The roar of the waterfall was muffled by the home's walls. Unlike the destroyed village and the grandiose castle, Donna's home was comfortable. It would have been easy to forget the horrors around him, minus the impression said home would fit neatly into a ghost story. It gave him a chill but otherwise he appreciated the warmth.
Lady Dimitrescu's words rang in his memories.
"Mother Miranda is visiting today. You'll need to stay with Donna for a few hours until she leaves."
And thus Ethan was sitting on her couch, watching her fiddle about her desk. Her long black dress and veil. He wondered as to the purpose of it. Was she in mourning or did she simply enjoy the absence of colour? According to Heisenberg and Lady Dimitrescu they lived like a time capsule of the past. It made him ponder the reasoning longer than he normally would.
It was easier to think about that then the porcelain white doll in contrast. The thing perched upon the coffee table, staring at him with unblinking eyes. She was harmless, to him. Yet that didn't make her any less unnerving.
"Why are you staying with that vampire wannabe?" She spoke again, pelting him with various questions. Akin to a toddler if he were being honest. "You should stay here with me instead!"
Ethan looked exasperated, glancing between Angie and Donna herself. His mouth opening and closing repeatedly as his head couldn't sit still. All manner of things on his mind and he could pick just one. Eventually he settled on the most basic of them all.
"So what the hell is this thing?"
"You're so rude!" Angie huffed, hands on her hips. "I'm right here!"
That she was but it didn't answer any questions. Donna's continued silence, no matter how many times he bore holes into her back with his eyes, suggested he wasn't going to get anywhere if he kept this tactic up. In fact, despite her lack of facial movement capabilities, he was sure Angie was growing more and more annoyed.
"Okay…" After a few more confused glances he caved and focused on Angie. "So…what the hell are you?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Angie spoke so confidently that it made Ethan squint trying to see what she was referring to. As if she were a show host she spread her arms and posed. Anticipation sat fat in the air.
"I'm a doll!"
He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. What little hope he had fading away. "That's not what I'm asking."
All Angie did in reply was giggle. With his eyes shut and headache threatening to take him, the only reason he knew Donna finished was the creaking floorboards. With the look of irritation still lingering he opened his eyes, half-lidded, to watch her. She was soft. Her movements airy and vaguely creepy.
What caught his attention was what she held. So…normal; The knitting needles and yarn she had collected. Behind her he saw the state of the box she'd been rummaging through. It had likely been left alone for quite sometime. Was Rose what prompted her to dig it out? The couch sank as she took her seat beside him.
"Did Mia ever knit?"
The question instantly sunk his mood. An invisible hand grabbing his heart and dragging it into the pits of mourning once more. His mouth a solemn frown and voice quieter. "No…No, she didn't."
"I didn't think so." She replied completely apathetic to his dip into grief. Just as Donna had sat, Angie followed suit, sitting at the edge of the table. "Knitting doesn't seem like a favourite past time for a terrorist—"
"—Excuse me?"
"—But you can't judge a book by it's cover!"
"Did you just call Mia a terrorist?"
The little bundle in his arms began to squirm. As if sensing her father's distress. Her attempts at whining spurred him to begin rocking and soothing her before they became complete wails of distress. Her tiny limbs fighting the fabric she was wrapped in.
"What? We both know her history." Angie continued, unbothered by Rose's disturbance.
"What are you talking about?"
Surprisingly Angie didn't immediately reply. In fact a silence fell as Rose settled down. Tiny baby noises of content and attempts to talk the only thing in the room minus the occasional tap of knitting needles. Donna continued to work as if she were alone. Angie on the other hand, without facial features, managed to look at him as if he were an idiot.
"Your rose tinted glasses are solid, aren't they?" He ground his teeth against each other at her words. The impulse to kick the doll out the window was growing rapidly. "Are you aware she worked for the same company that Mother Miranda was apart of? You know, the one that made that reject Eve?"
"Well…yeah…but…"
"Buuuuuuuut? But what, Ethan?"
He shut his mouth then with a heavy sigh. It was like a brick wall in his mind was threatening to crumble and it unnerved him greatly. The discomfort of what he knows conflicting with contradictory information. A hard pill to swallow and his throat wanted so badly to throw it back up. Eventually enough cracks broke through and he found his voice.
"She was my wife…"
"So?"
The dissonance of her image and what Angie was painted made him lash out in anger. Rose stirred a little as he bent forward as if that emphasized his words. "I want through hell for her!"
All Angie did was laugh once more. That sound more than grating on his nerves. "That says more about you then her!"
All those happy memories together played in his mind. All of them bringing such nostalgia and happiness despite how sorrowful it made him. His heart hurt and kept hurting the longer he thought but he couldn't get the them to stop. His mind determined to sort through everything regardless of his wishes.
They'd been so happy together. Was it really all a lie? No. Even if she did horrible things at work, she was still a kind person. She was still human. Then again every monster in this world was still human. He never did ask the extent of her involvement and work…was she on the same coin as Miranda?
It all hurt his head. The question at the end of the day one he didn't know if he was ready to face; Just how much was he willing to excuse out of love?
"I loved her…" He whispered, trying to ignore how his heart felt like it was tearing.
"I bet she was real sweet on you, wasn't she?" Angie continued, either oblivious or indifferent to his visible discomfort. "Still a terrorist!"
He was quiet again. No longer thinking about the insult towards Mia's work. Instead his mind had shifted to how she acted towards him. She had gotten so easy to agitate. Especially after Louisiana. He'd attributed it to PTSD, having been informed the condition could lead to shorter tempers. Still, he was lost rethinking even before she'd gone missing.
"Oh come on!" Angie snapped him back to the present. "You can still love her, doesn't change anything."
He vaguely wondered if she was trying to cheer him up or give him comfort in her own way. Still, she had gotten him thinking and it went deep. "No…No, it does."
Either it was consideration (for once) or a lack of topics, but Angie didn't reply. Rather they sat in silence once more. Instead of falling down his rabbit hole again he focused himself onto Donna's work. This time taking note of what exactly she was knitting. It was a soft yellow, very similar to the flowers he'd seen decorating her area.
"What are you making?"
Once more, Angie spoke for her. "A hat for Rose! If you're going to be staying in that freezing mountain, you have to keep her warm."
"Thanks, I appreciate it." He smiled, touched by the gesture on Rose's behalf.
"Not for free!"
He sighed. There it is.
"What do you want?"
"I want to hold Rose!"
He looked to Donna again and remembered how peaceful Rose had looked back at Heisenberg's workshop. "Only if it's Donna."
Angie cheered, bolting up to do a little dance in happiness. "I get to hold the baby! I get to hold the baby!"
He shook his head. The toddler comparison coming back to mind. Strange how such a childish little thing could bring up such thought provoking points. He glanced back down to Rose, placing a hand over her bundle and rocking her a little more. His eyes filled with love. He wanted to cherish every step of her growth and no B.O.W. bullshit was going to stop him.
Eventually he looked back to Donna, eyeing the hat she was making. He couldn't help but think of those flowers again, prompting him to make small talk. "So…What kind of flowers are around here? You seem to like them."
