Ichor And Steel

Chapter Thirty-Eight; A Little Bit Of Parenting

ᴍɪʀᴀᴄʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟɪꜰᴇ, ʙʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴇʏᴇꜱ

Upon a warming morning, or at least one Ethan could find his legs on—the numbness of death took a while to burn away—he came down to Rose in the factory's valley, tinkering around a mildly disgruntled Heisenberg. To allow "papa" some rest, the metal man distracted Rose with all the things against Ethan's fatherliness; just the casual sharp, pointy steel rods that could easily gouge out an eye with one wrong swing...or...you know...killer-fucking-drill-motherfuckers!

At least during those early hours of the day, when they soaked in sunlight, flittered through the high-skylight, Ethan wandered there without the bustling and rustling of Heisenberg trying to keep Rose's new injury a secret. It had been maybe a day and a bit, but the teenager had sustained a pricked finger, grazed knees and elbows and palms, fractured a finger, and maybe shredded up her chin but those latter two Heisenberg refused to take responsibility for. The room—an enclave of black and grey metal, curving skywards into magnificent, slouched arches with cathedral-sized windows, billowing over the outside haze of white and blue, just visible were grey wisps of eaten trees but without the view of any landscape, the factory was capable of manifesting it's own ecosystem...Ethan was breath-taken every time, knowing how hand-made most of what he saw was. But the place presently held a certain bliss to it, a family-loving environment forming without any words but also the underlying brooding clouding on Heisenberg's face.

"Since papa is here, I need to go get something—can you make sure she doesn't try and make friends with the drill again, please?" he asked of Ethan and, after a stretch, hesitated from kissing his forehead, resorting to a ruffle of Ethan's hair. An outgrown fringe tumbled over his eyebrows, and he blew it away, Rose giggling as she polished a random item, cross-legged on a musty cushion clinging loosely to a metal chair. Her eyes were so focused on what she fiddled with, she missed Ethan's longing gaze after the silvery man, pursing him into an alcove where he lingered and stroked some wires, side-eying the father and daughter.

"He's funny," Rose finally said, penetrating their tension. Ethan turned and decided to come crouch beside her, Rose comfortably bumping her father until he fell flat on his tailbone. "Crude but funny."

"That's one way to put it," he murmured, grinning. An unsettled quiet writhed between them, unwelcome and not quite wanting to be there but their subtle awkwardness made it stay. Without some sort of incident...a danger...a threat...Ethan flattened and became a little blunt, having great difficulty in deciding what to say. "Did—uh—who was it..."

Rose glanced to him, witnessing the anguish of a struggling man. Where his temples burnt, he touched, hoping to cool the pain away, until he recongised a woman's face.

"Did she take care of you?" he managed, giving a simper. He felt a little blue, a sinking pit gapping in his stomach and it swallowed all his current happiness. Rose shared a similar expression and hauled her knees into her chest.

"It doesn't really matter now but she didn't do much. It was more so a he...or two hes though I can't really remember," she explained, her tone absent of emotion and, when it had a hint of colour to it, she didn't appear sad. "Kar explained to me last night you might not remember much...I thought, kinda selfishly, that meant you wouldn't remember me, but I figured it was Mia you really wouldn't."

Ethan nodded vaguely, Mia Winters leaving a sour taste on his tongue; there was love but also hate, a harm in their affections. The feeling begun to haunt him, like a reminder whatever was between them wasn't normal...right...it wasn't like what he had with Heisenberg, no matter how limited their time had been. Mia Winters, a few scars on his brain and heart, rang a dour shrill in his mind.