𝙳𝚁. 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙰𝙼 𝙱𝙸𝚁𝙺𝙸𝙽 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
retroviridae) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
arklaycounty2022-12-12 12:11 pm
retroviridae) wrote in arklaycounty2022-12-12 12:11 pm
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.
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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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. ]
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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. ]
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[ 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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
he's gonna be fucked up about this for the next 20yrs and he didn't even get shot
[ 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.
Meanwhile Wesker will have moved on within the next 20 days.
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.
"william wym you're still upset. that was last month get over it"
[ William spread his hands on his knees, paused for a moment, got to his feet. ]
Any preference?
Exactly
[ 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. ]
beg to differ there, al
[ 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. ]
Really tho
[ 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.. ]
"william seemed jealous" it's bc he's jealous
[ 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. ]
You're still his favorite, William.
Both Annette and Sherry are welcome.
damn well better be!!!
[ 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.
no subject
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. ]
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[ 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.
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I'll have plenty of time to sleep later. I'm sure I won't be discharged anytime soon.
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Maybe.
[ A good fifteen minutes passed before Annette knocked on the door: she hadn't done anything asinine like bring flowers, which was expected—William never would have married someone who thought that kind of platitude was an appropriate response to multiple gunshot wounds. She did express her sympathy, her worry, decidedly less furious than he had been (and still was, on some level), though they were much less close. She'd recover if Albert died; he probably wouldn't.
William thanked her as she set the small stack of folders and old journals on the side table next to the cards and his still-cooling coffee; at least now he'd have something to do other than agonize while Wesker slept. She'd also brought a saran-wrapped turkey sandwich for the one in the room who was allowed to eat. Thoughtful, even if he didn't particularly feel hungry at the moment. ]
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Annette didn't bring flowers, a card or anything else that was essentially meaningless. She brought books for him and work for William. He especially appreciated that she brought William something to eat. His friend may not have felt like eating, but he probably needed to.
Wesker wouldn't be able to bring himself to eat even if he was allowed to. Food was unlikely to stay down.
He thanked Annette for her concern and for everything she brought them, assuring her that he would be fine, despite the severity of his injuries. It was pleasant to talk with her, even briefly. There was no underlying layer of anger in her, unlike William. ]
wesker truly just getting slammed from all sides today
William stood up, wished her off. They exchanged a few more words about their daughter, the lab, keeping things running smoothly in his absence. She gave him a brief kiss on the cheek in parting as they stood beside the bedside table, offered Wesker her well wishes again, left.
He took the half of the stack intended for himself and his now-drinkable coffee back to the same chair he'd spent most of the day in, settling into silence for a few moments. Then: ]
She'll watch the lab.
Kinda tempted to have some complications just to crush William. A little clinical death.
Now that William had something to occupy him, Wesker felt more comfortable allowing himself the opportunity to sleep. If he could actually stay asleep. It seemed like the slightest sound disturbed him. ]
It's in good hands then.
[ Annette had dedicated herself so much to William's work that he had no doubt she would take good care of everything in his absence. ]