—-

Steve was still staring off, thinking about how he could have handled the situation with Claire better. The doctor coughed, and Steve snapped out of his bubble. "Uh," he replied plainly.

She carried on. "Would you also like the soldiers to leave the room?"

Steve noticed a few of them jerk in response. "Isn't that dangerous?"

She nearly laughed. "You're restrained, are about to be given your daily dosage, and they'll be right outside the door," she took gloves and a needle out of a nearby drawer. "I trust my work," she proudly stated as she removed the possible air bubbles. "This will hurt a bit." She approached him.

Steve gulped, closing his eyes and looking away. I hate needles. Had he known this was going to happen, he'd have asked Claire to hold his hand during. He blushed. No, no, she would laugh! … Not to mention that I might break her hand in fear… Steve grimaced at the likelihood of it.

"Hold still and think of Claire," the doctor offered in a deeper tone. Steve wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but was too busy yelping in pain as the needle pierced his neck, feeling a cold rush through his veins. He grit his teeth and waited.

"I already removed the needle, you know," the doctor said while applying a cotton ball to his neck, keeping it in place with tape. Steve hesitantly opened his eyes. Immediately throwing away the gloves, the doctor washed her hands and sat down next to his bedside. "One moment," she told him.

She turned to face the soldiers. "Go guard outside of the door," turning her back on their shuffled movements, she met Steve's puzzled expression. "Shall we proceed?"

"Uh," Steve searched for the words. "Shouldn't we start with introductions?"

The doctor tilted her head. "Navya Ahuja, and you're Steve Burnside," she offered dryly. "Now, shall we proceed?"

Steve didn't really know how to deal with this person, but he supposed he had to appreciate how she got things done. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah."

Navya took a small notebook from one of her endless pockets, flipping through until she arrived at the page she desired. "Name of the subject: Steve Burnside," she began coolly.

Subject… Steve felt his stomach drop.

She continued, undeterred. "Age: Twenty-nine."

A twinge. It's been that long…?

"Year of 'death': 1998," she glanced up at him. "That's the interesting bit." Steve saw the barest glimpse of a smile pulling at her mouth, while gravity seemed to be straining his own. "Witness reports were that your blood stopped flowing."

Steve didn't respond.

"That's not to be unexpected. You're—" she stopped. "Well," Navya shrugged. "What we do know is that your body was taken by Albert Wesker, and that they sold your strain of the T-Veronica virus on the black market."

Steve perked his head up. "What happened to the people it was given to…?"

"Most died," Navya supplied. "Horribly." Steve grimaced. "But," Navya offered. "One of them was fine, and she's part of the reason we have an idea of what to do with you," her tone sparkled.

Steve hesitantly faced her, his expression perplexed but curious. "Both she and Alexia Ashford survived the virus." Navya was flipping through her notes again. "The virus needs a fifteen year period for the host to fully accept it," she stopped. "And it's been twelve for you."

Steve wanted to shirk away from her stare.

"Alexia did this by entering a crionic sleep, while the other received organ transplants." She eyed him. "What did they do to you, I wonder?"

Steve searched his memories without meaning to. He felt ill.

"It looks like a hack job, where they tried all sorts of things on you." She continued. "Organ transplants, several different drugs, forcing you to transform, stopping it, all but shutting your mental faculties down," she kept listing off. "And yet, here you are." Her fascination couldn't be hidden.

Steve eyed her warily. "I don't know what they did to me," Steve's voice was breaking.

"I, I just, remember it either hurting— Hurting so much that I couldn't bear it, or, or feeling nothing," he struggled.

"But," he calmed his breathing. "But sometimes, there was someone who would speak to me," he recalled. "I could never see him, but he would ask me things." Steve's eyes sporadically searched the room, seeing nothing. "I think he was checking if I was still 'something'."

Navya nodded, scribbling down new notes on virgin pages. "Hm," she started. Steve looked to her. "I will be honest and tell you that I'm not sure exactly what you are." She faced him. "Your DNA is undeniably that of Steve Burnside, but you could always be a clone." Steve tried not to react on theories, but the question of his validity stung regardless.

She continued. "You were able to overcome the effects of the virus not long after being injected with it, but that was through sheer determination." Steve nodded, a short flashback of Claire in trouble appearing behind his eyes.

"That wouldn't work for the long-term. Your brain would have suffered irreparable damage." She flipped a page. "There is nothing in the drugs we found that could prevent this." Steve waited and listened, heart thrumming in his ears.

"It could have been through the organ transplants, but your scars aren't numerous enough to account for how many you would really need." She flipped to another page. "The other girl's body was completely covered."

Steve couldn't handle it anymore. "Maybe my body has accepted it?"

"No," Navya shot him down. "You're still suffering from accidental transformations." Flip. "The second one was caused by a combination of withdrawal from your nigh-continuous supply, and your body's initial dislike of the new type."

"Wasn't the first also withdrawal?" Steve asked.

"I was going to ask you more about that," Navya stated. "What do you remember before the mutation took place?"

Steve looked down. "It's hazy. I wasn't very aware of my surroundings."

"Just try," she breathed, no doubt her best attempt at being patient.

Steve closed his eyes and relived the moments. He remembered the cold, soundless room being invaded. He remembered thinking that she was just a dream, thinking he was dying. He remembered not even minding those circumstances, getting to see her again. And he remembered all those years ago, when he 'died'. Steve had wanted to touch her again, and he remembered his dulled shock at her grabbing his hand and mirroring the action. His abdomen tightened. That was it.

"Did you remember?" Navya called. Steve nodded, and faced her with worn eyes.

"It wasn't withdrawal," he stated, needing to hear it himself.

"I thought so," Navya replied as she wrote something down. "The drugs could either trigger or keep you from transforming, but you weren't on the drugs then." She paused. "And, had it been withdrawal, you would have resumed the mutation upon waking up." She sounded proud. "They didn't inject you with the anti-transformation drug, after all."

Steve knew what was coming.

Navya continued. "The timing is too perfect, so it made me curious, and your story confirms it." She pointed her pen at Steve. "Emotional stimuli is your trigger."

Steve's stomach reconfigured into a channel of knots. "But both Claire and you mentioned new drugs." His tone was pleading. "Can it stop the transformations, regardless of the trigger?"

Navya wagged a finger. "Not so fast. We're still talking about your body being used to the virus." She sighed. "The short answer is that until you can transform at will, your body and the virus are still at odds."

Steve paused. "How will that happen?"

"With time," Navya supplied. "All previous successful accounts support this. You need fifteen years."

Steve waited. Navya continued. "But, of course, we don't know how long you've even had this body." The knot became tighter, bile finding its way into his mouth. He swallowed. Navya took a momentary notice of his pale face. "If you are the same Steve, then it should only take three more years."

Steve looked down. "But you don't know how they kept me sane until this point," he added hollowly.

Navya nodded. "Exactly, but going back to your previous question: we are going to try."

Steve raised his head tentatively.

"There are no guarantees, obviously. This is mostly uncharted territory," she paused. "But, my team and I have already improved on your drug to the point that it should remain a daily dose." She practically puffed out her chest. "Not a bad start."

Steve wanted to be reassured, but had too much worry. "Will it stop the triggers?" He pressed.

Navya sighed. "That's all down to testing." She flipped a page. "We will need to watch you in a controlled, safe environment. Should anything go wrong, we will pivot our strategy or means of treating you."

Steve's hands balled at the bedding. "Why go through so much trouble for me?"

Navya's matter-of-fact response made him shudder. "It's for science, not you."

Steve's stomach churned and churned, making his mind go blank. "I'm done," he declared.

Navya nodded and got up to leave. "Oh," she pinged. "I forgot to tell you how you transfer the virus."

Steve's ears perked up. He had completely forgotten about the possibility.

"It's through mixing blood and ...other fluids," she teased. "But saliva is fine, unless someone drinks several barrels of it."

Steve was too busy blushing from her roundabout way of referring to sex. He had her pegged as someone who might speak about that sort of thing clinically. Vaguely, he heard her leave the room.

Steve had just begun to see Navya as more of a person, when suddenly she made it abundantly clear that she did not do the same for him. After the soldiers entered the room, he asked one if they could turn on the television.

He passed the time watching shows from the 90s, pretending he wasn't there or now.

—-