Live and Learn

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Well. That's a fine pickle, isn't it? Suzi ramps up the augmentation a couple more notches and says, "You're talking really, really fast Deitmar." her voice is even and steady, "And we need to be sure that you're not going to go...crazy and eat me, I think. Richard wasn't clear about that bit."

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Blink.

It sounds like somebody pressed fast forward on their vocals, for all the sense Ryan can make of the noises his two packmates are making.

"Suzi?" he asks cautiously, looking between her and Deitmar.

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Ryan gets a glance halfway through the second syllable, but really.

"Look at him," he snarls, temporarily ditching the even and steady thing. He rejoins it, "this is wrong."

You know, he also can't feel his feet, or his hands, and in that light the tingling on his skin reads like nerve damage. Cephalocaudal and proximodistal, he notes, since he can blink and talk; however, there's only a tingling feeling in his forearms, and he's numb from his knees down. Another tug at the cuff yields the kind of against-bone-only pressure someone under anaesthesia would feel.

"Suzi?" It's hard to keep hold of the panic, but he does it; he's sickly aware he's getting too emotional, he has to think, he has to--"what happened?"

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"You were hurt." Suzi says, and then...clinically, because otherwise she's going to have hysterics again...she tells him how.

All of it.

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"Suzi," Ryan repeats, more insistent now.

And twitching when Wesker's pulls at the cuffs again.

"What is going on?"

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That's, well, the stupidest thing he's ever heard.

"That," he says, carefully enunciating, "is undoubtedly the--" and that's when Ryan's anxious gesture sets him off, with something that's nearly a shout: "Ryan-"

He clamps down on his temper, although it locks his teeth together and leaves him shaking with spasms that will not stop for a long, long moment.

Well, unless you're Ryan over there.

Then he licks his lips, turning his head; trying to see if he can feel anything is pointless, because there's no feeling in his fingertips anyway. But there's a blood clot in his mouth and he can see the grain of the paint on the far wall as he stares.

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"He's too fast, Richard." Suzi says, "If he were Sime, it'd be a fourth level augmentation. I don't know what else is wrong." and, after a pause, "I'm going to need Garion or Belar after this. I'm burning selyn at an accelerated rate to keep up with him."

Then she augments again, "I'm sorry, Deitmar, but it's true. I can't lie, remember?"

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Ryan frowns, worried. That makes it sound like something else is wrong.

"Do you want me to get them now?" He doesn't want to leave Deitmar, but there's nothing he can do here. At least he can help his other packmate.

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He needs to think, and the problem is that he can't. He keeps spinning his wheels on the total impossibilities and ignoring the facts.

Fact: if he thinks about it very much he gets an idea he doesn't want to remember the last bits of Arklay.

"Is William alive?"

Fact: If he tunes out everything else he can hear the sounds of their breathing. This and the detail of the world would be fascinating, if only it didn't come with an inability to feel his hands and feet.

Fact: There's something soothing about the way the metal frame groans. He stops himself from pulling on the cuffs again. That won't hel--

"Tell me this isn't steel."

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There is a silence that means Suzi is refusing to try to lie, "I'll ask Richard."

Pause, shift down, "Richard, he wants to know if William is alive. I don't need either of them yet, but I will later tonight. Thank you."

More pausing, and then because she thinks Ryan needs to hear it, "I love you, Richard. We'll figure this out."

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"He's safe in the bunker," Ryan says, suddenly sagging a little. Wesker's not a zombie. Thank God.

"I love you, too, Suzi," he says a little weakly, leaning on the bed rails a bit. "And I love you, Deitmar," he tells his pup quietly.

Now? He could go for some tea. He won't be leaving any time soon, but tea would be nice. It's a pity the Thermos is empty.

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Having totally missed the heartfelt beauty of the ongoing moment because watching Ryan move like he's stuck in a very thick solution is creepy, Deitmar is just. . . listening to the sounds of stressed that-isn't-steel-don't-be-idiotic.

There's some squealing iron in there, too, as chains that will hold a berserk Sime grate against what's starting to be folded metal.

Deitmar stops. It sort of. . . just lost its calming value.

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"Do you have any idea," Suzi says (and her hand is just on Richard's arm, she's moving just too fast right now) "what happened to make you wake up, Deitmar? Your eyes are all...red and yellow."

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Ryan's just going to stand here looking relieved while his brain babbles nonsense to him about tea.

It's okay. Deitmar's okay. Well, alive. Okay has yet to be determined, but Ryan is definitely willing to settle for alive. Alive and not a zombie.

And then Suzi's hand is suddenly there, no warning, and he twitches before giving her a fierce one armed hug. And in the same breath, without letting the Sime go, he's bending over to give Deitmar a one armed hug of his own.

It feels really really good.

For him, anyway.

Deitmar's alive. Ryan couldn't be much happier right now.

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There is, in fact, a jerk at Ryan's initial movement, but the entire point of chaining someone down is that they can't go throwing themselves off beds just because they're getting fallen on by werewolves.

"I don't know," he says over Ryan's shoulder, ignoring the whole ACK CONTACT WHY thing as best he can. "This doesn't happen, Darley. --what happened to Birkin?"

She's Sime; she didn't answer. He dislikes the implications, but she'd probably have reacted differently if he were. . . harmed.

He closes his eyes for a moment and sees blood soaking into a darkly patterned carpet. He pushes the memory aside; it's another way his emotions are getting to him, and he doesn't have time to dwell on it now. He lives, he breathes, he doesn't feel like he'll die again if he closes his eyes, and even major nerve damage and some paralysis can be endured.

. . . much like hugs.

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"Oh, I'm sorry...he's fine, Deitmar. He's fine. It's alright." She wraps her hand around his again, lightly, "He's fine."

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Right. He is being hugged; he doesn't like it; he can deal. Even if Ryan were told to let go, it would take more time for him to actually do so; and his weight is a distraction against figuring out if he was just maltreating steel.

He's going to face the question eventually, but right now he can settle the smaller ones.

"Am I moving my fingers?"

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"...No." Suzi says, letting go of his hand, "You're not. I'm sorry."

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It's strange. He can remember seeing his blood over the ground without any emotional baggage at all. Perhaps that's just shock.

Ryan smells a lot like sweaty tired person, which is yet another mark on the irritating list. Deitmar doesn't have a lot of options, so he waits, trying to figure out what else. There's the magnified smell of Arklay, a hint of the nauseating reek of zombies. There's something soothing that, if he thinks carefully, is a recently fired gun, and like something pleasantly coppery that puts Deitmar in mind of, well. . . the pattern on the carpet.

Neither of those should have a calming effect.

"I think," he says carefully, "things have gone. . . rather wrong."

Not that Suzi doesn't know.

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"Um." says Suzi, followed by, "Yes. You don't...zlin right. Anymore. You're not dead." Just don't try to argue with the Sime about that, Wesker, you'll be happier that way, "But you're...different."

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"Different how?"

There is nothing at Arklay that does this. He knows. Even if someone had a top secret project, death = zombie.

". . . I need you to take a blood sample. I'll figure out how to look at it. . ."

When he isn't being trapped in place by 1. chains, 2. a werewolf, and 3. paralysis.

". . . later."

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Suzi's expression can best be summed up as O.O

"Alright."

She doesn't like blood. She can deal with it when she has to, but seriously.

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A muscle in his shoulder just started spasming, which he puts down to exhaustion and, likely, more nerve damage. Interrupted blood supply to the brain, leading to death or the next closest thing; of course he's harmed his system.

He keeps his tone even. "I'd appreciate it." He has to sound calm, has to sound in control, no matter what he zlins like.

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"Alright." Suzi says, having gotten control over her voice back (her eyes are still approximately the size of tea-saucers, but whatever), "Just tell me how to do it."

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