact did help his own stress, somewhat. ]

Good.

[ There was a pause as William lapsed into thought. ]

I recall feeling similarly after my fourth molars were removed. I hadn't remembered to eat and I took Percocet as prescribed. That would have been back in... '82, I believe.

[ He was still angry with Albert, of course—that wouldn't go away any time soon, but the rage had fallen to the wayside, for the time being. There would be plenty of time for them to discuss this when he wasn't about to vomit or in severe pain. William was also a bit preoccupied with feeling shaken and disturbed to also harbor fury at the moment, and some form of distraction, talking like this, would probably be of benefit to both of them. ]

[ Wesker huffed in amusement, his lips turning up in a half smile. It had been a long time since he'd thought about having his own fourth molars removed, and it was good for him to think about something other than the events of the day.

He knew that William was still angry, but he would rather they resume their argument some other time. ]

Do you ever remember to eat?

[ Noncommittal, but honest: ]

Sometimes.

[ Because he knew he was in the presence of someone who wouldn't chastise him for it; Wesker had had plenty of time to get used to the irregular schedule William kept where eating, drinking, and sleeping were concerned, and he knew better than to prod him too hard over it. He always did eat and sleep eventually, as it stood. ]

We were deep in the research on T. I had bigger concerns.

[ And those concerns had paved the way to the experience of throwing up half a percocet in the lab sink. At least it had only been them and one or two others. ]

[ Poor eating and sleeping habits were something Wesker was very familiar with, as his own weren't much better. He subsisted mostly on coffee, with the exception of a high protein diet when he was building muscle mass. ]

It could've been worse. Imagine being sick at one of Umbrella's black tie social functions.

[ Everyone of significance at the company attended those, including Spencer himself. Not to mention leading minds from other parts of the industry. ]

I imagined being sick at one of Umbrella's social functions every time I attended one of Umbrella's social fuctions, Albert.

[ For the most part. He'd liked being seen by executives, pointed out to people as Umbrella's youngest hire, Dr. Birkin, the child prodigy. People talked about him, and their shared work; they were prominent figures. Chief Researchers of the Arklay facility.

What he hadn't liked was the need to engage with these people beyond just being praised. There were social niceties to waste one's time on when that same time could have been much better used in the laboratory, which was usually exactly the direction in which his thoughts began to wander at these things. Wesker, for all of his aloof nature, had always been better with people than William himself had been, partly because he felt like giving other people some degree of effort Birkin just didn't. He thought of things that William didn't, noticed things that were eclipsed by his relative tunnel vision. One of them had to. ]

Those cheese cubes were always too soft, too.

[ William returned to the chair at the foot of the bed, did his best to get relatively comfortable. He expected to be here for a while yet. ]

[ Such things were a waste of time, but when Wesker was required to attend, he had no problem charming everyone he spoke with. Making a good impression mattered, because it influenced the way people viewed Umbrella as a whole. In rare instances, he could even find some interesting conversation.

The thought of food made his stomach roll again, so he chose not to think about it or comment. That aside, he felt well enough to use the remote to raise the head of the bed and settle into a sitting position. ]

Such a shame. Your reputation impressed quite a few people. I'm sure many of them would have liked to speak with you for more than two minutes.

[ William shrugged. ]

They knew how busy I was.

[ Wesker adjusted the bed to sit fully upright now, which was almost enough to make Birkin outwardly sigh with relief. He was doing alright for someone who had been shot twice in the last twelve hours, all things considered, though William still kept a careful eye on him—having lost as much blood as he had, there was always the possibility that he might lose consciousness if his heart had to work much harder to keep his brain oxygenated, as it would with a more vertical position.

But the fact that he wasn't standing seemed to negate that enough for him to remain conscious, at least for the time being. Good. ]

...I'll call Annette in a little while. She can bring over some things I need to work on.

[ That way he wouldn't have to leave, which felt out of the question. It had been hours, but William still very much felt as though he'd read the headline a matter of minutes ago. ]

[ Sitting up probably wasn't the best idea. Wesker knew he still needed rest to recover, but the simple act of sitting made him feel like he had some degree of control. He wasn't stuck just lying there helplessly.

For now, he seemed all right, considering the circumstances. His vitals were going back to normal—or what passed as normal for the condition he was in, anyway.

He closed his eyes and took another deep, relaxing breath. ]

Will it be too distracting for you to work here?

[ A hospital couldn't provide the same quiet as the lab or even home. There was constant activity, even late at night, as nurses made their rounds tending to patients. ]

I can work under mildly distracting conditions without issue.

[ As much as the loud chattering that had been typical to the laboratories in the Spencer Mansion prior to their tenure as chief researchers had aggravated William, he was able to focus on, even become engrossed in, his work under conditions such as their current ones.

And even if he couldn't focus, attempting to was better than sitting here and doing absolutely nothing when Albert slept. William Birkin's was a mind that needed to stay occupied, and leaving to go back to the lab was out of the question. Furthermore, the only thoughts that occupied his mind whenever he was left to his own devices were ones he would rather not have: wondering if Albert had thought he was going to die, whether he'd been afraid, how much pain he'd been in when he was first shot, what his doctors and nurses might be thinking but not saying to them, how long it would take before something like this happened again. Unpleasant matters. ]

You know that.

[ It was the occasional slamming of doors that really bothered Wesker, but maybe that was due to the medications or just the fact that he was injured. If he was in William's place, he would probably be able to get some work done too. ]

Ask her to bring me something to read, if she doesn't mind. [ A thought, then he added: ] For an occasion when I'm not heaving and can stay awake for a reasonable amount of time.

That can be arranged.

[ William spread his hands on his knees, paused for a moment, got to his feet. ]

Any preference?

As long as it's intellectually stimulating. I do not need "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Dating" or anything similar.

[ Which someone had anonymously given him as a Christmas gift several years ago. He hadn't found it funny, and he'd never found out who did it either. ]

I was thinking Cell or Advances in Virology.

[ That was... specific. Probably a gag gift from one of the people who had left those ridiculous cards (like they can do any justice to the fact that the guy was just shot). Again a reminder that there was a half of Wesker's life that he knew nothing of, that he couldn't know—he had deliberately kept interactions with these people to a minimum, and if Albert hadn't been shot, they wouldn't have ever crossed paths. It wasn't ideal for S.T.A.R.S. to see him interact with anyone from Umbrella, though at least nothing he himself had done might lead them to connect him to the corporation. ]

Those are infinitely better options.

[ Gag gifts were unappreciated, so naturally, Wesker had gotten several. It didn't seem worth telling William about, if only because William seemed... jealous? of the time he spent with the S.T.A.R.S.. ]

I'll relay that to her.

[ A pause, his reluctance to leave manifesting in action. It was just a walk to the payphone down the hall—but still. ]

Do you want to see her?

[ Because Annette liked Wesker, even if it was nowhere near the level of closeness the two of them shared. Of course she'd been worried when he'd told her to watch Sherry and keep the lab running; she'd want to visit, if not discouraged. But Wesker was also in the early hours after major surgery, and after a botched tactical operation, and he was fundamentally introverted. William knew to ask. ]

[ A moment of consideration. He generally wouldn't like anyone to see him in this kind of state, but if the S.T.A.R.S. got to see him like this, there was no reason to keep away people he actually liked. The details of how he'd been injured were a sore spot, but hopefully Annette would know to leave it be. ]

Both Annette and Sherry are welcome.

Sherry should be in bed right now, but I can bring her by in the morning. I'll be back.

[ He felt strange, getting to his feet and walking down the hall alone after so many hours sitting a meter away from another person, leaving Wesker in the room behind him. It was a strange feeling: solitude had never bothered William, save for the first few weeks after Wesker had left for S.T.A.R.S., but he was acutely aware of the quiet of the hall and the sound of his own footsteps on the linoleum in a way that wasn't entirely pleasant.

He tried not to think about it, in the way he had settled into trying not to think about everything else. This was all far too much to process, especially with as little sleep as he'd gotten: for once Birkin was just tired.

He kept his voice low as he gave Annette the status updates as to avoid his personal business echoing through the empty hallway: alive, conscious, recovering well, no nerves hit, though it had been as serious as he feared. No major internal damage aside from some bleeding, miraculously. She'd already reached out to their babysitter; Annette was smart like that, able to think well in advance. She'd be over in the next thirty minutes, she said.

It felt like disloyalty to get coffee instead of heading right back to the hospital room after he hung up, but he needed something, so William reluctantly headed down the hall, into the elevator, to the shitty little overpriced cafe one floor lower. It would probably do Wesker good to see that he was at least remembering to drink, even if it wasn't water.

Upon his return to the room he set it on the side tray next to the ridiculous cards to cool off and sank back into the hard pleather chair at the foot of the bed. ]

She's coming over.

[ Being alone in the room left him with nothing to do other than think, and that wasn't the best idea right now. He would, without a doubt, focus on the operation and what had gone wrong. That wouldn't do him any good, so Wesker closed his eyes and allowed himself to doze. He supposed he could have turned on the TV, but the story was bound to be all over the news.

He was tired and hurting. The pain was still at tolerable levels, but it was a constant reminder of what had happened.

Wesker drifted in and out of sleep, easily awakened by the slightest sound. Someone—he presumed it was a nurse—walked past his door and entered a room down the hall, tending to another patient. He heard her footsteps clicking on the tile as she left a few moments later.

When William returned, Wesker had slipped back into a light sleep. The sound of the door woke him again, seeming strangely loud to his ears. He caught the scent of coffee and was glad William was at least drinking something. ]

If I fall asleep again, wake me when she gets here.

[ Sleeping through the S.T.A.R.S. visit was actually preferable, but it would be rude to do the same to Annette, all things considered. ]

I will. If you need to rest, rest, Albert.

[ The notion that he may have been deliberately staying awake just to talk to him didn't sit well with William—he needed to sleep to heal, especially in these early hours after some pretty large incisions were made to extract bullets that had come with, as he understood it, no exit wounds. ]

She'll understand if you need to sleep. I can meet her outside and she can come by tomorrow morning with Sherry instead.

[ Wesker was trying his best to stay awake until William had some work to focus on. Leaving him with nothing to do other than watch the numbers on the monitors didn't seem proper. ]

I'll have plenty of time to sleep later. I'm sure I won't be discharged anytime soon.

but who's gonna push my wheelchair around when i get sick?

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he's gonna be fucked up about this for the next 20yrs and he didn't even get shot

Meanwhile Wesker will have moved on within the next 20 days.

"william wym you're still upset. that was last month get over it"

Exactly

beg to differ there, al

Really tho

"william seemed jealous" it's bc he's jealous

You're still his favorite, William.

damn well better be!!!

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wesker truly just getting slammed from all sides today

Kinda tempted to have some complications just to crush William. A little clinical death.