A/n's: So… this took a long time. I'm sorry. I don't really know what happened – there were the holidays, and I got sick, sure, but then… everything was blah. For a long time. And it still kinda is. This isn't the greatest of chapters, I can own up to that, but I don't think it's terrible either. Hopefully, that'll be enough; along with, of course, my promise that I'm gonna try and fix it. I'm not sure if I can… but I will try.
Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed. You guys are the reason I do this.
Sad Little Tiger: You especially, deserve my thanks; and the thanks of everyone who has enjoyed Devil's Due thus far. It wouldn't be half as good without you. I regret nothing. *heart*
Chapter Five
Ace of Swords
"This is the beginning, the spark of potential that will influence all that lies ahead and it usually indicates that your mind is feeling sharper, clearer – you want to talk, want to discuss, or write. You can clear away the fog that has kept you from seeing the inner truth, and you can cut away all the bonds of the past that have held you back. The time to act is now, and if you set your mind to accomplishing your goals, you can achieve anything. Just remember, the sword cuts both ways, and be careful that you don't cut yourself."
-Thirteen, Aeclectic Tarot
-Ata-Tarot
Ada brought the storm in with her. The fine dusting of gritty white powder on her hair and clothes fluttered and flew, drifting, as she unwound her scarf, and slipped free of her coat. Icy puddles dripped from her boots, marking her path through the house. (An unpleasant morning surprise for bare and stocking feet.) The chill in her skin and bones radiated, burned, as she slithered into bed and between the sheets, curving and cuddling against the sleeping length of male flesh.
He stirred almost immediately, all warm muscle and smooth skin beneath her hands, drawing away, tensing and sucking a breath.
"Jesus." His voice was muffled, husky and drowsy, but his hands were as quick as ever, snatching at hers, stilling their trek down his ribs. "You're cold."
She nuzzled her frosty lips along the back of his neck, all smiles as he jerked and shuddered. "I am?" she laughed, rubbing her nose in the fine line of baby hair growing at his hairline and winding her legs around his, tucking her toes in against his calves. "Let's share then…."
He made bemused sort of noise, something caught between a weary sigh and a chuckle, and turned, sliding in the sheets to meet her.
"Wha'did you do?" His finger tips slipped along her shoulder blades, his palms hot. "Roll in it?"
Her face slipped into the curve of his shoulder, the drum of his pulse beneath her lips.
"I was out being a productive member of society. You know-" She rubbed her fingers over his hipbone, pressed the hard knot between her knuckles, "-Rescuing kittens, helping old ladies cross the street…."
A muscle in his thigh jerked against hers and, catching on quick, his hands stopped their gentle, soothing caresses and began to mold. Knead.
"Oh my," he murmured, stubble rasping across her cheek, his mouth curving in her hair. "A regular good girl."
"Of course." Her hips began to sway, a gentle to-and-fro (encouraging) as her eyes fell closed. "And I do believe I've earned a reward for all that effort…" She bit him, a quick taste of salty flesh. "Don't you?"
Sex as a distraction. It was an old trick, one she'd never had any qualms about using (in many ways, in general, and on this job in particular, she'd always rather thought of it as perk). She told herself, as his tongue bathed over her earlobe, that that was all it was. But when his hands slipped between her thighs and the first blush of pleasure had her arching - spreading…wanting – that voice, the same one that had told her give up on the radio, that had told her to leave it - to leave the mysterious absence of her employers at just that - was back, whispering insidiously.
Leon Kennedy wasn't the only one she was trying to deceive.
~.~
The wind continued to howl, a pack of braying hounds, closing in….
But Leon's breath whispered, sweet and soft. A warm stirring at the back of her neck.
Ada sank into the feel of it. Eyes closed, she willed herself to sleep. To forget. To silence the questions.
Where was Umbrella? Why hadn't they answered…how long did she have?
How long before the Chairman came back for her?
~.~
They walked, faceless in the dark, disembodied voices brazen.
Whistling past the graveyard.
Wesker told her, over the soft pat of their footsteps, the gentle hum of their double heartbeat, what the Red Knight had said. What he knew…and what he could guess.
Her laugh was a bitter sound. Short and cold.
"Who'da thought he had it in him? 'Milquetoast Maul.' If he hadn't just tried to kill us I'd almost be impressed."
She wouldn't see it in the gloom, but his lips lifted, quirking just so. Pleased by her fight; the blush of angry sarcasm that chased away the phantom taste of her salty tears from the back of his mind.
They'd have to deal with it eventually, the breakdown he'd walked in on, but for now, it was simpler to address the Amazon.
"Try to keep your admiration to a minimum; I sincerely doubt he cooked it up all by himself."
"The Board?"
"Who else?"
"Why?"
The words tumbled between them, overlapping, running together, her mind turning as quickly as his.
How far they'd come.
How far she still had left to go.
Perhaps someday…there would be need to speak at all. Perhaps they would simply know.
One mind – a perfect union, all seeing.
Gods.
He stopped, turning to find her in the black. Her boots clanged against the steel ties of the track, halted, and he could see her – like black ink on black satin.
The scent of them – of his virus, now theirs – burned in his lungs.
Their child called to him. Like to like.
The first in their image.
"Because they're frightened little children," he whispered, voice suddenly dropping low, the conversation unseemly in the shadowed grave of Umbrella. "The world is slipping away from them, a new order on the horizon, and they know they have no place in it."
"Did they know?" she murmured back, a hushed breath, following his lead unconsciously, feeling it. "About me?"
"No." He was certain of it. It was too early, too soon….Not even she had been able to tell. "But perhaps they saw it as only a matter of time."
"It wasn't supposed to happen. I thought – you said-"
"But it has happened. And now, despite the Board of Directors' best efforts, destiny looms before us."
She inhaled. Exhaled.
He waited.
"What happens now?"
~.~
Metal screamed, protesting as it resisted.
Flakes of what tasted like rust, and dirt, peppered my upturned face.
With a resounding clang the old cover atop the access ladder conceded, giving under Wesker's insistence and light poured in with a rush of bitter air. Closing one eye against the sudden sensory onslaught, I forced the other to stay open – staring up into the glaring halo.
I watched, and waited, fingers tightening anxiously on the narrow rungs in front of me as he turned, looking….A black silhouette, haloed in the heavenly ring.
"Well?"
A beat.
Then he started to climb.
I followed, pausing only when his hand appeared before my nose.
Offering.
~.~
Winter.
A dusting of grimy-gray coated the city, broken only where the wind had pulled trash and debris through the snow.
Where the carriers had shambled through, ever hungry, never sleeping.
It had been Fall last time I been to the surface. A dry, overcast affair that I had felt all the way down to my bones.
(Funny how you lost track of time when you lived underground.)
There was a breeze, but it wasn't as bad I would have expected. Even in my short sleeves.
Another symptom?
Wesker was always hot. His skin feverishly warm to the touch.
Testing, I pinched my forearm, watching the still-pink skin whiten between my fingers.
I didn't feel any different…but I couldn't feel the cold either.
Not like I should have.
It should have been life-threatening, not annoying.
Shoving my hands in my pockets I looked up again, found Wesker staring from several feet away, almost at the mouth of the alley we'd come up into.
Waiting for me to finish marveling, his reptile eyes unblinking.
"Look for one with a full tank," he finally advised, breaking the silence, before turning back to the street and disappearing with two long, confident steps.
We hadn't talked about it yet – what would… was, happening to me. About the fear that had led to those damning tears. We'd come close, there in the rubble of what had been one of Umbrella's crown jewels, the two of us nothing more than a pair of faceless voices, but it hadn't felt right. It hadn't been the time.
I hadn't been ready.
"The trip will be arduous enough without stopping to find a new vehicle half-way through." His voice called back, carried with the fine, grating snow on the wind.
Squaring my shoulders I headed after him, wondering idly if the pun had been intended.
~.~
Honk if you love Jesus. A shocking pink against the drab of the fallen city.
Elect Jesus – Your Life Leader. A brazen red, white, and blue – clashing with the pink.
A school of Jesus fish, looping and overlapping; running together in an endless knot across the bumper.
It made his eyes hurt.
But she stayed. Watched. Studying it as she moved warily closer, tentative fingers brushing.
"A mini-van is ill-suited to our needs."
She paused, caught, then pulled away, dragging little furrows in the coating of dirty snow. "I know." She wiped her hands on her jeans. "Just checking."
~.~
A Chevy Impala, tan, one headlight cracked and knocked askew.
Punch-drunk.
A pair of sunglasses hung from the rearview mirror, earpiece looped over a nylon cord dangling a purple rabbit's foot.
I almost laughed.
He popped the driver's door while I circled, looking for more damage.
The engine roared, tailpipe sputtering and billowing white smoke in the frigid cold. The twang of a guitar cutting through the air, echoing, before it suddenly cut out.
In the rearview mirror, Wesker's eyes gleamed. Plucking the glasses from the string, he beckoned, door slamming.
Luck indeed.
~.~
They came out of nowhere. The streets empty of life one moment, then teeming the next. They lumbered out of alleys, crawled from beneath abandoned cars, staggered from the broken and open doorways of stores; a sea of rotted flesh, jerking closer, mouths open and working mindlessly, arms – for those that had them – outstretched, fingers curling rhythmically.
Seeking.
They brushed down the length of the car, bumping against the fenders, stumbling over one another.
The pale, torn forehead of one drew over my window, thick pinkish drool smearing. Another bounced off the hood, crunching loudly as it was dragged beneath the wheels. Their desperate moans echoed, confused and hungry. .
"What's wrong with them?" I heard myself ask over the drone of their voices, unable to look away even as I leaned carefully back, the feel of Wesker's shoulder against mine comforting. "Why aren't they attacking?"
He eased the car through the swarm, a shark gliding through a school of minnow, concerned more for the damage they might do to vehicle then to us. "They have no reason to. The car is not alive; they are merely drawn to the sound and movement."
A solid thunk against the rear passenger door – like a skull perhaps. A skull cracking on the steel.
My wince was automatic. Instinctive.
"What about us?"
"I doubt they're even aware of us. We are already infected. We are not prey."
Infected.
For a moment I'd almost forgotten, distracted by our undead escort.
Of course.
It came rushing back, the weight on my shoulders – my chest. The unknown, hanging over me like a storm cloud, waiting to strike.
Even when we left them behind, too slow to keep up, I could hear them, see them.
Like ghosts, haunting me.
Omens.
~.~
"I'm not afraid of dying. Not really."
The confession was sudden, but soft. The truth pulled from some distant place as she stared out into the snow whipping past, her exhale blushing across the frozen glass.
The storm had worsened as they'd left New York, heading north. The skies darkened and the snow closed in – thick and fast. Reluctantly, he'd pulled over, silence falling loudly as he'd turn the car off.
She'd said little in the miles that had past, but now, at last, here it was.
Finally, they would put this behind them.
Finally, she would accept the truth.
"I'm not even afraid of…changing."
He shifted, keys jingling against his knee, and waited – watching her breath go warm and wet, running down the window in tiny, racing rivers.
"I'm afraid it won't be enough. That… I won't be enough. To be so close, to be chosen, but not worthy…."
"Your fears are unfounded."
She turned, her eyes dark and deep. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
"How? How can you be so sure?"
He stared back. Found his unwavering reflection in the green and brown depths. "Because I can smell it in you; feel it in your veins." He reached across, wrapped his fingers in the mass of brunette silk, tangling hard, his knuckles grazing her scalp. "My virus – my choice."
He pulled, and they came together – mouth to mouth. Her heart careened in his ears, drowning out the sound of the lashing wind, the caterwauling country music,…the drum of his own strange heartbeat.
Her lips were warm, unnaturally hot, under his. More changes. For him. For their child.
He dragged her across the seat, into his lap; her thighs spreading over his, her hands on him as his pushed at her clothes – seeking…searching….
More heated skin.
"It's inside you." Growled words, panted in her mouth.
Zippers rasped, buttons popped. His fingers splayed across her stomach.
Like to like.
Their eyes locked; her nostrils flared, his teeth bared.
Feral. Less… no… more than human. The both of them.
"I'm inside you."
And she'd never get him out.