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daddyplasmius · 8 months

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hand on my stupid heart flashbacks

this is a No One Knows AU & Full Hazmat AU where Danny ended up in the Ghost Zone & didn't go back into the human world initially because he thought he was dead. by the time he realized he is, in fact, at least half alive, he'd already been missing for at least 2 weeks. will probs never finish homsh sorry. i wrote this a couple years ago in a haze & just haven't been able to finish it because i can't replicate the style, which i find is what i love about this fic the most. it wouldn't be the same without it. posting the flashback introsーwhich are meant to be read between chapters/the actual plot, starting after chapter 1ーcuz fuck it. excuse typos & shit, i never properly edited it, as i forgot it existed immediately after i wrote it original description of homsh: Danny Fenton has officially been missing for over a year. Maddie & Jack Fenton refuse to give up on their son. Sick and tired of the police running them in circles, and the case getting colder by the day, the Fentons turn to their last resortーPhantom. 800~ words (full unfinished fic is 20k~)

When Danny woke up surrounded by thick, green fog, and couldn’t breathe without swallowing heavy air that was more like water than anything, he was sure he was dead. The portal glowed behind him, illuminating the pitch darkness around him in soft, yellow, warm light.

He almost went back.

Almost.

He was dead. His parents were ghost hunters. They had drilled into his head from the moment he was born that he could never, ever panic in death. That he would accept it. That he would not be scared. So he would be prepared to be brave in the face of death and would not become a ghost.

He panicked. He did not accept it. He was terrified. And so he woke up in the Ghost Zone.

Danny went back through the portal when he saw some ectopuses acting… strange. Like they had an idea in their heads. Like they had a plan.

Which was weird, with animal ghosts. He had only been in the Ghost Zoneーmom and dad called it that, he rememberedーfor a couple weeks. Or, he had already been there for two weeks. Or maybe time worked differently and he was there five minutes, or four years orー

The ectopuses went through the portal and, despite everything, Danny went after them.

While he was busy reeling at being home, the ectopuses immediately attacked dad. Danny was horrified. Jack was overwhelmed. Danny stepped in, in a moment fueled by sheer adrenaline and stupidity, snatching a Fenton Thermos™ off a shelf and releasing his shaky invisibility. The ectopuses didn’t stand a chance. And when they were safely in the Thermos, he slowly turned around to dad, ready for the confrontation. Ready for the “what happened to you?” and the “where have you been?” and the “we’ve missed you”.

Dad scrambled to shoot at him.

Danny fled.

His parents didn’t recognize him.

The Lunch Lady attacked when Danny was mourning Halloween.

He’d waited all year. He made a costume that summer. He wouldn’t get to go trick or treating with Sam and Tucker this year. Or any year. For the rest of his lifeーor existence. Whatever.

The Lunch Lady appeared in the school and demanded in straight fury, “Who changed the menu?”

Everyone pointed at Sam.

Danny hadn’t known just how powerful ghosts could be. His parents never told him the specifics. Just that they were dangerous.

This ghost grew and her aura hit him like a hurricane, almost physically pushing him back. It was so strong that the students in the Casper High cafeteria seemed to feel it too.

The Lunch Lady was a much harder opponent than the ectopuses. She levitated meat. She used it as a weapon, and seemed to bring it back to life. She created weird meat creatures that grew sharp teeth and claws out of bones. They were mindless, attacking everything that got too close to the ghost. Danny would have run away without hesitation, if Sam hadn’t been in the crossfire.

Danny fought the Lunch Lady. It was a long struggle, but he caught her in the thermos after over an hour. When he turned to Sam and Tuckerーboth of whom he had to save due to Tucker trying to jump into the fightーall three of them bloody and bruised, he cringed. But a part of him hoped. Desperately.

Surely they would know him on sight.

“Wh-what are you?” Sam gasped at him finally.

Danny flinched as if she had struck him. “J-just… your friendly neighbourhood phantom.”

Danny didn’t know what possessed him. Oh. Pun not intended.

He just barely caught the Fentons leaving in the GAV, dragging suitcases behind them. He couldn’t help himself. What on Earth were they doing?

They were going to Vlad Master’s mansion for their college reunion.

It was a whole thing. But something was off. Besides all the adults reminiscing about the 80’s.

Danny sensed ghosts immediately but he couldn’t see anything. Unfortunately for him, Vlad could also sense him. It was two days of Danny staying invisible, and Vladーthe halfa? Is that what Danny is?ーtrying to kill Jack. Somehow, Danny managed to fight off Vlad, not turn back, and without the Fentons getting hurt. His secret intact.

VladーPlasmius, also learned about Phantom. And Vlad hated him. The manーghostーwhatever, seemed to only care about one thingーpossession. Of money. Of things. Of people. He was more ghost than Danny had ever seen. Vlad’s obsession was overwhelming.

Danny couldn’t believe someone so much like himself could be so disturbing.

#danny phantom #danny phantom au #danny phantom fanfiction #you know that gif of the wailing emoji dissolving? :Why:?#yeah that's what i do every time i remember i never finished HOMSH while i still had the style in my brain #feel free to steal this idea. please steal this idea. please write it i wanna see this idea so bad but im already writing another 100k+ fic #if y'all want me to post the full fic i can but. it is not finished & most likely never will be. sorry again #i won't lie. the haze i was in was a depressed one. i was. not in a good place At All when i wrote HOMSH #like the only part i remember actually writing was the panic attack scene & that's just barely #i reread the whole fic in the middle of the night months later while listening to Implode Alright by Built by Snow on repeat #yeah i cried. this one is funny but mostly it's just. mourning. grief. the works. it's a vent fic & also a. kind of. wishful fic #like. don't you just wish death wasn't so permanent. don't you wish you could tell them everything you wish you could #don't you wish you could just see them again #i'm actually writing this into a bigger ventier series currently called Let Grief Do Its Work #cuz i rewatched LUCIDS again recently & remembered what HOMSH was originally about. why i was writing it #i'm not calling it HOMSH cuz. HOMSHie is my baby. it's its own thing & i don't wanna ruin the vibes #reluctantly admitting i call an unfinished fanfic i don't remember writing... HOMSHie baby... in my head #yeah i have a cute nickname for my fic. what of it #it's 5am & i think i'll throw up if i think any more about posting unfinished unedited pieces of a fic so i'm going for it. cowabunga #go into the world. get your 2 notes you beautiful animal #*passes out*

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myrhymesarepurer · 1 year

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Lavender Bergamot Something-or-Other

Pairing: Royai, Roy Mustang x Riza Hawkeye, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood Rating: G and lovely and sweet Words: 5,109 Readable after the break or on my ao3.

Summary: FMAB, East Command

Rebecca placed the pretty little package, wrapped in brown paper and twine in Riza’s hand. Unwrapped, it revealed a simple bar of scented soap: lavender bergamot something or other.

“I’m hoping this would inspire you to…branch out, meet more people.”

“I meet plenty of people.”

“Okay, when I say people, I mean a man, Riza, a partner - a romantic one - that’s not in the military, not an asshat, and preferably not your boss”

Riza hid her smirk in her tea. However much Riza liked to tease Rebecca, her honest take on such relationships was rather bleak. After all, even dressed up with all the bells and whistles,

How many fine gentlemen would realistically stay after I can remember the face of every person I’ve ever killed? --

“Lieutenant, did you…” the Colonel finally looked at Riza for the first time that morning and then blinked, “This is going to sound quite strange and I know that, yet it continues to bother me” “Yes, Sir?” “Did you change your soap?”

----

a/n

This is me working on a 100 page monster chapter every day, getting weary, and trying to write something tender and not as demanding without freaking out about phrasing or contractions and turning it into a hollywood Epic.

I also always admired every time Hawkeye might be considered slightly insubordinate in the name of schooling Mustang back into shape, Roy stares at her with heart-eyes

(i.e “stay here, so if anything happens you can get out” “no” “okay, will you stay here if i promise to come back?” “yup, happy hunting, sir”)

Enjoy my daydreaming.

Readable after the break or on my ao3.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was pretty clear to most that Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye wasn’t a vain woman. She didn’t spend much too long on her outward appearance. That wasn’t to say she didn’t have to resist a most human glance in the little mirror above her key hook on the way out of her flat. In those moments when she did look, she bit her lip, narrowed her eyes, and tilted her head.

The traces of mascara she had applied, barely a brush of blush and a swipe of lip balm - she clocked each one and paused every time in doubt. Riza could never decide if she was naturally pretty enough to put so little work into this kind of thing. But, after the second she spent in the mirror passed, Riza concluded that she supposed she didn’t care. Things like these were ultimately useless.

If she had an opinion, Riza would say there wasn’t much to improve, even if she put a good half hour into the process. Every morning, she showered. She brushed her hair. She fussed over her bangs some but had more at less gotten it down to a science. The rest of it all consisted of practically superfluous details for which she was never sure why she wasted even the mere thirty seconds on the ritual that she did. Sure, sure, Riza could see some “prettiness” in her face, usually brought to her attention by Rebecca Catalina right after her friend decided to begin gushing about a new beauty trend over their weekend lunches, and right before Rebecca executed her grand scheme to push said new beauty trend upon her.

Riza was never interested. Yet, she was happy to hear her friend ramble about something other than Jean Havoc or work or Jean Havoc at work. Grimmly, Riza assumed that she had maintained what delicate features she had through her age simply because she was a sharpshooter, positioned high and at a distance, removed from the blood and the sand and the wind and the fire. Still, Riza was never one to ponder any significant…additions to her routine, no matter how popular or what lovely hypothetical Rebecca attempted to spin. “Oh, but Riza, you’d look so lovely in this shade. This gold shimmer is meant precisely for your eye color.” Rebecca showcased that particular item as if she was the saleswoman herself, “It’s a real head turner, nearly an instant hot date.” “Hot date, right,” Riza said suspiciously batting away Rebecca’s hand reaching across the table, and attempting to apply the glistening powder. Considering the way her finger was traveling, this product was meant to be applied directly to one's eyeball. Rebbeca scrunched her nose, most displeased and snapped the little case shut after Riza successfully flinched away from her assault. “I don’t think that’s for me.” “Oh, you’re no fun.” Riza chuckled dryly, “I just don’t see the point. I spend most of my days buried in paperwork or covered in dog fur. ” Rebecca’s bright green eyes narrowed then she shrugged so nonchalantly chalant “Well, of course, I would hope the shimmer would inspire you to…branch out.” Riza saw this as an opportunity to deliberately ignore her friend’s point, “I suppose the color does match my uniform - blue and gold”

“Ha-ha,” Rebecca glared. Riza hid her small smirk in her tea as Rebecca ignored Riza’s rebuffs and continued to insist. “No, I meant a night out. You know, dress up, go to a nice place.” “I go out sometimes” “When?” “Well, we’re having lunch right now, aren’t we?” “Riza, I’m here out East every other week. You need to meet more people.” Riza crinkled her eyebrows, and tirelessly dodged once more, “I meet plenty of people.” Rebecca tirelessly advanced, just the same, “Okay, when I say someone I mean a man, Riza, a suitor.” Riza put a finger on her lip, hummed, and sounded out the word, “Sui-tor” Rebecca clearly, at that point, had enough of little miss Riza Hawkeye’s signature teasing and simply got straight to the point with frightening clarity, “Yes, a partner, a romantic one. That’s not in the military, not an asshat, and preferably not your boss.” “Ah,” Riza hid her smirk in her tea once more, “There it is. Rebecca Catalina’s famous conspiracy theory.”

Riza need not elaborate any further for Rebecca to know she was going to get absolutely nowhere on that point. Just like every other time she dared to make such an assumption.

“You’re incorrigible,” Rebecca threw her hands up and surrendered the little powder case to the depths of her purse in defeat, “and you work too much, and you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life.”

Riza snickered, reached down, and pet the pup at her feet, “That’s alright. Hayate will keep me company.” “Riza, come on. I’m trying to help.” “Fine,” Riza huffed, “I appreciate your love and concern, Rebecca. You know I do. But, you said it yourself. I work too much.” “Heavens, she admits it,” Rebecca feigned a gasp. “Moreover, I’m a twenty-something war veteran and not terribly easy to get along with. Who’s head am I supposed to be turning that would actually be interested past the gold dust and the red lipstick?” Rebecca was the one to pick up her tea at this point. She had smiled softly, and exhaled a small laugh, but across the table, Riza watched her lined and shadowed doe eyes sadden quite quickly. Riza didn’t mean to bring the mood down. She knew how sympathetic Rebecca was about the fact that out of all the cadets in their academy class, Riza was the one plucked straight from the shooting range and shipped out to the war front - alone. Riza never wanted her dear friend to waste her valuable energy feeling bad about something completely out of her control. Yet, however much Riza liked to tease Rebecca, what she said then was her honest take on such relationships - period. In the end, not only did her appearance have little real value or longevity, but Riza felt as if dressing up like that was brilliant bait in a sick trap meant to catch a well-meaning fellow unawares. Theoretically, let’s say she pulled out all the stops, the bells, and the whistles - If she gave in and let Rebecca dress her up like Riza knew she secretly had always wanted, and as a result, had a line of suitors forming outside her flat: How many of those fine gentlemen would realistically stay after I can remember the face of every person I’ve ever killed? Alright, perhaps that was too macabre. Yet, unfortunately, it was truly Riza Hawkeye’s reality. Work was really the only thing she felt she had actual potential, credible use. After all, civil war changes quite a bit of the most appealing qualities in a young woman her age. So, why waste time on all the trappings in an attempt to hide her damage? She, herself, was certainly more or less ambivalent about it all. And, in the process, she could justify her abundant lack of effort in her appearance and social life with the noble notion of saving every potentially interested, well-meaning, whole and healed fellow from a lot of wasted time. That being said, just like her fleeting seconds in the mirror at her door, Riza’s reality never truly eliminated her ever-so-small human desire to be considered pretty - or something. By someone, maybe anyone other than Rebecca who perhaps told her so too many times and had a touch too much allegiance to Riza to be considered strictly unbiased. However silly and pointless of a wish it was, Riza found it irritatingly impossible to be rid of entirely. So, she kept the needless notion’s nagging at bay with the daily flick of mascara, and brush of blush, and swipe of lip balm, so on and so forth. It was one particular weekend lunch when Rebecca had just returned from a spell in Aerugo that she unveiled her best bet at snagging Riza’s interest. It was a pretty little package, wrapped in brown paper and twine. After Rebecca’s valiant pitch, she ultimately revealed her newest endorsement to be for a simple bar of scented soap: lavender bergamot something or other. “I felt that I should perhaps approach pampering on your terms,” Rebecca said kindly, unwrapping Riza’s gift for her “Just use this in the shower.” Riza weighed the small, smooth purple block in her palm before bringing it up to her nose to test the scent. Surprisingly, it was lovely. In fact, Riza had never really thought a scent could be so lovely…maybe she was much less experienced in all this than she thought.

“Hm,” Riza responded, to which Rebecca grinned, utterly ecstatic, “Yes!! That was a resounding Riza Hawkeye response of approval if there ever was one.” As instructed by the guru herself, Riza did use the soap during her morning shower the next day, took her time, and enjoyed the scent. It caused no delay to her routine and provided something calming and charming about her morning. All and all, it was a success. Sure, it was a temporary pleasure that had no real long-term effect. But, it was simply the enjoyment of the thing that pleased Riza. Not to mention, this sort of item didn’t feel like some kind of crude mask for her baggage and war wounds and glaring flaws, nor a clever type of bait with which she meant to lure in someone clueless to buy her dinner when she’d really rather be home. After all, who would notice a change in soap? In the end, the luxury was only for her, and, to her surprise, she was happy with it. Then she arrived at the office. There wasn’t anything particularly different about that day, nor particularly unpleasant. Their routine proceeded how it would every morning. It was only that the Colonel would behave perfectly predictably, then would take a sharp turn in another direction, a turn of which Riza couldn’t quite interpret. It began right when the door opened, the Colonel entered, nodded at her “Good Morning, Lieutenant”, and began some sentence that sounded awfully important until he walked by her desk..and froze.

“Sir?” Riza asked, pen paused on her paper, watching him expectantly. At the sound of her voice, Roy flinched, turned his head to look down at her, seated at her desk, for a touch too long, shook away whatever stopped him, and proceeded to his own chair.

This would have been rather insignificant if moments of this nature did not keep occurring. There was next a moment in which Riza delivered another stack of papers to the corner of his desk, and the Colonel almost instantly pushed his chair away in the opposite direction, only inches but the move was noted with a squeak of the wheels. Colonel Mustang, of course, tried very cunningly to play it off and sweep it under the rug, but Riza was much too quick to be fooled and right away concluded that she was the common thread. He received memos from the other men just fine, and took the long way around to the front doors without freezing. Riza was positively certain of her accuracy when she was required to spend a prolonged amount of time in front of his desk due to the full packet of forms he had spent all morning completing…incorrectly. Riza had tabbed all the pages and lined items he needed to amend, reviewed them verbally quite quickly, gave a polite and hasty lecture of sorts on their crucial need for meticulousness, returned to him for a response, and received …zero feedback. Given, The Colonel was staring in her direction, but definitely not directly at her or even at the thick pile of forms he would have to redo. It was almost as if he could suddenly see right through her, his eyes glazed over and glancing here and there as if he was trying to place the source of her voice, but wasn’t quite sure where to start. It was finally when she knew the Colonel had come to and locked with her eyes again that he shook his head as he did before, swallowed, and said “Absolutely, right away, Lieutenant,” as if Roy Mustang was more than pleased to do hours worth of work all over again. Hawkeye, naturally, couldn’t help but be concerned. However, procrastination, daydreaming, and the like weren’t necessarily out of character for the Colonel. Plus, Riza didn’t have much time to investigate any further as it was obvious his chronic inattentiveness was causing an even greater productivity problem than normal. Come noon and their team was hours behind and she and her superior were running late to the biweekly admin meeting with the Investigations department.

To begin with, the Colonel hated these meetings, dull and long and full of data. Riza already had to shoulder most of the work and field most of the questions during this particular appointment. Yet, with nearly one hundred percent of the Colonel’s brain power (and, frankly, competency) being siphoned to some unknown location all morning, Riza knew she couldn’t even miss a minute or they were in deep, deep shit. And, that’s how she ended up barreling down the hall of headquarters, Colonel in tow close behind. Riza was only feet from the elevator, and one small lift ride to the first floor when the Colonel revealed that not only was his attention lacking that day, but also his judgment which was altogether painfully inconvenient for his adjutant. “Lieutenant,” he said abruptly, falling out of line with her, instead parting sideways toward the wall, “Let’s take the stairs.” “But, Sir-” Riza glanced desperately at the hall clock. They did not have time for six flights of stairs. Yet, he bit an urgent, “Now” without giving her another glance, an order she couldn’t just ignore outright. Riza huffed and followed suit, rushing behind him down one flight of stairs and onto the next one until he snatched her arm and pulled her to a sudden stop on the landing.

“Sir, what-” Once again, Colonel Mustang took a forced step, or two steps, backward before interrupting, “Lieutenant.” He still didn’t look at her, instead checked the door above and below them - closed and without any sign of opening. “Yes?” She prompted him. “Did you…” He finally looked at her and then blinked, “This is going to sound quite strange and I know that, yet it continues to bother me.” Something in Riza began to panic. If this was actually a medical issue, she really should have quit worrying so much about paperwork and addressed his well-being much earlier. Almost instantly she started to head back up the stairs, “Are you alright, Sir? We should take you to the infirmary, Colonel-”

Again he grabbed her arm to halt her, and smiled reassuringly when he exhaled, “No no, I’m well. I just-” Then he froze again. She interrupted him right away this time.

“Yes, Sir?” “You…smell different.” Riza blinked. Roy had grimaced out his thought and as a result, she stared at him, dumbfounded. They proceeded to stare at each other until Riza realized once more he hadn’t been running on enough processing power to follow up. If they were meant to get to this meeting on time, now preferably, she needed to drive the conversation.

So, she cleared her throat and did her best. “Are you actively smelling me, Colonel? “See, I didn’t think so then-” he lifted a finger and faded off again, luckily catching himself more or less right away “Did you change your soap?”

Oh. Riza, in one breath, remembered her shower that morning and instantly regretted humoring Rebecca at all with whatever silly ideas she had about pampering or turning heads or pretty- what the hell was she thinking? She was so stupid, so stupid. How utterly humiliating.

Throughout the morning he kept stepping away from her, focusing on something other than her, and that clearly indicated that her experience in this realm was so subpar that the soap actually smelled terrible, making the Colonel want to leave altogether. At that moment, for the two steps Roy had taken back all morning, she took four more for good measure. Consequentially, this placed the two of them one landing apart, she on the level they started, and he on the one just below. Perhaps an overcompensation, in retrospect. Roy fought off the instinct to laugh in an inelegant jerk. His eyebrows raised high when he casually posed the question, “Whatever are you doing up there, Lieutenant?” What the hell did he mean by that? Riza clenched her jaw. Hadn’t he been moving away all morning? “You said you were,” Riza winced a little, “smelling me, Sir? I figured-” “So, you did change your soap or-”

“Yes, Sir, I did.” She swallowed, tucked the stack of folders she carried into her chest, “Rebecca gifted it to me yesterday after she returned from her trip…to Aerugo.” Riza held her breath. “Right,” he nodded, swallowed, “It’s um-”

It was at that moment Riza, sufficiently mortified, suspected perhaps Rebecca was playing some cruel practical joke on her to enact revenge on her beauty products scorned. “Some mix of flower or spice. I wouldn’t know as that’s not my area of expertise,” Riza rushed through and topped her explanation off with a most uncharacteristically unsure, “I liked it at the time, but….” Roy simply nodded again and took in the information, however slowly. Flower…and spice. Well, yes, of course, she liked it. It was nigh intoxicating. Roy wouldn’t be surprised if there was some kind of witchcraft in that stuff. When Roy looked up, somehow his Lieutenant had gotten even closer to the door above, and though the distance was much better for his train of thought, he realized she had the wrong idea altogether when she said “I can change it if it’s irritating you-” “No, no” Roy began his response, not knowing how to end it. Instead, he waved his arm toward him, “Lieutenant, just - get back down here, please.” Riza did ask as she was asked, and of course, the heavenly scent got heavier, and his head got cloudier. But, the Colonel thought it more important the Lieutenant did not get the ungodly impression that he didn’t want her near at all. In fact, it was very radically the opposite, “I was just meaning to say that. It’s..pretty.” Riza flinched at the word, “Pretty?”

Frozen in front of her, Roy reeled through the dictionary in his head as fast as he could, searching for words he could say that would sound the least creepy. It was more difficult than he would have liked. Given, every thought process he tried to execute today was just a little, or a lot, harder so close to her. It was as if her new soap had single-handedly shattered through the very intricate, professional veil he placed over every other feature he would usually admire about Riza. Roy could admit he had gotten pretty good at it - ignoring his Lieutenant’s beauty. Most of the time, he would only have to combat one or two distractions from her direction. But, today, one step too close to her and his mind was flooded with this intoxicating flower, or spice, or something or other followed by each tiny little detail he found attractive in her - which was basically everything about her physical or otherwise - in one massive haul. It was simply tragic for his productivity level, and he could tell Riza was having to pick up the slack for his weakness. Maybe, he should ask her to stop using it, Roy thought, even at the detriment of his own quality and quantity of Riza-themed daydreams. But, before he could suggest so, the amount of time he had spent attempting to think had stretched on for far too long. So, he accidentally just blurted out exactly what he thought, “I like it,” His smile was most honest, “it suits you.” “Ah,” Riza nodded carefully, “It suits me.”

She still seemed unconvinced. Roy masked his floundering with a shrug like this was all nothing and he wasn’t desperate to explain himself in a way that didn’t divulge just how intricate his daydreams were becoming as a result of this inebriating combination of flower or spice or soap or whatever. “It’s lovely and you’re lovely, Lieutenant. It matches you…is what I mean.” He winced ever so slightly again, “Does that suffice?” It was a moment before an extremely timid smile finally blossomed on Riza’s lips, her eyes softening in a way that made Roy only want to move closer. “Yes, Sir. It does, and thank you” Roy was still a touch worried he’d scared her stiff until her small smile slide into a tentative smirk of sorts, “Ever unconventional, Colonel. I don’t imagine any other superior is commenting on their subordinates’ soap of choice.” Of course, Riza, here, meant any member of their unit. The Colonel, of course, didn’t take it that way. “Right, well I consistently bend the rules for you, don’t I?” he went ahead and took the next flight of stairs. This time, Riza was quick to catch up, stop and scold him before they got anywhere near another door, “Colonel, I would not recommend bending any rules for anyone.” “I thought you’ve come to expect it, Lieutenant.” “Expect it?” Riza balked, and pointedly lowered the volume of their conversation, “Sir, I certainly don’t expect any special treatment nor know why I would.”

Roy then scoffed, inhaled too much of whatever it was, and took one more step down before calling her out “Oh, come now, Hawkeye, of course, you do. How else would you be allowed to give those incorrigible lectures you like so much?”

Riza huffed and rolled her eyes, exasperated by not only the Colonel’s wild accusations but his utter disregard for the very public place in which he dared to make them, “Sir, if you really insist on not hearing my recommendations, you can always order me to-” “Oh, never.” Roy threw away the suggestion “Wouldn’t dream of it, Lieutenant” “Sir?” Riza pleaded for clarity. “Well, frankly, I usually deserve them, and, personally,” Roy risked taking one step up closer to her, leaning in and grinning, “I like your lectures too.” Then. he. winked. Riza froze and she was sure she made a face because the smirk Roy was giving her only became more and more pleased. Such a shit-eating grin could have also been a side effect of the blush Riza could feel spreading across her nose and cheeks. It took Riza everything in her to squelch the stupid butterflies fluttering in her stomach and regain control over the situation, retake her role in their partnership - however many allowances the Colonel was supposedly making for her for whatever silly reasons he kept strictly to himself until the most inopportune moments. At least he had pulled her into an empty stairwell, Riza reluctantly bristled, willingly and deliberately ignoring the fact that any officer of any rank could have walked in on his most imprudent and irrelevant confessions at any point in time. “We have a meeting to attend, Colonel,” Riza stood her ground. “Right,” Roy, considering the bone-dry meeting they had in store for them downstairs, thought better about continuing forward without another sample of Riza’s soap of heavenly witchcraft. “After you, Lieut-” “No,” she abruptly, defiantly. Roy raised an eyebrow. What was she saying about not expecting his special treatment? Certainly, Havoc, Breda, Fuery, nor Falman would dream of interrupting him, much less telling him no so emphatically and living very long to tell the tale. And, yet, here he was damn near charmed she accidentally gave him an order. “After you, Sir. I can’t risk you smelling me any more than necessary.” Roy’s sunshine grin slowly spread across his handsome face. “Shame, really.”

—--

Once finally released from the clutches of the Investigations department, Riza and her Colonel once again opted for the stairs back up to their office. “How was that meeting for you, Colonel?” Riza flipped through her folder, outline after outline, page after page, “Did you need further clarification on any particular bullet point?” Riza asked this partially because she was genuinely hoping her superior had at least attempted to follow the three-hour appointment, regardless of how dry or tedious or however easy it was to simply lean on his overachieving adjutant. Yet, at the same time, Riza purposefully inquired in vain simply because she already knew the Colonel had done quite the undesirable opposite, for the whole damn sitting. The creeping and most objectively disappointing suspicions Riza Hawkeye had begun to form after her last impromptu stairwell conversation with the Colonel were outright confirmed when Roy led her up another flight mumbling something like, “Oh, wonderful. Went wonderfully. Lovely meeting. Very pretty meeting. Beautiful.” Upon the next doorless landing, Riza snagged the fabric at his elbow tight and cut in a near whisper, “So, this is the reason you’ve been daydreaming and slacking off all day - my choice of soap, Colonel?” Roy’s jaw went ever so slack as he asked dumbly, “Oh, you’ve noticed that, have you?” His Lieutenant gave him a searing look that told Roy not only had she noticed, but as a result, his dreaming had increased her personal workload tenfold, twelvefold, and again ten times over. Roy winced a little, utterly caught, because that same treacherous glare also made it clear that she knew that he knew his dalliances had increased her workload tenfold, twelvefold, and again ten times over. And, yet the Colonel had continued to indulge himself in whatever it was he found more interesting at her most visible expense. Riza snatched the sad excuse of a notepad from the Colonel’s hands and flipped it to read his collections from the meeting just concluded. As suspected, the page was filled with quite a few spirals, and squiggles, and tucked in the corner was the scribbled word, Lavender? Riza blinked, and realized she should have taken the seat opposite from him at that long conference table rather than the one directly at his side, “Should I ask what is so captivating about flowers and spices, Colonel?”

Roy’s smirk was a touch too dangerous, however much he attempted to contain it, “I think you are far too clever for such a question, Lieutenant. Flowers and spices are plenty captivating.”

The Catalina-declared asshat even dared to inch much too close to her, then proceeded to wink knowingly. Again.”Such lovely, pretty things, after all”

Riza took a measured two steps back on the landing. feeling oh-so light-headed. Yet, she grit her teeth resolutely and resisted her damned blush as if her life depended on it, “That is that then. I will be changing my soap, Colonel. I will not enable you on whatever escapades you have unfolding in your head whilst I am out here in the real world, picking up your slack and chaperoning your unruly behavior.”

Riza couldn’t decide whether to rage or swoon every time he smiled at her like that, much less winked. And, frankly, the paradox put her on edge and made an adversary out of her that Riza was certain the Colonel would grow regret. Her Colonel, in an appropriate response, sighed heavily, turning and trudging upwards once more. Riza followed at a safe distance. “Very well, Lieutenant. Forgive me, truly. Today was simply a much too blissful reprieve from the normal daydreams. You know, blood and sand and gunshots. Fire. All that terrible nonsense.” Riza stopped cold on their ascent. It took Roy but a moment to notice her stillness before he turned, gripped the railing, and titled his head in question. He expected a lashing to be honest when he stopped to face her. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised to see Riza stuck between a grimace and a smile as if she was trying too hard to fight off a snicker that would be ill-placed with any other company, “Sir, are you sincerely using your post-traumatic flashbacks as a tactic to manipulate the type of soap I use?” He exhaled a small laugh and shook his head, “As a manipulation tactic, no, Lieutenant, never. As an explanation why I so prefer the soap you use now, I suppose so.” Riza watched his eyes soften and sadden from her steps below him. Roy smiled despite the demons looming in the far beyond, “And, only because I know you would understand what I mean.”

Roy watched Riza’s brilliant brown eyes blink into such impossible tenderness, of which he knew they were so consistently capable.

For her scolding and lectures and structure and rigidity, his Lieutenant was certainly regarded as an expert. She mindfully kept their unit in line while Roy foolishly daydreamed pulling her aside, tucking his nose into her neck, and holding her close, hand on the small of her back, and staying there for however long she might allow. In that same vein, Hawkeye could have chastised him, criticized, judged, and condemned him. He certainly earned it here, Roy could admit, for more than one reason, practical, moral, or otherwise.

Yet the Colonel knew that his Lieutenant would understand, against all odds. For her kindness and gentleness and compassion, Riza was matched by none. It was the very sacred piece of her person that the lavender bergamot something or other reflected most genuinely for him. “I will save it for special occasions then, Colonel” Riza resolved, her heart perhaps skipping one beat too many in their moment of harmony there on the stairs, in the quiet. She resisted the reflection on her most human fear. After all, how many fine gentlemen would realistically stay after I can remember the face of every person I’ve ever killed? Riza Hawkeye swallowed the knowledge that despite Rebecca’s protests on the matter, she had always known only one person, one suitor, who would have always stayed a moment longer past that ugly confession. Perhaps even one or two more horrible truths after, finishing dinner with her and coaxing her drifting mind back from their heavy and harrowing past, sand and ink and all, to snicker about something simple and silly in the present.

Riza sighed, smiled gently, and rolled her eyes at her Colonel’s obnoxiously charming smirk of pure satisfaction. It was a victory she was willing to concede. She proceeded up the steps toward the next flight, pointedly staying in front of him. “You are a saint, Hawkeye,” he exhaled, following close behind. “Well, I do bend the rules for you quite often, don’t I, Sir?” she said softly. “Oh yes, Lieutenant” he grinned and took a deep breath of lavender bergamot bliss, “I’ve humbly come to expect it.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- a/n I took a shower with a new soap bar from Lush, heard these sweet idiots flirting in my head, and they wouldn’t shut up until I finished this. It was a nice break, but back to Four tomorrow. dfsjdg;lksjdg; lsagj;saldjgal P.S. I very much like the headcanon that I have now that if Roy is having a particularly difficult day, Riza will purposefully take her leave and go to the gun range for the only purpose to be able to shower with her soap and return to the office. She walks in, sits down, maybe her long hair down, air drying. Roy would instantly be cured and say something like “Thank you, Lieutenant.” without being prompted. Havoc or whoever else present would give them both a look, reasonably confused and insist he elaborate. Riza would say nothing. Roy would be already too far gone to do anything but look up and mumble,, “Hm? Oh…Did I say something?” I’m so proud I didn’t turn that head canon into a 30 page novel, aren’t you? I swear tg, I’m the fucking worst.

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arklay · 1 year

Text

seeing stars.

pairing: diana x albert wesker words: 7.0k warnings: migraine, nausea and vertigo, brief mentions of food and alcohol, internalised ableism [read on ao3] — [part one]

A long exhale sounded from the en suite bathroom. It wasn’t one of relief. No, it was strained, wavering as it left parted lips – the evidence of a day riddled with nothing but stress.

Wesker slowly opened his eyes and looked up at the mirror from how he had hung his head, his hands resting on either side of the basin. The figure behind his reflection caught his eye instantly – dark hair a stark contrast to the white doorframe its lovely owner was leaning against. She was simply watching him with this faint, barely-there frown strewn about her features.

Despite being rather annoyed at Diana for sneaking up on him, or more so at himself for not noticing she had done so, he was glad she had kicked off her heels under the dining table. The last thing he needed right now was the shrill clicking of those awful things on the tile floor.

His head already felt like it had been put in a vise and someone was turning the handle; he didn’t need more noise to aggravate it.

“Where are your glasses?” Diana asked, and Wesker could only wonder if he’d imagined the worry clinging to the edge of her voice.

Could she tell he was in pain? That his sunglasses weren’t just some fashion statement people liked to tease him for? Had she put two and two together so easily when most were too dense to?

Wesker’s eyes darted up to lock on to hers in the mirror, though for only a split second, before he looked down again with a small huff. “I don’t know.”

He’d truly had a shocking day. It had been one thing after another, and at some point he had taken his glasses off to rub his eyes then forgot to put them back on. It wasn’t like him to misplace his belongings, and certainly not his shades, of all things, but the stressors piling up ensured the whereabouts of where he’d set them down slipped his mind faster than he thought possible.

It had all started with that pig, Brian Irons. The initial cause of his foul mood. That poor excuse of a man had proven himself to be a thorn in Wesker’s side time and time again; the police chief thought he could undermine those ensuring his unsavoury past was kept under wraps, but Wesker wasn’t going to stand for such insolent behaviour. He made sure to discuss the issue with William during his visit to the NEST around lunchtime, calling for a shorter leash.

However, the day only seemed to continue to go downhill once he’d returned to the station.

The problem wasn’t simply the piles of reports taking up space on his desk; the image of Diana wouldn’t leave his mind. He shouldn’t have stopped by her lab with coffee and spoken to her at all. He needed his focus to be solely on his work. The way she could capture his attention was quite bothersome, really. And that prompted a rather foolish decision on his part – a phone call with plans for dinner.

It didn’t end there. The newest S.T.A.R.S. recruits were a headache in and of themselves, yet getting a call from Sherry’s school the moment he left work had been the icing on the cake. She hadn’t been picked up hours beforehand, and being the next emergency contact, Wesker was informed of such incompetence.

William’s obsession with the G-Virus was getting out of hand. He’d always been more preoccupied with his work than the people around him, but forgetting to pick Sherry up from school was something else. Something Wesker didn’t quite like.

Not to mention it completely ruined his plans for the night.

With a suppressed clearing of her throat, Diana pulled him back to the present. She pushed herself off of the doorframe and made her way closer towards him. “Would you like me to look for them?”

Wesker shook his head and immediately regretted it; the sudden movement made him wince as a short wave of splitting pain made itself known right behind his left eye, causing him to grip the edge of the counter until his knuckles went white. The pain wasn’t unbearable yet, and he was glad his typical nausea seemed to be at bay, but he had no clue how long that would last. Not long, if he had to guess, given his luck with the rest of the day’s events.

Taking a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, he steadied himself. With each count, he found it easier to tolerate the ache, though it didn’t subside in the slightest. It would have to do though; he needed to get through his nighttime routine.

He reached over and slowly pulled his toothbrush out of its holder, making sure to not move more than what was necessary.

“No.”

Wesker glanced up at the mirror again with one of his brows quirked in genuine confusion, and he watched as Diana’s reflection inched closer. Then her hands were covering his. Why he found himself frozen at her touch was beyond him, but her soft fingers pressing against his skin was a welcome sensation.

She only pried the toothbrush and paste out of his grasp, far more gently than she needed to, then she placed them back to where they belonged.

“You are obviously unwell. You don’t need to brush your teeth when you feel like this,” she said, voice soft and oddly soothing, as opposed to the hammering against his skull.

Diana took Wesker’s hands in her own again, and her thumbs brushed along the raised veins on the backs of them in slow circles. It wasn’t just comforting to him, it was familiar, intimate, and the point at which he’d begun to embrace her touch rather than shun his craving for it was lost on him.

Her eyes finally landed on his own and she directed a small nod towards the door, making him aware of what she was about to do next. Then she took a step back. Then another. And she carefully pulled him along with her, guiding him towards his bedroom without so much as a word from him. Wesker couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. He didn’t know what to say, what to do, and with how tired he was, he could only let her take the lead. She seemed to have her mind set on making sure he would rest, and that made his chest feel much too tight.

It was almost as if she cared.

The trip to the foot of his bed felt much longer than usual. Diana’s cautious approach made sure of that. He was not intoxicated; she didn’t need to hold his hands and ensure he put one foot in front of the other. And yet she did. He felt like an absolute fool, but he still let her pull him along, regardless.

Once there, Diana sat him down on the edge before she quickly knelt down in front of him, tucking her legs beneath herself as she did so. Her attention went straight towards his boots and deft hands worked to untie their laces.

Wesker couldn’t quite wrap his head around her behaviour. He wasn't sure what to think. On any other day, he would’ve thought her kneeling between his legs quite amusing, especially with how she kept roughly pushing her stubborn tresses that kept falling in front of her face back behind her ears. But his head hurt far too much, and there was just this horrible warmth searing through his chest and up his neck, settling across his cheeks and threatening to join the burning at his temple.

The question in her eyes whenever she’d glance up at him certainly wasn’t helping either. It was almost wary, as though looking for permission to continue. Or perhaps assurance.

Her fingers wrapped around his ankle, carefully grasping it as she pulled off his boot. That made him feel far too odd, but she only repeated the action with its counterpart. He was thankful for the way she placed them next to one another by his bed though, all nice and neat, instead of simply tossing them to the side like anyone else would.

Diana pushed herself up off of the floor using her palms and moved to stand between his legs. Soft hands reached forward to cradle his face, the cool pads of her thumbs brushing along the high points of his cheeks. But she was only looking into his eyes, searching for… something.

He wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, to be completely honest. However, the repetitive movement along his cheekbones was calming, almost strangely so, and he hated that his eyes threatened to flutter shut and his hands itched to reach out and hold onto her sides – perhaps even pull her closer, if he dared.

How could she draw such a reaction from him? Especially given the circumstances.

The last thing Wesker needed was for her to look at him like he was some injured animal; he didn’t want her pity. It was enough that he let her drag him out of the bathroom when he was in the middle of carrying out his routines, as though he was caught in some sort of trance. But to look at him in such a way, to help him undress… It was ridiculous. He didn’t need to be fussed over.

Wesker reached up and closed his hands around her wrists. His grip was tight, though not enough to hurt her – merely cautionary, much like the glare he sent her way. Astute as she was, he had no doubt she would get the message.

Diana’s fingers fell away from his cheeks, curling in on themselves, but she didn’t move to break the distance between them. She only continued to hold his gaze, eyes still scanning his own in search of some answers, even as he loosened his hold on her wrists.

It had been wishful thinking, anyhow; he should’ve known she’d remain defiant.

Wesker pulled her hands further away from his face while he slowly rose to his feet. Then he let go, making them drop to her sides in a rather lifeless fashion. He didn’t miss the question in her eyes, or the way a crease formed between her brows, but he simply focused on manoeuvring around her towards his dresser – unsuccessfully at that, as his side brushed against hers with how he staggered.

Movement made the pain behind his eye considerably worse. The familiar sensation of tiny knives stabbing, leaving puncture wounds in their wake to obscure his vision, made it incredibly hard to keep his eyes open any longer. Wesker took a deep breath to try and steady himself, keeping as still as could be so as to not cause himself more pain. If only for a moment of relief.

One of his hands settled on the surface of the dresser while the other moved to open a drawer. He hoped Diana didn’t see how he fumbled with the pull handle. He wasn’t even sure why that bothered him. But he moved to correct his error far too quickly, causing him to lose balance slightly.

The sight of plain black, white and grey t-shirts folded up and sorted by tone brought some level of structure back to the chaos that had been Wesker’s day, and it pleased him more than it probably should have. The shirts were simply for when he was too cold to sleep shirtless – he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing them casually, otherwise – and he removed one from its designated place for himself, and one for Diana.

The next drawer he opened contained his pyjama pants, all monochromatic and devoid of patterns, akin to his shirts. Just the way he liked. There were a couple of blue pairs though. Not like that mattered; he chose black, as usual.

A tired sigh left him then.

“Diana.” The sound of her footsteps crossing the distance between them seemed to reach him later than when they’d occurred, because she was already standing at his side. Wesker simply handed her the t-shirt he’d chosen for her, then he spoke again without looking her way, “Would you like pants?”

Diana chuckled at that, and the corner of his lips twitched. He treasured that sound. Well and truly treasured it.

“I doubt anything will fit me,” she whispered, the smile in her voice telling him she was trying to subdue her laugh.

“You have long legs.”

She let out a low, sweet hum at his dry response and positioned herself behind him, lifting her chin to rest it on his shoulder as she watched his hands comb through the pairs of pants in the drawer below. It was clear to Diana that he wouldn’t find anything that would fit her, considering she was barely two thirds the width of him, but she let him figure that out for himself. Instead, her hands ran down his sides and towards his hips. She stood on tiptoe to press a lingering kiss to his cheek while one of her hands travelled between them.

“Doesn’t change that you have more hips than I do,” Diana said between another kiss, tone playful, while her hand squeezed a handful of his firm backside.

Wesker reached behind himself and swatted her hand away, but he couldn’t stop the slight chuckle that bubbled up in his throat before it escaped him – one that mirrored her own. Her arms changing position, wrapping around his waist with her chin settling against his shoulder once more, was not what he expected in response, however. The feeling that brought up inside of him was not something he wished to confront tonight.

He needed to place more distance between them.

“Drawstrings.” Wesker held up a pair of pants that could be tightened at the waist, negating her claims that there couldn’t possibly be anything of his that may stay up for her.

Diana held back another sigh as she loosened her arms and plucked the pants from his grasp. Their short moment of joking around certainly didn’t last long, but she wasn’t sure why she even expected it to. It wasn’t the time or place, but she simply didn’t know how to deal with the situation at hand; it was always difficult for her to navigate when someone wasn’t feeling well.

On the other hand, Wesker was none the wiser to Diana’s inner turmoil. He only withdrew from her slack embrace and returned to where he’d been sitting at the end of the bed earlier, entirely focused on ridding himself of the rest of his work clothes. Without her interference.

Nothing seemed to be in his favour today though, because the moment his hips met the bed the entire room began to spin. It wasn’t like he had sat down too fast – or maybe he had finally lost his bearings – but the way the room was warping around him with stars dancing across his vision caused him to squeeze his eyes shut. His teeth ground together of their own accord and he cursed himself for it as that only amplified the pain at his temple.

All Wesker could do was turn his attention towards the buttons of his shirt, trying to ground himself as best he could by focusing on the feeling of one beneath his fingertips. The way the edges pressed against his skin as he pushed the button through its assigned opening felt so much sharper than usual. And it didn’t help that he fumbled on the first go.

“Let me help you.”

The almost desperate plea from the voice across the room couldn’t have come from Diana. Surely. Not even the distinct accent and low, gravelly quality of it could convince him; she had never done such a thing, never sounded like that, even when he’d reduced her to ruins in bed.

The Diana he knew wasn’t so willing to offer assistance.

Wesker scoffed, perhaps a bit too harsh judging by the frown he received, and only roughly unfastened the next button on his shirt. “I do not need your help.”

Oh, how he wished that were true.

The bile burning the back of his throat begged to differ. And it was getting increasingly difficult to just keep his eyes open, like his lids were being weighed down by some invisible force.

The soft sound of a zipper made Wesker glance over to where Diana stood, only to watch as her skirt pooled around her feet. His hands paused what they were doing as his eyes lazily wandered over her, mesmerised by the way she was carefully rolling her tights down her long legs. It wasn’t until she moved on to her shirt and made quick work of the overpriced garment that he shook himself free of her spell. To say she was stunning was frustratingly accurate.

She stripped down to nothing but her panties before pulling his massive t-shirt over her tiny frame, adjusting her hair the minute it was over her head. That shouldn’t have made him smile to himself. The thought that she was cute shouldn’t have even crossed his mind in the first place.

It wasn’t that long ago when he’d considered her vain for constantly worrying about her appearance, and the first time she had worn one of his shirts he had thought she looked absolutely ridiculous – comical, even. It was only endearing now. He chose not to look too close into that change, convincing himself that the pain he was in was simply making him delirious.

Fuck, he just wanted to go to sleep. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to close this day and reset in the morning.

Despite struggling with each one, Wesker managed to finish undoing the buttons of his shirt and he weakly shrugged it off of his shoulders. It went no further than that, however, even with another attempt. The motion only made his stomach lurch, like waves roiling at sea.

A defeated sigh left him at that, but he was too tired to fight it. He must have made for a pathetic sight, one he wished there was no one present to witness.

That would’ve been grand, if he was so fortunate. Diana was standing in front of him again after dropping the pants in her grasp and crossing the distance in only a few quick strides. Before he could protest once more, she reached forward and laid her hands flat against his shoulders; cold fingers dipped beneath material, causing a shiver to run through his entire body, before she gently pushed the sleeves down his arms. It was unnecessary, but Diana held his forearm as she pulled the sleeve off by grasping the cuff, making sure to not turn his shirt inside-out.

He’d kiss her for that if his head didn’t feel like it was going to explode at any minute.

As soon as she freed him of his undershirt with the same meticulous care, Diana returned to what she had started earlier, before Wesker had stopped her. This time around he wasn’t nearly as tense when she took his face in her hands. In fact, it was the most at ease he had felt all day.

The chill of her palms provided some relief to the burning beneath his skin and the stabbing behind his eye. Even if it was only for a moment – until his cheeks warmed her hands and ripped that pleasant sensation away from him.

The only difference from when they’d found themselves in this position earlier was that Diana now leaned down to place a brief kiss on his lips. Wesker expected some level of warmth in her gaze once she pulled away, but he was only met with the look someone would have when scolding a child who had just hurt themselves on the playground.

If she was insinuating that he was being childish, they’d have a whole other problem on their hands.

Diana readjusted her hold to cradle his face in a more secure manner, fingers pressing firm against his skin. “I know you don’t want my help, but I will not see you make yourself sick because you are too stubborn to let someone look after you.”

Wesker glared up at her. Well, he hoped it was a glare, because whatever left him was all that he could muster in his state. From the way one of Diana’s brows raised, he sure did something, even if he had no idea if it was what he had intended.

They simply looked into one another’s eyes, holding the steady gaze for far too long – a familiar occurrence that usually took place when she challenged him. He supposed it was the other way around this time. It wasn’t that he didn’t want her help, it was that he didn’t want anyone’s. He thought himself above that, and he had managed being in this position countless times before. Even if on some of those days he had gone to sleep without being able to change his clothes.

Perhaps he needed some help.

“Fine.” Wesker relented with a long blink, and allowed himself to settle against her touch and relax some more.

That earned him a faint smile from Diana before she leaned in again. His eyes fluttered shut out of habit, but her lips didn’t connect with his own. Instead, they landed on his forehead, and his moment of ease faded away instantly, his hands balling into fists at his sides the longer she lingered there.

The pit in his stomach seemed to lessen when she withdrew and dropped to her knees again. But his head felt absurdly heavy without her hands holding it up. There was too much running through his mind, it was getting overwhelming. And it wasn’t just the hammering at the side of his skull. He wanted her but he tensed up at her touch, he needed her but he hated her assistance, he… He shouldn’t have invited her over tonight.

What had he been thinking?

Slender fingers curling into the waistband of his pants pulled Wesker from his thoughts, and he looked down at Diana, who had glanced up at the same time with that question in her eyes once more, asking if it was alright to continue. He simply nodded and she focused her attention back to what she was doing; he even lifted his hips to allow her to pull his pants off. Whenever she had dealt with the button and zipper eluded him.

He despised that – the feeling that he was no longer in control, losing his vigilance as the pain distracted him too much. It wasn’t just that though, the woman before him also played a part in causing his dazed state.

It was strange. Wesker couldn’t recall ever having a lover treat him like this. She wasn’t telling him that he was going to be okay, that she was there for him, or any of that superficial nonsense. She was just assisting him, doing whatever needed to be done so that he would be comfortable enough to hopefully get some sleep. It brought about another dreadful sensation to the mix already pestering him.

He lifted a hand and placed it over Diana’s when she reached for the t-shirt he had haphazardly dropped on the bed when the vertigo had hit him. She only looked down at his large hand enveloping hers for a moment, seeming to be the one stunned now. Then her eyes finally darted up to his face, and the steely determination in them from before melted away into that look that unsettled him far more.

“I’m being overbearing, aren’t I?” she asked, a slight trace of a chuckle clinging to the edge of it, as though she was almost embarrassed by her behaviour.

Wesker let out what was probably supposed to be a laugh in response, but little more than an exhale came out. “No.”

He paused as his next words died on his tongue. Or more accurately, they didn’t seem to want to leave his throat and even get that far. Diana was none the wiser and just rose to her feet, hand slipping free of his own and taking the t-shirt with it. Wesker chewed on the inside of his cheek for but a fraction of a second before he swallowed his pride.

A sharp inhale, then he lifted his head to look up at her. “Thank you.”

The genuine smile that crossed Diana’s face made him feel far too warm, like the sun was bearing down on his skin and reaching the deepest parts of him; it wasn’t quite a grin, teeth staying hidden, but the corners of her eyes crinkled and the indents on her cheeks deepened somewhat. She didn’t give him much of a chance to admire it though, too preoccupied with making sure she didn’t move him around too much as she carefully pulled the shirt over his head and helped each of his arms into the sleeves.

“I take it you have photophobia,” she said matter-of-factly. It was almost too clinical-sounding for Wesker’s liking, odd as that may seem. The term alone just left a bad taste in his mouth.

It was sort of his own fault, which he didn’t like owning up to. He’d always had trouble with his sensitivity to bright lights, but he was only meant to wear the tinted glasses Umbrella prescribed him when in the lab or outside. It had been the relief he felt without a migraine clawing at his senses that made him forget he was wearing them at all, and in turn, that developed into a habit of leaving them on for nearly all waking hours. His eyes adjusted to the conditions and it only worsened his sensitivity when he was without his sunglasses.

What he wouldn’t give to have his youthful eyes back.

When Wesker didn’t respond to her, Diana gently cupped his cheek. He tried to meet her gaze, but her eyes were focused just below, where her thumb was brushing across the dark circle marring his skin. Another thing he wished he could reverse time to prevent.

As useful as her help was, Wesker couldn’t understand why she was doing this, why she was being so… kind. So tender. She wasn’t a nurturer, or the type to worry about others. Maybe she did actually care for him, more than she let on. That didn’t feel right though – it just left him profoundly uncomfortable. His mind had to be playing tricks on him with how exhausted he was. That was the only reasonable explanation.

Diana’s thumb paused its repetitive motion and she simply held her hand in place. It was just for another second or two, but her touch lingered well after she departed, leaving a pleasant tingle across his skin.

The last obstacle in the way of Wesker being able to just collapse into bed and hope that his migraine was gone by the morning was the pair of pyjama pants Diana was bunching up so she could help him change into them easily. His tired limbs seemed to move on their own, slipping into each pant leg with little input from him, but the moment he lifted his hips as she tugged the fabric over them, another surge of intense pain hit him, causing him to keel over.

It felt as though his head was being split in two, torn apart from the inside out. He could have sworn the eye taking the brunt of the pressure was going to pop out of its socket at any minute. The only thing he could do was rest his head in his hands and endure it, pressing his thumbs down on the innermost part of his brows in hopes to alleviate some of the pain.

Diana shuffled closer and reached forward to place her hands on his thighs. They only ran up and down the sides of them in a gentle, reassuring motion while her mind scrambled to recall the locations of where she’d seen every thing that could possibly aid him in his house.

Her brain was being just as helpful as his was, because she drew a blank, too taken aback by the sight in front of her. The intimidating Albert Wesker slumped over in pain – that was something she thought she’d never see. He always seemed so… invincible. Nothing could tear down his powerful image and break through his composed demeanour this easily, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes.

“Albert?” Diana’s voice was so soft he almost didn’t hear it, but his name always sounded so much nicer spilling from her lips compared to anyone else’s. “Do you need a bucket? Or…” She paused for a second then let out a frustrated huff. “Where do you keep your painkillers?”

“They don’t work,” Wesker grumbled.

Of course they don’t, she thought. That would’ve been too easy.

Or he was being overdramatic. So, she pressed on. “Not even a little bit?”

The crease between his brows only deepened, and he squeezed his eyes shut. So, that was a definitive no.

Diana pursed her lips as she tried to think of what else she could do for him. She wasn’t familiar with actually dealing with a migraine, even if she knew all of the treatments on paper; she was fortunate enough to never get them, and she couldn’t remember the last time someone around her had. She could list off every over-the-counter painkiller and triptan that was used to specifically target a migraine, but that would do her no good. She didn’t know what worked for him.

There had to be something though. Diana moved to stand and go take a look at what was in the medicine cabinet in his bathroom, but Wesker fumbled to take her hand in his own.

That made her freeze on the spot.

She had no doubt he was cursing himself for doing such a thing, for how it almost seemed to be a reflex more than a conscious decision. Or perhaps he just needed something solid to hold on to. Whichever it was, Diana didn’t care, so long as it helped. Even if the way he was gripping her hand hurt like hell; she’d been through far worse, so the possibility of a broken bone was something she would simply bear.

“Here,” she whispered while carefully pulling Wesker up to stand a moment after she did so herself. He stumbled on his feet when upright, but Diana was there – the pillar to hold him up and save him from toppling over.

The arm not reaching for his – right hand clasping his own – was wrapped around his back. It served to keep him stable as she slowly guided him over to what she had long since been acquainted with as his preferred side of the bed. This whole ordeal would’ve been much easier if he wasn’t leaning his entire body weight against her, but at least the trip wasn’t too lengthy.

Their hands only parted when Diana let go to lean forward and pull back the covers for him. Wesker really hoped she didn’t see how his fingers extended on instinct, as if to chase her touch. It was utterly pathetic. The urge to hold her was getting increasingly annoying, and he wished his body would just try to not embarrass him for once.

He couldn’t exactly exert much control over his innate reactions in his condition, but if Diana noticed, she didn’t say anything. That was one positive, he supposed.

And the fact that he managed to sit on the bed on his own without dragging her down with him. That probably would’ve earned him a bony shoulder digging into his chest, and that would just make matters worse.

Diana didn’t have to, but she went so far as to help him lie down as well. In a way that wouldn’t make his head feel as though someone had taken a hammer to it, that is. All slow movements and firm but gentle touches, manipulating his limbs for him as they felt too heavy for him to move on his own. And when she was done, one of her hands reached up to smooth back his hair.

That brought about that dreadful flutter in the pit of Wesker’s stomach. Or maybe that was the nausea. He couldn’t tell at this point.

Weary eyes tried their hardest to stay trained on the figure lingering in front of them. But they were unsuccessful. Wesker couldn’t keep them open any longer, not when everything was spinning around like this. He couldn’t even make out what the expression strewn about Diana’s features was.

It didn’t even matter, because her comforting touch left him before the sound of her feet padding across the floor reached his ears – quickly, like she was in some rush. Unnecessary, Wesker thought. He wasn’t exactly going anywhere, lying there in agony.

He didn’t think it would get this bad. It had been so long since he’d had a migraine like this. The nausea, visual disturbances, and all of that nonsense was typical for him, but the vertigo would come and go. Every time it showed itself he was caught off guard; there was no getting used to the feeling of his body swaying back and forth when he was lying perfectly still.

That wasn’t even the worst of his problems.

His mind decided it wanted to be louder than the rhythmic pulse behind his eye, yelling at him to the point where his thoughts felt like they were what was causing his pain by bouncing around and colliding with his skull.

Weak. Pitiful. Unacceptable. Over and over again.

How could he let someone see him like this?

Not just someone, but her, of all people. The woman who would roll her eyes when one of the researchers called off work, the one who boasted about never getting sick, the one who carried herself like nothing could strike her down. Just like he did. And yet here he was, reduced to rubble by a bit of pain.

That’s what was confusing Wesker. Why was Diana being so considerate of his plight? He had no doubt she’d rather be at the lab, or really anywhere else, doing something worthwhile instead of this. She should just leave, honestly. There was no reason for her to stick around; it wasn’t like she felt anything more for him beyond fellowship. Sherry was wrong in her assumption; Diana wasn’t his partner.

She may have been his, but he certainly wasn’t hers. No, she just enjoyed toying with him.

Now was not the time to fall into thinking about that rubbish again. He should’ve never asked her if she wished to stay the night. Or invited her over for dinner in the first place, for that matter.

“Alright.”

That pulled Wesker out of his head. It may have only been low, simply a hurried mumble under one’s breath, but that entrancing voice was unmistakable to him. His little pity party hadn’t lasted long – privacy breached once more as Diana returned from whatever she had been doing. He really did despise that she was witnessing him in this state; this wasn’t how he wished for her to find out he suffered from migraines.

With her hands full, Diana crossed his room with the stride of someone on a mission – full of purpose. First, she placed a glass of water down on his nightstand, then she used her now free hand to pull the bucket she’d found in the laundry out from under her other arm, where it was sitting awkwardly and digging into her side.

Once she set it down beside the bed, she crouched in front of Wesker and placed the ice pack she’d wrapped in a tea towel in one of his hands, which he lifted to his forehead immediately. Diana had no idea if that would help him or not, actually. She preferred heat for pain relief; being sensitive to the cold always made her recovery with injuries from ballet growing up a horrid experience. Maybe she should have looked to see if he had a heat pack instead. That would help alleviate the tension in his neck and shoulders.

No. She had what she needed, she wasn’t going to run around and make an even bigger fuss. It would probably make him feel worse, anyhow.

The only thing left to do was close the curtains and block out any light that threatened to seep into his room, whether that be from the street lamps illuminating the suburb or the bright moon itself. The significance of his blackout curtains now made much more sense to her.

When she stood to round the bed, Diana had no idea why she took the hand by his hip in her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her thumb even brushed across the back of it for a second. There was just this odd need to show him that she was there, that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Even as she pulled the curtains shut, the thought didn’t leave her mind.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Taking care to not make the mattress dip too much, Diana climbed into bed next to Wesker. The last thing she wished was for her getting comfortable to cause him any undue pain because it jostled him about. It was only then, when the covers brushed across her bare legs, that she realised she was only wearing his shirt – the pyjama pants he’d chosen for her long forgotten somewhere to the darkness.

Wesker decided to be rather ungrateful for her cautious approach, as he moved on his own. Diana couldn’t help how her eyes wandered over him, taking in every detail she could as he began to slowly roll over; his brows were knit together, deepening the lines between them, his lips were pulled down in a frown, and his eyes were screwed shut. It was rather obvious to her that he was trying to not bring up all of his dinner, and that sent her heart plummeting down into her stomach. What he was going through really sunk in then.

She wished she could just take the pain away, make it all disappear and guarantee it would never return.

It was an awful feeling, watching the man who had only ever given her these tiny glimpses of vulnerability do what looked to be such a practised motion, as though he had a tried-and-true method for dealing with his nausea for so long.

She felt helpless. But why did she even care? Countless lovers had come and gone, not ever leaving an imprint on her heart, but he seemed to tug at every string.

A loud thump, immediately followed by a rather feeble sound, pulled Diana from her thoughts. It wasn’t quite a groan, but not nearly a whimper either, and she never thought she’d hear such a sound come from Wesker.

While turning, the ice pack had fallen free of his weak grasp and landed on the floor, causing the disturbance. Diana opened her mouth to speak, to ask him if he wanted her to pick it up for him, but she didn’t get a chance; he curled up against her side all of a sudden, resting his head on her chest. That was something she wasn’t prepared for. He had never done that before, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he heard the way her heart sped up at the act.

Diana kept her eyes fixed on the ceiling, not daring to look down at him while her arm hesitated to wrap around his back. What was she even supposed to do? This was all new territory for her, for them, and… it was overwhelming. She didn’t know what to think; there was just this massive weight that had been dropped onto her chest. And it wasn’t Wesker, or the way he slung his arm over her waist.

It was that somehow, despite everything, he had managed to worm his way past all of her defences and make her actually care for him.

But friends do care for one another, yes? That is a fact. And it’s not like their dates meant anything; she had gone on many with casual partners in the past, and they were merely a formality. The longing she felt for him was nothing beyond physical.

The arm around her tightened its hold on her side, pulling her closer, and Diana looked down just in time to see a grimace twist Wesker’s features before he turned his head to rest his brow against her breastbone. Whatever he grumbled as he did so, Diana couldn’t quite make out what it was.

She chewed on her lip while bringing a hand up to the back of his head, gently cradling it and holding him close. She found herself hesitating again, unsure of the implications of her touch – how it could be perceived. But the urge grew too strong soon enough. Whatever was going on between them was just that, and she wasn’t going to complicate matters by overanalysing it.

Her fingers ran through his hair, pressing firm against his scalp in somewhat of a massage. Diana absolutely hated the feeling of pomade residue on her fingers, but seeing the way his shoulders relaxed eased her disgust, if only slightly. She’d just have to deal with the waxy feeling on her skin, she supposed. It was a selfish thought but she wished he’d at least managed to rinse out his hair. She knew he hated it as well, though; his routines were always so important to him.

Wesker let out a long exhale and Diana paused the motion, unsure if what she was doing was actually making matters worse. He didn’t say anything, but the way he held her closer while his legs tangled with her own made her stomach flip, as though she was the one who was going to be sick.

The arm around his back held him firm as she leaned in to press a kiss to the top of his head. She never wanted him to go through this again, and she would find a way to ensure that.

For now though, she made a note to have a look for his glasses first thing tomorrow, before he woke.

#writing.#pair: ewskers #oc: diana #setting: early october 1996. same as part one as it's a continuation of that night // i think i said this all in the tags of the first part #already but i wrote these two fics back in march last year and decided to rewrite them for myself cause my writing has changed and i wanted #them to flow a bit better even though nothing has actually changed in them !! very special fics for me as it shows another side of diana #that i don't really talk much about. i mean all my fics are special to me otherwise i wouldn't write them but you know what i'm saying !!#i wasn't sure if i was going to post this or not cause i'm not feeling great about sharing my writing much but i'm just doing so for myself #if you do read it i would love to hear thoughts for either chapter and of course rbs and kudos are always appreciate but no pressure ever ♡#i'll stop rambling cause i talked about it all in last post in my talk tag but i haven't been on here a lot due to a lot of health reasons #and feeling very disconnected and overwhelmed from here so i'm still around on twitter and such but things have been really bad recently #and i thought it best to not vent on here a lot like i used to and just kind of take time for me. i miss interacting with everyone on here #though and i hope everyone is doing well !!

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