Rebecca took a deep breath and hit the button. She squeezed her eyes and lips shut as the sterilisation blizzard raged around her. It whipped her hair into a flurry around her ears as she tried not to breathe. Her lungs started to burn.
And then the gust stopped. The green light blinked. Just in time to stop her eyes from clouding over with black freckles.
She blew out her breath, stepped out of the decontamination shower, out of the real world and into the sterile little bubble where she worked. The CDC's Special Contagion Unit.
"Special contagion". That was a joke. There was nothing special about the Tyrant virus. It was an infection, same as any other. There were symptoms, immunity, methods of destruction, options for treatment.
And there was a source. Even if that source was a laboratory owned by the Umbrella Corporation. Even if the American government refused to believe it.
Given time, she'd find it. The little barcode woven into the virus's genetic structure. A streak of eugenic graffiti proclaiming "Umbrella was here". Irrefutable proof of the meddling they'd done. Of the damage they'd caused and the lives they'd ended.
She knew it was there. A company full of narcissists and prima donnas. Of course it was there.
She'd find it.
Some day. Not today.
She shuffled through the corridors, chin tucked into her chest, hands in her pockets. She dodged other bodies, colleagues who didn't spare her a second glance. That was good.
People looking at her made her nervous. The weight of their eyes piled onto her, suffocating. Her mind chattered. Why were they looking at her? What were they thinking? Who were they working for?
She didn't want attention. She avoided it. Better that way. Easier. She had to stay under their radar. She had to find the proof.
Some day. Can't be today.
She slipped into the lab, raking her stubby fingernails down her arm from shoulder to elbow. She'd done her best to hide it in the hallway, but now...
She felt like she was on fire, an army of ants crawling under her skin, head to toe. Her face was swollen and puffy. Her eyes burned. There was something wrong with her. She knew it. Something terribly wrong.
Wade glanced up as she sidled towards his desk.
So she'd indulged herself. She'd let herself have one friend. Chris couldn't do it alone. He had Jill. She needed someone too. That someone was Wade.
He pushed himself back from his monitor, grinning and nudging his spectacles back onto the bridge of his nose. "What's up, Becks?"
His face fell the moment he looked at her.
"You okay?"
She nodded, clawing at her shoulder through her tee. "Y-yeah, f-fine."
"You're not supposed to be here today," he said, leaning forward in his seat, "you want to cut the bull and tell me what's going on?"
"I..." she wheezed.
She swallowed hard. A swell of vomit gurgled back down into her stomach. When had it become so difficult so speak?
"I n-need you t-to draw some blood and r-run a test for m-me..."
His eyes widened as she spoke. He cut her off, rising out of his chair, before she could finish. She shrank back and bumped into another desk. Her desk
"Whoa, whoa, what do you mean run a test? A test for what?"
"I th-think I might be in..."
Her voice failed. Her mind spat a machinegun volley of obscenities at her in Chris's voice. He'd never said a word against her, in reality, but he was everything she'd never been able to be. And now her harshest critic, even if he'd never know it.
"Infected."
She squeaked the word. Pathetic.
This time it was Wade's turn to back off, eyes wide. She'd said the CDC's ultimate dirty word. In the SCU it was sacrilege, like wishing the devil into your own house.
"What? Becks, how did this happen? Did you rip your haz-mat suit or...?"
She shook her head. "No."
"...a needle stick or...?"
"No."
"...did you spill any acids?"
"N-no. Nothing like that. I'm j-just."
He lunged for her, grabbing her wrist as her nails kept working the skin at the top of her arm. "Becks!"
She flinched. Her fingertips were bloody. There was a warm patch spreading at her shoulder, sticking her shirt to her flesh. She'd opened one of her scabs. She was covered in them. Why couldn't she stop itching?
"I'll take your blood," he told her, "but you have to stop. You're cutting yourself to pieces."
"I c-can't help it." She'd been crying all day. Her wells had run dry. But emotion choked her all the same.
"Please. Look, every time you scratch, you could be spraying infected cells all over the room. Just... Put your hands in your pockets or something."
She nodded dumbly. What if she'd spread it all over the city just coming in? She should have called. Should have let them know she was contagious so they could set up a quarantine around her apartment. Why hadn't she considered that eventuality?
Tired. Not thinking straight.
Couldn't sleep last night. Slept the night before though.
No. Night before that.
No excuse.
Thoughtless. Stupid. Reckless. Could have killed everyone.
Wade tucked a chair into the backs of her knees. They buckled and she slid into the seat. His hands fastened a strap around her forearm. The needle prick came and went. She didn't flinch, didn't stop staring at the wall, past the wall, through the wall, at nothing.
She was dead. They'd killed her. She'd come close. They knew how close. They controlled this place, had a copy of all her reports, all her results. She hadn't let on, but they'd know what she was looking for. And they'd know better than she would how close she'd come.
So they'd stopped her. Killed her. Assassination by virus. Ironic. The smoking gun, the nail in Umbrella's coffin, that she'd been looking for all this time was going to kill her, not them.
Wade had left the room. Her fingers grazed the flesh on her left arm. It tingled. She clenched fists, then rammed those fists into her pockets.
Where was he? When was he coming back?
Please don't say they got him too.
And then he was back, clutching a sheaf of paper from one of the printers across the hall. How long had he been away? Could he have run the test already?
She flicked her tongue across her lips. Her mouth tasted sour. Had she ... fallen asleep?
"Back," he said, dragging his chair over in front of her and dropping into it, "you're clean."
He held up the printout. It was there, in black and white. It even had her name on it. The computer had identified her from the sample she had on record.
Low white count. Anaemic. But no markers for viral infection of any kind. Clean as the proverbial whistle.
She stared at the results, silent, but her mind was reeling, racing, screaming. It was all just white noise. All the crying, all the worry, all the questions. Suddenly, it was all nothing. She'd been wrong. All wrong. Somehow that made it all worse.
How can I be clean? I feel... I feel so...
"Rebecca," Wade said. He never called her that. The paper had disappeared. His face was there instead. "Are you okay?"
I wasn't close. They don't care about me. I'm nothing to them. I'm nothing...
"Rebecca?"
The lump in her throat swelled and rose to her mouth, then burst out through her lips in a shaky sob. She clapped her hands over her face as her wells found unknown depths and filled her burning eyes with salt water. She started trembling. The tremors shook the waiting wail out of her.
Wade's arms enfolded her. She shuddered, revolted. She didn't want to be touched. Didn't want to be held. But she couldn't push him off. Couldn't do anything but wait.
Wait for the sobbing and shaking to end, so that she could go home and steep in her misery and isolation and worthlessness, alone.
-x-x-x-x-x-
A/N: I've based a good deal of Rebecca's personality on how she behaves in RED, and this was how I envisioned her post-ordeal. Essentially a gibbering, nervous wreck. The hypochondriac idea was one that I'd had for Rebecca for a long time, but the blame for that too has to fall squarely on Shakahnna's shoulders, for writing a definitive Rebecca.
I think people forget that not everyone can be a hero, and Rebecca should always only ever be a supporting character. RE0 was just plain wrong.
Thanks go to CJJS, Ruingaraf, and n8tivegurl for being so supportive of this project and leaving such thoughtful reviews. You most of all Colin. And, as always, to my beta and partner in all things, the Shak.