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.
It's amazing how much these two love each other and are just completely dumb about it.
[ His mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton all night, and liquid of any kind would be pure Heaven on his throat. Coffee, water, maybe even a bit of both sounded fantastic to him.
Wesker tried to push himself at least somewhat upright. It was painful and exhausting to even move, but he didn't want to risk aspirating any liquids. ]
If you're sure you don't mind, I'll finish your coffee for you.
LITERALLYYY.
[ He could easily get more whenever he went downstairs next, and even if he couldn't, Albert was the one who had just almost died, not him. Birkin watched the man attempt to hoist himself upright in bed, allowing him to do so on his own despite the urge to offer help—it was a matter of dignity, especially for someone as fiercely self-reliant as Wesker had always been. He managed enough of an upright angle, in his medical opinion, to make coffee-induced aspiration pneumonia a low likelihood, so Birkin handed over the half-empty cup, waiting to make sure he had a decent grasp on it before he let go.
He'd get some water from the sink in a minute—William disliked the idea of him drinking unsupervised, at least when he was this frail. ]
It's not good, but it's coffee.
no subject
Thanks.
[ He took a sip, wrinkled his nose and gave the coffee a mildly offended look, then gulped the rest of it down anyway. It reminded him of when Vickers made coffee at the S.T.A.R.S. office, but right now, he'd take what he could get. ]
How hard is it to brew decent coffee?
no subject
[ William reached out for the empty styrofoam cup, then stood and unwrapped one of the small plastic ones on the side table. ]
I'll be right back.
[ He filled it in the sink and set it within Albert's reach before sitting back down; once he'd settled back into his chair he studied the man for a moment, frankly relieved just to be conversing with him. It was such a stark contrast, this moment as opposed to the last time they'd interacted, when he'd been busy assuring Wesker that he wasn't going to die while not entirely sure of that fact himself.
He'd almost died, twice in the past two hours. It was the kind of potential loss that was hard to even wrap his mind around as a hypothetical, but so had been the case with his mother, too. And here was Wesker, undoubtedly already thinking of getting back to work, even if he was wise enough not to say it to this particular audience. ]
Drink slowly. They tapered off the antiemetics.
no subject
[ For right now his stomach felt fine, but he took William's advice anyway, drinking the water in small sips rather than gulping it down the way he had done with the coffee. The coffee had wet his tongue, and now the cool water was gently soothing his sore throat. Having something to drink was such a basic thing that one didn't normally think about it, but Wesker had a new appreciation for it now. ]
I take it they aren't even considering discharge.
no subject
[ William regarded his friend with an unconcealed frown. It was incredible, how unscientific someone could be when matters concerned them personally, but he'd always thought Albert above that kind of thing until now. ]
You almost died six hours ago. After almost dying a few hours before that. You're not even truly stable, Albert, you're under continual medical supervision for a reason.
[ There was a fear, lurking in the shadows of his mind: if he was this eager to be discharged before he was ready, how much would he rush going back to the line of fire? How much time did he even have before this all potentially repeated itself? ]
no subject
[ He took another sip of water and set the cup aside, grimacing at the pain of shifting himself to lie back down. As much as he hated being here, he acknowledged that it was necessary. If there was another incident like last night, and he was at home, he really would die. ]
This time, I wasn't being serious. As much as I'd like to leave, my condition needs to be monitored.
[ He'd said it more out of idle frustration that they wouldn't, in fact, be considering discharge for some time. ]
no subject
As long as you understand that.
[ Because his previous insistence on getting back to work soon hadn't seemed to indicate much understanding of the dire nature of his situation—though William had to wonder if the events of the previous night may have put some of that to rest. ]
no subject
[ The raw fear he'd felt the previous night was still too fresh in his mind to set aside. It would fade with time, but that was going to take longer than just a few hours.
Once he was settled again he took a moment to just breathe. After all that had happened, he wasn't keen on another dose of morphine just yet, even though the painkiller wasn't at fault. ]
Even if they did discharge me, I'm more eager to go home than back to work after last night.
[ As much as he loathed admitting it, there was no way he could work while his condition was this unstable. ]
no subject
[ Both given his precarious state and the nature of how this whole thing came to be. At least then he'd be able to focus, as opposed to knowing in a general sense that he was out in the field but not knowing what the hell he was doing—how long it would be until he was in this chair again, or worse.
He already had no doubt that the news would be on about this for quite some time, reminding him every time he turned on the TV (which wasn't often at all, considering how little time he spent at home, but even once would be too much)—an officer shot was big news, two officers, moreso. The fact that they were dispatched in place of a traditional SWAT team was bound to amplify that further.
William fell silent, weighing whether or not to bring up the matter of how he got wounded, the likelihood of a next time—it was bound to end in an argument as soon as it came to the fore, and Albert, independent as he was, was exceptionally unlikely to listen to him. It was sickening, the utter helplessness, filling him with the urge to yell or throw something or just leave. He chose not to say something, for the time being—there would be time for them to talk about this, and any added stress at all wasn't likely to be well-tolerated, physically speaking.
The length of the silence and the tension to his jaw was probably a good indicator of what he was thinking, but that much was lost on him. ]
no subject
The fact that his friend said nothing about it spoke volumes about his concern. Albert didn't doubt for a moment that William was worried his condition might worsen again.
He thought about offering reassurance, but nothing short of resigning from S.T.A.R.S. would satisfy William, so he let the matter be. ]
Did you eat the sandwich Annette brought you?
no subject
[ He saw no point in fabricating a more palatable truth—while Wesker had encouraged him to eat from time to time throughout the years, especially while he was trying to find a breakthrough to remind their staff of who they answered to when that Ashford girl came to the fore, he had never been overly pushy about it, which William appreciated. ]
Is your pain level manageable?
no subject
Wesker was certainly in pain, but he didn't want more morphine just yet. It was nice to be awake for a little while, though he wasn't going to be as resistant to rest as he had been at the start. ]
It's fine, for now. I'm sure I'll need another dose soon enough.
no subject
[ William grimaced faintly, his lips a tight line. Yes, he probably would, an unwelcome reminder of how the dire situation was: sepsis aside, he wasn't out of the woods yet and wouldn't be for weeks, not with wounds that severe. He glanced downa t his hands for a moment.
Do you have any idea how scared I was? At all?
Probably not, considering that he'd had to make a show of not being scared. Sometimes he felt that Albert knew exactly how much his very existence meant to him; other times, he had to wonder (while simultaneously doing nothing to clarify).
Would he return to S.T.A.R.S. if he knew? If he could somehow empathically transfer the entire weight of the feeling, everything he'd experienced over the past 48 hours, every thought that had gone through his head? Probably, considering his independent streak. It was part of his appeal, unfortunately, that ability and willingness to strike out on his own and the lack of regard for anyone else's opinion. Sometimes William just wished that his own would be the exception. ]
I was worried. Last night.
[ Perhaps an ill-advised confession, and not one he'd given much thought to before he simply said it. ]
no subject
But his friend's solution to all this would be to for him leave S.T.A.R.S.. For Wesker, that would be too much like admitting defeat. He had to not only come back from this, but to come back even stronger. It wasn't a matter of liking the job. It was a matter of personal pride. ]
I know you were.
[ He had been scared—thought he was going to die. That fear probably hadn't been very helpful for William, but his friend had done a very good job in providing him comfort. Wesker wasn't really sure how to adequately express his gratitude. He also wasn't very good at saying he was sorry, even though he shouldn't really have to. It was not his fault that he'd been shot.
Unsure of what else to do in this situation, Wesker held his hand out for William to take if he wanted. ]
no subject
Albert's palm was warm, a little more than it should have been, reminding him of the fact that his temperature still hadn't returned to a normal range, merely a lower-grade fever—but even that was soothing, in its own way, simply by virtue of not being much, much hotter. He easily could have sustained brain or organ damage last night, as high as his fever ended up getting. One or two degrees more and his body itself would have become an intolerable environment for the very enzymes that regulated it.
He tried to find something to say and found that nothing he could draw up was satisfactory. Instead he just... sat there, holding his hands for several minutes in the quiet before hazarding a muted, ]
Tell me if you start to feel worse. ...I don't want to think about life without you.
[ Not unreasonable—they had led the majority of their lives in tandem by this point, numerically speaking, and the entirety of their time as virologists (even if that had come to an end, on Albert's side). The man's presence was inextricable from his time with Umbrella, in the laboratory, even his current self. ]
no subject
He gently squeezed his friend's hand, both to reassure him and to convey that he understood how hard this was for him. ]
You don't need to think about that, Will. I'll be fine.
[ But that wasn't going to help. It was an empty promise that he could make no guarantees of keeping, so he made a promise that he knew he'd be able to keep. ]
I'll tell you if I feel any worse, or if I need anything.
[ Asking for help wasn't something that he liked to do, but he thought it might make William feel better if he made an exception here. At least for necessities. ]