The coffee pot filled in slow, patient drips. Light brown beads glimmered in the temporally caught early morning light and sent ripples through the growing body behind the glass. It hissed and tapped so rhythmically it almost mesmerised. The news chattered absently from the next room over, uttering the day's horrors in casual monotones that still sounded loud even with the volume down. The real news sped silently along the bottom of the screen, inaudible, invisible.

Probably nothing to do with the Connections, or their exposed attempts at biological warfare. Local fire, local murder. The flavor of the news had gone bland weeks ago. A company as big and malicious as an underground weapons producer could afford to pay off their public relations. That's why only the Dulvey kidnappings merited national attention, while the hurricane swept away the Annabelle and all the suspicions it carried. However Blue Umbrella had found out about it, that was something he was still trying to figure out. The Annabelle compromised three years beforehand, the helicopters circling all night, and it took the guest house's mutated, virus-induced explosion to get boots on the ground. And even then, Blue Umbrella didn't take the killing shot.

Then again, Blue Umbrella did give them the cover to resume their civilian lives and avoid the legalities of it all. Ethan's service nullified Mia's. A little paperwork, and they were both off the hook.

The coffeemaker gave a final, sputtering hiss and its hypnosis ceased. Ethan blinked at the realisation that he had been wrapped up in thought. He poured a cup so dazedly it nearly overflowed and took a seat on the couch.

More fire, more murder. Sometimes he couldn't tell if he had become numb to it all just from the frequency, or if it simply paled in comparison to everything he'd seen. Sometimes it seemed that nothing was new or surprising. Everything to see had been seen, and an aggressive neutrality persisted so fervently. He hadn't yet found the remedy.

Mia came down the stairs with her hair in a messy bun, redolent of sleep. "Mornin, baby," she yawned.

"Morning," he replied, splitting his attention between her and the screen. "Coffee's on."

"Thanks." Her voice grew more distant as she rounded the turn into the kitchen. "You been up for long?

"Long enough," he called. A commercial flashed across the TV. The bleak realities of the breaking news blinked to a white-washed fantasy. The screen depicted an ideal that existed somewhere beyond the capabilities of the world, though impossible horrors had already been proven true.

A stretch of silence followed, interrupted by the delicate clinking of a spoon on ceramic and the familiar rattling of a plastic orange bottle. "Any nightmares?" she asked, swallowing the reminder that she'd poured into her palm.

"At this point I just-" accept them didn't seem tasteful, even now. He tripped over the words in his mind before finally deciding on, "I don't know, it's getting bearable."

"Same old?"

"Same old," he sighed. "How's the job search going?"

She joined him in the den and took a seat on the couch, taking the first indulgent sips of her coffee. "It's all right, I have one that's looking really promising. Definitely not perfect, but I think it's a start. I'm still going to wait to withdraw the other applications, but," she shrugged. "It pays well and I'm qualified. Hopefully an interview will get lined up soon."

"That's great, Mia," he said warmly. "Honestly, I'm excited for you. You'll do great with the interview, they'll love you. And it'll be good to get back into a job and fill the days, make things feel more normal."

"This warm spell is bringing back a few things for me," she admitted. "Nothing an ambien later on won't help with, but all the same. It's hard to think of a time where I didn't need meds to get through a day. Sometimes I don't even know if it's real. Like it's too good, and my real self is stuck in a cocoon of mold somewhere, hallucinating it all."

"Believe me, I know the feeling." The tug slackened from the corner of his mouth and he dropped his eyes to the mug in his hands. Clouds of cream spun lazily in varying shades. Sometimes the nightmares felt more real than waking did. He tried to wash the thought out with a sip of coffee but the taste of the decaf only emphasized his point.

The phone rang, dismissing their thoughts with an outburst. Mia jumped and looked to the flashing landline like it was asking for her directly, and wiped the spilled coffee off her hands. Ethan reached over, and picked it up. "Hello?"

Mia looked at him with an imploring look in her eyes. "Is it the job?" she mouthed.

Ethan shrugged as he stood from the couch and set his coffee on the nearest table.

"Mr. Winters?" A digitized voice buzzed through the phone. "This is Chris Redfield, a liaison for Blue Umbrella."

"Redfield, sure." He gave Mia a look that offered an answer. She sat back and cradled her mug in both hands with no discernable reply. "I remember you. How are things?" He asked, as he turned and walked from the den to the privacy of another room.

"You know we were cleaning up the Baker property after you and your wife were extracted," he said plainly. "I'm actually calling in regards to that cleanup operation."

Helpful catchphrases circled his mind before the pang of catastrophe had hit: it's just an update, Dulvey's over, there's nothing left but the memory. Except no news is good news in these situations. Something must be wrong.

"Mr. Winters?"

He shook himself back into focus. "Yeah, I'm listening."

Redfield huffed a sigh like he didn't want to say what followed. "There's still a significant number of E-001a in the area-Molded, that is. We've lost a few operatives to the infection. I'll spare the details but those that report the symptoms, hallucinations, rapid healings, all that? They're the ones who go into the bayou and don't come back. You tracking so far?"

"Yeah," Ethan said slowly. "I hear you."

"It's something that shouldn't be happening after the extermination of E-001. We had a team investigate her remains and she's inactive as far as we can tell, but," he took a crackling, digitized breath. The minimal hesitation spoke volumes, "we believe that when her consciousness merged with the mold of the house, it also transferred into the E-001a, b, and c in the area."

"So what- she's still out there?" Ethan jumped. Every visceral detail flashed through his mind's eye, the spray of the molded's hot black spittle, the delirium of slowly losing his mind, the smell of blood and rot. He stuttered through the busted floodgate of memory. "Do I need to go back and stop her again? If this is a recruitment- Oh god, Mia and I haven't spread the infection, have we?"

"You and Mia will be fine." Redfield said patiently. "You received the E-series serums."

"And your operatives didn't?"

Redfield took a minute to let the anxious energy settle. "All we're asking from you is that you report to Blue Umbrella if you notice anything unusual. Hallucinations, auditory or visual. Rapid healing, bursts of violence. Even nightmares or a roach infestation. Give us a call or stop by, specialists will check it out. Got it?"

"Got it," he replied distantly. The past two weeks flashed through his head like a slow flipbook. He scanned each day, pulling the abnormal and the unusual from their skewed meanings. Nothing immediately came to mind besides the feeling that he was missing something.

"Good," Redfield confirmed with a noticeable doubt permeating his voice. "Either myself or another liaison will provide updates as the situation progresses. In the meantime, try to carry on with your civilian life."

"Okay," he concurred. "Thanks, Redfield."

"Sure. Pass the message along to your wife, too." The gears in Redfield's head spun in the small silence, before he said feelingly, "Take care, Mr. Winters."

"Thanks," he replied. "You too."

The line disconnected with a couple beeps, and Ethan walked the phone back to its place in the den. He placed one hand over his eyes and dragged it down his face before resuming his coffee beside Mia.

"What was that about?" Mia asked, looking at him over the the lip of her mug.

"Just…" he trailed off. "A friend, checking in. Nothing to worry about."

She smiled with tangible disbelief. "I wasn't worried until you told me I shouldn't be," she reasoned. "Really, Ethan, I want you to feel like you can trust me. What did she say?"

"He," Ethan corrected quietly, constructing his sentence slowly, "was from Blue Umbrella. Sent to Dulvey after we left. He just gave me a couple updates from the site."

Mia sat up and pulled her hair over one shoulder. "So?" she asked eagerly. "What did he say?"

Ethan took a sip of coffee as the conversation replayed in his mind. The thought of Eveline still being out there, even in a suppressed form, made his skin crawl. Each operative that turned carried a little piece of her in their biomass. He wondered if that made her stronger. She twisted herself into the Baker family like lymes disease, so not even the police reports could tell where they stopped and she began. Once someone is exposed to something, it's there forever.

Mia looked at him with a questioning expression. Her eyes held kindness and love and sometimes guilt, but never Eveline, not yet. Even if she had been in her head. Even if she was there forever. Ethan sighed something inevitable. "He said he's glad we got the E-series serum, and that Dulvey hasn't changed." He swirled the stippling of coffee grounds in the dregs of his mug. "And that everything is fine. There's nothing we should be worried about."