Chapter Text
Mia didn’t notice anything was off at first. Then again, maybe she just hadn’t paid enough attention, too wrapped up in the idyllic loveliness of their new home, and the beauty of Romania’s summer.
Everything seemed perfect. Everything was perfect.
Their house sat on a gentle rise, overlooking a small, remote village. Its homely exterior practically glittered in the afternoon sun, the plaster bleached a warm creamy shade from years of weathering. The entire area is secluded, surrounded by mountains whose peaks fade bright blue against the horizon. Wildflowers were scattered around the property, peppering the fence line with rose pink and sunflower yellow blooms. It’s a portrait straight from a renaissance painting. There were a few renovations to be done around the yard: the fence, swollen from rain and wood rot, needed replacing, and the shed had holes in need of patching, but she never minded a fixer-upper.
It was always a small fantasy of hers to live in a cozy, but comfortable home, unburdened by the chores of modern living. When they had lived in Texas, renting an apartment in a crowded, bustling city, she had often imagined a lifestyle free from the city’s noise and never-ending rat race, but she had never imagined it’d come to fruition, especially after everything she had done. She was sure it was unobtainable. People like her didn’t live out their dreams; they’re killed by their lab-grown mistakes first—but life has a funny way of surprising her.
It felt so far removed from Louisiana that she could hardly believe its real. She spent the entire summer walking on egg shells, waiting for the other shoe to drop, yet with each passing day it never did. Still, it’s difficult for her to fully shake her disquietude.
Regardless of her problems, she was glad to see Ethan easily settle into domestic life. When they had to relocate, she had been expecting more pushback, maybe even his breaking point. She was the reason they had to move, after all; she didn’t think their marriage would survive it, not after everything she put him through. As despairing as it was, she fully expected him to leave; at least then he’d get to stay with his family and friends and everyman’s job. He didn’t have to uproot his entire life for her, but he did anyway. He hadn’t even complained—he had been willing to leave everything behind just to be with her, even if that meant being legally dead to the world. In hindsight, perhaps that should’ve been her first red flag, but she was too amazed by his agreement to look further. She considered it a miracle. How lucky she was to have a husband as devoted as him.
Even now, she doesn’t understand why he never questioned her when all was said and done. He had been so adamant in Dulvey, so furious—demanding to know what was going on and why. She knows he visited the labs, saw what her former employers were doing, and what she had done. In some limited capacity, he had to know, yet he never asked. Maybe the B.S.A.A fed him an astounding lie, or maybe he took too many knocks to the head. Either way, she wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Whether he accepted an untruth or simply forgot in the heat of the moment is a nonissue for her.
And, as horrible as it was to admit, she can’t help but hope that information, wherever it was rattling inside his skull, was gone entirely. She wanted a clean slate, an opportunity to start over without the Connections looming over them. She didn’t want to be an enforcer, or a weapon trafficker—she just wanted to be Mia Winters, loving wife to her husband, Ethan Winters. There was no doubt in her mind that it was a selfish want, that she didn’t deserve it, but if the opportunity was so sweetly presenting itself, was it so wrong to take it? She didn’t think so. If anything, she thought she’d be a fool not to. Bliss was indefinite, fickle, and temporary—she was willing to indulge while she could.
Besides, Ethan was the happiest she’d seen him in months. She thought he’d carry some baggage, carrying over trauma that they’d spend the rest of their lives living with, but he had been nothing short of thrilled during the moving process.
His keenness seemed odd at the time, but it had been easy to dismiss as relief, knowing they’d finally have some semblance of normalcy in the form of a home. Louisiana took everything from him: his apartment, his privacy, and very nearly his life. Even after the official debriefings, separate questionings, and endless medical examinations for the both of them, she’d still catch him staring into nothing at times, the corners of his mouth dipping as he wrestled with his thoughts. There had been a heaviness to him then, grief maybe—something intense—that she couldn’t dispel no matter how desperately she wished to.
She sympathized with his desire to get their life back on track. Even if it was just a distraction, it was a welcome one, and it certainly had its intended effect. The heaviness dissipated, and he eagerly threw himself into home life. His enthusiasm was infectious, quelling any of her concerns and doubts. She was swept away in his ardor. Not a day went by where he wasn’t doing something around the house, orbiting just within her vicinity. He unpacked most of their boxes in only a couple of days, meticulously placing the knick-knacks and baubles they’ve collected over their marriage on shelves and dressers. He assembled a majority of the furniture himself, too. He’s always enjoyed working with his hands, tinkering with his car or fixing unruly technology. Furnishings weren’t exactly in his realm of expertise, but he took to it with gusto. He seemed to especially focus whenever he caught her watching, her sweet boy. He liked being seen as capable, and she’s sure the few times he spotted her shamelessly ogling him went straight to his head, but she hardly minded. Hard labor looks good on a man, and she was more than happy to boost his confidence. They’re rebuilding their lives in a whole new country, let him have a peacock’s strut. She loved seeing him look so pleased.
When he wasn’t toiling in the house, a lot of his time was spent following her into the village, trailing after her with a dopey, love-struck look on his face, as she dragged him from stall to stall. Despite all their years of marriage, and all the ugliness that came with it, he still looked at her like she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. He knew how to make her feel special. She’s certain she’d overhead a few older village women tittering from his expression alone, quietly gossiping in Romanian when they passed. If she were younger, and still cared what people thought of them, she might’ve thought his behavior embarrassing, but instead she’s simply flattered. Not many women can say that they have such an adoring husband. She also happened to find it cute—he reminded her of a puppy, padding behind her, hand in hand.
It’s sweet, it’s romantic. She thought nothing of it. He loved her, and wanted to spend time with her even after everything. She didn’t consider him clingy or too-much, just affectionate. That’s how Ethan had always been, loving and considerate. Especially after all the time they spent apart, she couldn’t fault him for wanting to spend time together. She wanted the same.
Perhaps the first vestiges of strangeness appeared a few weeks later during scheduled B.S.A.A check-in. Given they were in witness protection, it was customary for officials to pop in every other week, if only to see how they were settling in and if all was well. It wasn’t ideal; Mia would much rather not have military men at their door, disrupting their otherwise ordinary lives, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. It was for their security, and she was fortunate enough for them to grant her a plea deal—denoting her as another unfortunate victim than an instigator. Sometimes the check-ins only consisted of Chris, other times he’d bring his squad. Today was the latter.
Their visitors arrived shortly after noon. The muffled sound of tired crunching across gravel could be heard from where Ethan and Mia lounged in the living room, followed by the low, indistinct murmuring of voices and the heavy slam of car doors. Ethan rose to his feet immediately, cutting across the room to swiftly pad into the foyer. The seemingly permanent smile plastered on his face twitched when he peeked through the spyhole, and he took a stalling moment to adjust his coat before opening the door to greet their guests.
Mia doesn’t bother moving from her position on the couch, comfortably lounging with an elbow propped on the couch’s arm. If anything, she stretched out further without Ethan occupying the other cushion, extending her legs to lay more firmly on her side, soaking up the body heat he left behind. Sunshine filters through the curtains, and she’s content to bask in its warmth in lieu of her personal heater’s temporary departure. She admires Ethan’s, somewhat stilted, willingness to play host; there’s only a few people it could be, and she’s glad someone has the energy to entertain military-types for the next half hour. Still, she’s already anticipating their leave—she’s sorely disappointed their spooning has been interrupted, and based on her husband’s slight disgruntlement, she dared say he felt similarly.
Though they both know who it is, Ethan called out nevertheless, vaguely motioning for their arrivals to wipe off their shoes on the welcome mat before entering.
“Mia, Chris is here!” He paused, looking over the additional tag-alongs. His brow imperceptibly furrowed; even from her limited view, she saw the muscles in his jaw clench. “…And he brought guests.”
If Chris and his team were disheartened by Ethan’s lukewarm reception, they certainly didn’t show it. At the very least, Mia was pleased to see them not in uniform for this visit. Those tacky suits and badges only reminded her of the isolating nature of the move, their relocation being one of force rather than the romantic getaway she preferred pretending it was.
Chris was still unmistakably Chris, sporting the same familiar, broad shoulders and towering, mountain man physique. He carried himself with the stiff confidence of a soldier, but the outfit he’s wearing—civilian clothes, a regular black T-shirt and dark cargo shorts—softens his image to a nearly comical degree. The sight is almost enough to make Mia do a double take when he stepped into the foyer. She didn’t think she'd ever seen him outside of his tactical gear, or the trench coat he was so fond of lately. It was so surprising that she likened it to spotting a unicorn in the wild—a man-shaped, grizzly bear-like unicorn.
She stifled a snort at her private joke, but had to narrow her lips into a thin line to keep from audibly laughing when the rest of his team entered. Evidentially, while some members of Chris’s squad dress better than others, each one looking wildly out of their element. A few of them bored slightly awkward stances, trekking behind Chris with too-wide, combat boot gaits whilst donning the gaudiest Hawaiian shirts Mia had ever seen. They’re fashion catastrophes, mismatched colors galore. Without their equipment, they more so resembled an odd hiking club than an elite military squadron. It made them look kind of charming in a way. Ethan seemed to think so too, as she spotted him dramatically looking Chris up and down, remarking something to the other that Mia couldn’t make out. If she had to guess: something teasing. Whatever he said, it made the corners of Chris’s mouth curve into a barely there smile.
Everyone filters into the living room one by one, each dogged by the faint scent of gunpowder and cheap, hastily sprayed cologne. They each politely greet Mia, whether with words or respectful nods of their heads, and occupy various spots around the room. Three of them take the opposite couch, cramped close enough that their knees touch. Another appears content to lean back against the wall. The last—Tundra, if Mia remembered correctly, props herself on the arm of the couch Mia’s draped over.
From there, the usual pleasantries are exchanged. As tedious as the process was, it happened frequently enough that she scarcely registered it as an intrusion anymore. Life comes with many inconveniences; this is one of many. They’d arrive, they’d ask questions, they’d confirm the Winters were alive and healthy, not-so-subtly press Mia about the consequences of recontacting her former employers, not that she ever would, and then they’d leave. At least they’d usually have the decorum to question her in private rather than in front of her husband. It’s merely routine, and today is no different.
Ethan funneled in behind all of them, reclaiming his spot on the couch, and forcing her to tuck her knees to keep him from accidentally crushing her calves. Once he’s seated, she’s quick to reassume her lazy posture, stretching her legs outward across Ethan’s lap, because she’ll be damned before she disrupts her coziness for Chris Redfield. Ethan doesn’t even react when she does, absently resting a palm on her clothed thigh.
Conversation was polite, dry, and sparse before it drifted to the usual inquiries. Mia contributed little to the chatter; she didn’t get the chance too, squeezing in a few hmms and haws before Ethan eagerly interjected for the both of them.
Were they having any problems? He answered with a resounding, almost appalled: of course not!
Any suspicious activity? No.
Did they need supplies? She wasn’t given the time to consider it before another negative left his lips.
Was the village treating them well? Yes.
It’s the usual stuff, and their answers were always the same regardless. If he wanted to do the talking, she was pleased to let him. It seemed like he was trying to get them out quickly, the charmer. There was something faintly amusing about watching him take charge of the dialogue. He’s never been especially talkative before Dulvey—he was more of an introvert, content to fade into the background, and allow louder personalities to carry discussions while he quietly lingered at her side, which suited Mia just fine; she never particularly concerned herself with company either. Now, however, he appeared determined to account for every aspect of their lives himself. She suspected it traced to her three year disappearance, manifesting presently as a keenness for structure. He must appreciate their newly fledged normalcy as much as she does.
The strangeness appears just as the questions are wrapping up. Chris asked Ethan for something—some kind of paperwork, residency documentation and a medical addendum. She was vaguely aware of him slaving over records in the study a couple of nights ago, eyes squinted so hard she thought he’d go cross-eyed. She had even looked them over for him, because there were fewer things worse than having to file paperwork twice.
Evidentially, Chris had come to collect. From the furrow of his brow alone, she couldn’t tell if Ethan was displeased to get up, irked their visitors’ stay was being protracted, or a combination of both. Either way, he complied regardless, patting Mia’s knee as he shrugged off her legs. The two moved toward the stairs together, their conversation fading into low, indistinct murmurings as they disappeared out of sight. Chris walked close behind him, clearly intent on following him there in what she considered an obvious attempt at poking around their bedroom. She wasn't a fool—she’s aware of his inherent distrust of her, given her history. He’s softened considerably over the course of the move, but the suspicion lingered. She didn’t fault him for it, necessarily, but it still stung. She reaped what she sowed.
When the sound of the pair faded entirely, one of the soldiers—she’d heard Chris refer to him as Canine in past visits—let out a strained huff, somewhere between a half sigh and half relief.
“Holy shit,” He muttered, barely audible. “I thought he was going to kill me.”
The soldier to his side, nicknamed Umber Eyes, sharply elbowed his companion in the ribs. “His wife’s still here, dumbass.”
Any retort seemed to die in his throat with the revelation, jerking his head to shoot Mia a tight, sheepish grin, as though he just remembered she was there.
“Sorry, Mrs. Winters. I mean no disrespect, just…” The soldier rushed to tack on. A hand awkwardly found its way to the back of his neck, flushed a faint tint of pink. “Your husband’s got quite the temper,” He shrugged, eyes pointedly bored into the coffee table.
The admission made Mia cock her head, lips pressed into a thin line. The words didn’t sound pleasant, and bordered on rumor, if not insult. Ethan didn’t have a temper. It simply wasn’t in his character. Most days, he was as ferocious as a kitten. He could be fearsome when need be; he had no problems tearing through the Bakers’ rotten remains, but that had been different—it had been fight or die. The circumstances were unnatural, and so he conjured an unnatural violence. They’re living the dream now: an ordinary life filled with ordinary things. She couldn’t imagine him getting into conflict willingly, let alone with one of Chris’s men.
Unless, of course, they did something untoward, which she found more likely. Ethan had always been protective, but it increased tenfold after Dulvey; a hair’s trigger is enough to put him on edge. Still, it’s a curious statement to make, even if intended as a joke. Her sweet Ethan couldn’t even bring himself to swat the occasional spider they found bumbling in their home.
The intrigue written on her face must be obvious, as Tundra let out a barking laugh at her comrade’s expense.
“It’s nothing bad, Mrs. Winters. Canine, on behalf of the B.S.A.A, made your husband an offer. Standard, really” Tundra grinned, straightening as Canine sunk further into the cushion. “Witness protection can be rough on couples. Close quarters, the isolation…it’s easy to get on each other’s nerves. Sometimes couples need a break from one another. Canine decided to let Winters know that the B.S.A.A keeps guest quarters in the barracks, and that either of you were welcome to use them. Winters had not liked the idea.”
Mia blinked. That was…less than she expected. It seemed like a reasonable enough suggestion, even thoughtful. Sometimes couples needed space, and Ethan and her were no exception. She’d assume the B.S.A.A made the same offers to others under their protection; uprooting their old life and moving across the world wasn't exactly conducive to marital stability. She could imagine plenty of couples snapping at one another under the strain. Before Louisiana, she distinctly remembered moments where Ethan would drive her up the wall and vice versa, especially after their wedding jitters wore off. Her ‘babysitting job’ hadn’t helped matters either. She needed both hands to count the amount of times one of them stormed off during whatever argument they were having that week, recouping only after they both had sufficient time to cool off.
Things have been better since, however. A lot better. Her and Ethan hadn’t argued once since the move, and she, perhaps foolishly, hoped it stayed that way. Their previous, nightmare-ish circumstances aside, she knew now that there was truth in the phrase: distance made the heart grow fond. She certainly missed him during her absence, so much that it hurt, and it seemed like he missed her just as much. Their reunion had been nothing short of a dream, as though their honeymoon had been enthusiastically rekindled. They were going steady despite everything, family planning and settling in.
It’s possible that he just overreacted to the idea. It sounded innocent, harmless. They likely wouldn’t even need to make use of it. If she squinted, she can sort of see how he might’ve taken it poorly. Maybe it implied something bad about their homelife, that their marriage wasn't going well or was expected to fail. Under those lenses, the suggestion might’ve upset her too, but it felt like a stretch, and it didn’t make sense for him to still be angry weeks later. Ethan didn’t hold grudges, she knew that personally, and it wasn’t a big deal.
“He already didn’t appreciate the suggestion, and the way genius over here phrased it didn’t help,” Tundra continued, snickering through her teeth. “Told him that if you ever got tired looking at his mug, we’d happily take you off his hands.”
Canine’s expression twisted into a grimace, looking down at the couch cushions as though willing them to swallow him whole. “Sorry again, Mrs. Winters. It was supposed to be a joke, but it was in poor taste,” He told her quickly, eyes darting anywhere but her. His face was beet red, and she couldn’t help but feel a modicum of sympathy for him. It didn’t sound that bad—certainly crude, but she’d heard worse. It’s the type of joke she’d expect from military types. It seemed like an attempt to break ice rather than any genuine innuendo. Everything about Ethan screamed 'traditional man', from the smartness of his dress to the way he carried himself. Maybe the other sincerely thought a ball and chain joke would make him laugh. Either way, it definitely wasn’t worth getting angry over. Ethan normally didn’t react much to boorish humor beyond a polite, awkward laugh and quietly shuffling away, avoiding a scene whenever possible. His temper may be more volatile than she thought nowadays, but she chalked it up to protectiveness. Of course he would dislike the notion of being separated from her, especially when it’s being offered by another man. It was sweet, if a bit intense and misplaced.
“No shit,” Umber Eyes rolled his eyes. “Saying that to a married man about his spouse. You’re lucky the Captain grabbed him before he could pop you.”
Pop him, as in fight?
The idea immediately struck her as somewhat absurd. Ethan wasn’t violent, not inherently. He could be, when push came to shove, but this was barely a push, and he surely wasn’t foolish enough to scuffle with soldiers—trained, battle-hardened soldiers who hunt bioweapons for a living. He’d lose terribly, or worse, hurt himself. As much as she tolerated Chris’s squad, from her limited experience, servicemen tended to have itchy trigger fingers, and she’d hate to see Ethan get injured.
Within the shameful privacy of her thoughts, however, she admits that there’s something a little exciting in that—not the idea of her sweet husband being injured, but the possessiveness. Obviously, jealousy wasn’t usually a good look, but Ethan had a particular way of making the uglier sides of himself endearing. Or, perhaps she was easily enamored. It’s not like Ethan had anything to warrant being jealous over; they were married, they’ve been married, and she had no intentions of leaving him. Till death did they part and all. Still, it made her feel desired in some fucked up way that she’d surely have to unpack with her government assigned therapist at some point in the future, but not today. It meant she was still wanted, for however long he’d have her. Someday, he will recognize that he threw his entire life away for a monster. He will realize that her inner demons were right about her all along, that she was selfish, and cowardly, and weak. When it happened, she didn’t doubt he’d leave her, but until then, she guiltily contented herself to soak up his affection like a parasite, those little proofs of his unerring devotion. It soothed a nasty, insecure part of her; the part that wanted his constant reassurance that everything wasn't completely her fault.
A touch of concern must show on her face, as Tundra was swift to add: “Nothing serious happened, Mrs. Winters. He calmed down once the Captain intervened. Seems a little protective is all, but that’s understandable after what you both went through. Canine’s just terrible with civilians, evidently.”
The words were a little settling, though she’d realistically prefer Ethan not picking fights at all, however secretly flattering. She liked her husband in one piece, and without a bullet in his brain, however unlikely the possibility.
She wasn’t given the opportunity to inquire further before the sound of creaking stairs resonated throughout the house, old wood sagging under weight. She could hear the soft, indecipherable murmurings of Ethan threaded alongside Chris’s rough grunts of acknowledgement. The entire squad straightened, assuming an air of normalcy so thin Mia pitied their attempt. She supposed they didn’t want to be reprimanded for barn talk.
A second later, both men appeared, Ethan leading with Chris following close behind. The captain’s eyes swept across the room when he entered, glancing from Mia to the couch, and then back again. There was no way he didn’t notice their poorly constructed front, tucking a tan folder under one tree-trunk sized forearm.
“Everything good down here?”
“Peachy!” Canine gave him a too-tight smile, splotches of embarrassed pink still licking up his neck.
Chris huffed, amused, but Ethan shot him a look, eyes narrowing just enough to show displeasure. Maybe he really had been glaring at him during the entire check-in, but it’s nothing she gave a second thought to. He’d calm himself down, and if he didn’t, she would. Better not be on bad terms with their current guardians and keepers.
From there, the rest of the check-in was short and proceeded as usual. They exchanged parting pleasantries as the squad gathered their things, and Mia stood to see them out, politely shaking each of their hands as they filed into the foyer. Chris briefly paused in the doorway, offering one last reminder about the medical addendum—a document Ethan apparently misplaced—before marching out the door. His squad followed behind.
Canine, still looking faintly mortified, offered Mia another mumbled apology before Tundra lightly smacked him on the back of the head and shoved him towards the car.
Once their house had been cleared out, Ethan’s posture sagged immediately. He stilled at the door, listening for the exact moment the car pulls out from the driveway, before turning to her. The earlier expression on his face is absent, replaced by the familiar softness of his cheeks and the slight quirk of a smile. He looked more than pleased with himself.
“What?” She asked, smiling despite herself. His joy was infectious. He was practically the sunshine of her world.
He moved to stop directly in front of her, hands settling at her waist as he leaned close enough to brush his lips to her temple.
“Nothing,” He hummed into her skin, “Just glad they’re gone.”
Later that afternoon, while they were both sitting at the dining table, she decided to ask him about the incident at the barracks. She mostly wanted to give him a chance to explain himself, but there’s some idle curiosity, and slight amusement in it, too. As attractive as jealousy is on him, she hated the idea of him feeling insecure in their marriage far more. The last thing she ever wanted to make him feel was regret; if she could leave him with only a few good memories of her, she hoped their time together was one of them.
She was careful to pose the question kindly, more of a conversational nudge than prying inquiry. Yet, his shoulders stiffed the second she spoke. He went quiet for an awkward moment, the only sound in the room being the soft clink of his knife as it scraped his plate, cutting through the meat—a tenderloin she was quite proud of, glistening with caramelized lacquer. The dip of his mouth was unmistakable, curving down as though he tasted something sour. His expression alone almost made her regret bringing it up, and she was fully prepared to walk it back before he answered with a stilted shrug, pink decorating his cheeks.
“…It was just a strange thing to say.” With his free hand, he fidgeted with his wedding band, thumbing along its curve. Afternoon light slanted through the far window in golden strips, making the polished silver twinkle. He looked especially handsome in the warm glow, soft and domestic at the edges.
“We survived everything together, and I just got you back. Why would we want separate rooms? And the way he talked about you…” The tip of his nail found the edge of the diamond, digging hard enough to leave small impressions in his skin. “It felt like they were implying something about us—about our marriage.” His expression pinched, and she saw a muscle in his jaw twitch, pulled taut.
“And that—” He continued. His knife pressed down harder into the pork with a soft scrape, slicing tissue.
“Is none—” He cut another piece away, smaller this time.
“Of their—” Scrape.
“Business.” Scrape, scrape, scrape—until the loin was massacred on his plate, pale juices pooling below each fresh cut.
His mounting frustration was a little jarring to witness, but she found the sentiment behind it to be sweet. To her, it easily confirmed the root of the matter: protectiveness, and that was workable. Having spent so many years separated, the idea of willingly spending time apart must come across as absurd. And Ethan had always been a private person; she couldn’t fault him from growing irritable with the B.S.A.A’s ever prying eyes—she had her fair share of testiness with the government’s watchfulness, however deserved it may be on her end. It’s saddening to see Ethan wrestling with her mistakes, but it fueled her resolve to make it up to him somehow. Despite their situation, she fully planned on reclaiming some sort of normalcy, for her and her husband.
As much as she agreed with him, she still saw fit to at least try to soothe his exasperation. She doubted it would ever come to a point of escalation; Ethan wasn't that kind of man, but it was better to go ahead and nip it in the bud while they were on the topic. The B.S.A.A couldn’t keep them forever, but whilst they were in custody, it was smarter to keep things as clean as possible.
Her lips quirked upward in a pleasant smile. “Maybe they were just trying to be considerate, baby.” The intentions were good, if ill-considered and poorly thought out. It’s nothing Chris or his team could understand; none of them were married. Living together was one of the points of being in a committed relationship.
Ethan let out a short huff, half-amusement, half-disgruntlement. “Maybe.”
Mia watched him from beneath her lashes, trying and failing to hide her endearment. There was clear embarrassment on his face now, ears flushed red. His earnestness, however, was as absurdly charming as it has always been, and she adored how easy he was to fluster. She could feel his earlier anger simmering down, turning into something more self-conscious and manageable. His outburst, though she’d hardly call it that, evidently left him bashful, but she didn’t mind. He didn’t like losing his composure in front of her, which was a shame for him, because she loved whittling him down. If he wasn’t blushing, then she was doing a poor job as a wife. If anything, his reaction just further proved he cared. Especially if it was bothering him so much.
Not that he had to prove his devotion to begin with. He literally went to hell and back just for her.
“It was just a suggestion, honey. It doesn’t mean it’ll happen. I want to be with you for as long as you’ll let me,” She reassured him, reaching across the table to clasp his fidgeting hand into her own. She nudged his fingers apart to slot hers between his, and he let her, head tilting a fraction to the side.
“And besides,” She leaned over the table. Pink crept down his neck, as she delivered the finishing blow: “Why would I want to hang out with soldiers when I could be with the most perfect man in the whole world?”
His face instantly turned beet red, eyes darting to the side in a way that makes him look boyish. “Babe,” He laughed quietly, the sound tinged with a slight, self-deprecating quality, and rang low in his chest, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You say that like it’s true.”
“You absolutely are. At least to me,” Mia squeezed his hand once before tugging it to her lips, lazily kissing his knuckles. She’s rewarded with a coveted, stifled noise that’s practically music to her ears. Ethan is a chivalrous man, but she learned early into their relationship that he enjoyed being passionately romanced himself, and she planned on taking full advantage.
He spared a glance back at her, embarrassment mellowing into something soft and warm and pleased. “You’re the only one who’d say that.”
“Mm, I think that’s because I’m the only one with good taste,” She purred, and pulled him a little closer by the hand, just enough to coax him into a chaste kiss he eagerly leaned into. She rested her forehead against his when she withdrew, meeting his adoring gaze. “Feeling better?”
“A bit,” He hummed, lashes fluttering. A teasing smirk pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe give me another kiss and I’ll see how I’m feeling.”
An amused huff escaped her. “Ethan.” He could be smooth at times, she’d give him that.
He shot her a look far too cheeky for his own good, and she made a mental note to wipe the smugness off his face later, preferably in the bedroom. Regardless, she rose to her feet to collect both their plates, scraping the remains of Ethan’s thoroughly butchered dinner into the bin and depositing the rest in the sink. She’ll do them in the morning. He had her a little more than distracted now.
Mention of the barracks slips her mind, fading into irrelevant background noise. The matter was settled. It was no big deal.
The rest of summer passed by in bursts, some days livelier than others. A few images stood out in her immediate memory: honeyed rays peeking through the curtains, the homely smell of coffee grounds in the morning, and evenings championed by the chirping songs of crickets and toads. Yet with each change of the scenery in her mind’s eye, Ethan remained a faithful constant in all of them. There was not a single recollection where he was absent. He was always there, hovering in some way or another, whether that be in the foreground or the background. Sometimes it was literal, other times less so. Most days, he was a gentle presence at her shoulder, and that was easy enough to overlook. He had always liked being near her; he liked to touch and be touched, and the small act of merely existing in each other’s presence delighted him. Quality time was one of his cherished love languages.
If she was outside, then he was outside minutes after, insisting on doing yard work, or offering to help her with the garden. If she was indoors, slumped in a cozy chair, then he’d eventually join her, perusing through a book thoughtlessly plucked from the shelf. If she dozed on the living room couch, basking in the sun’s warmth, she’d surely wake to Ethan snoozing softly beside her, tucked firmly against her side. She lived and breathed Ethan, all of the time, at every second of the day. It was overwhelming at times. He was affectionate before her disappearance, but he clung to her with a sort of dogged devotion now. It could be, admittedly, a lot, but she always tried to meet him halfway, lovingly accepting his presence each and every time he inevitably appeared. He was simply being sweet, the least she could do was be sweet in return.
So, without fail, she accepted his help with the garden. She asked him how his day was when he sat with her despite knowing they’ve both been in the house all day. She wrapped her arms around him the best she could when she found him asleep beside her, running her fingers through his hair. He’d done nothing but show his commitment, and it deserved to be repaid. It was obvious that he missed her. He spent a long time separated, and now wished to make up for lost time; each action is rooted with love and good intentions. It was charming, if a touch excessive, but Ethan never did anything with half measures.
His most recent display was when she needed to make a quick run to the grocery store. It hadn’t been for anything big, just a milk carton. The meal she wanted to make for the night required a few cups, and she didn’t realize they were out until that morning. With how fast she expected the trip to be, she hadn’t felt the need to tell Ethan. Ideally, she’d be back before he even realized she was gone. Yet, she barely managed to reach the bend in the road before she heard his voice ringing out behind her, catching up in only a minute.
He was panting by the time he reached her, brow creased in far more anxiety than the situation called for. She wasn’t given the chance to speak before he was shaking his head, erupting in a rush: “Don’t disappear like that.”
She assured him it was only a store run, watching the tension bleed from his shoulders immediately. Still, he told her that she ought to at least leave him a note if she planned on wandering off somewhere, and Mia teased him for fretting, coyly asking if she should wear a collar and bell if he wanted tabs on her so badly. His face turned that familiar shade of rose-pink she loved, that was that. He provided a few stammered explanations—that he was worried something happened, that the empty house spooked him—but it wasn’t anything Mia thought twice about.
It wasn’t until hours after, as she quietly put the milk away, that she mused longer than a second, digesting it. She wondered, if fleetingly, whether his behavior could be a cause for concern, one of those unspoken ‘cries for help’ her therapist told her about. He couldn’t seem to stand her absence, even temporarily, and as blind and biased as she was towards him, the signs of dependency were becoming more and more prevalent. It could easily lead to worse—codependency, entanglement—if she weren’t careful, and she’d rather bash her brains into the wall before tainting him further.
There was, of course, a selfish part of her that squirmed at the possibility. It suggested that maybe, maybe, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Given the garden of lies she cultivated, their relationship is surely on a time limit, a clock counting down the seconds before everything falls apart. He’d certainly leave her then, but if he wants her, needs her, maybe he won’t. It was a horrible thought, and she purged it before it could even take root. It made her guts twist with guilt. How could she even dare think of her Ethan that way? He already deserved better.
Her heart and brain ached thinking about it. So, she did what she always does—she wiped her hands of it, shirked any responsibility she might have. Ethan could do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t wrong for a husband to love his wife too much.
She banished the idea from her mind entirely. No need to focus on manufactured problems. She adjusted like she always did.
The thought only crossed her mind again days later, in the dead of night, and even then, it was foggy at best.
She was stirred quietly from sleep, lids drowsily sagging closed as she half-heartedly fought to open them. She couldn’t say what exactly woke her—her hair hadn’t stood on end, nor had her skin prickled with goose flesh. Her legs didn’t itch with the urge to run and tuck herself into the tightest corner she could find, cowering from threats long gone. Nothing screamed: danger! She didn’t wake frightened or tangled in the sheets from a passing night terror. She woke feeling not much of anything, yet not emptiness—a rare moment of contentment in mind and body.
Their bedroom was dark, but comfortably so, bathed in the soft, dark blue and black of night. Gentle moonlight spilled through the curtains onto their bed in silver strips, casting crooked rectangles along the sheets. Beside her, the mattress dipped with the weight of another body. The atmosphere was nice and comfortable, domestic and wholly hers. It wasn’t often she could sleep without nightmares plaguing her unconsciousness, providing a much-coveted peace. In her sleepy malaise, it was almost enough to inspire a shimmer of hope within her. Perhaps time could heal all wounds, and they could reclaim normality. She could be normal; she didn’t have to suffer forever from her mistakes, or spend her nights waking in cold sweats.
The hope is short-lived as she turns her head just so, catching a glimpse of something in the gloam that nearly made her choke on her own saliva. Leering over her prone form was the angular planes of a face, obscured by blackness. It was gaunt in the darkness, shadows pooling into grooves and creases, sharpening its outline. The glint of eyes was its most prominent feature, glossy blue and pale as a corpse. Despite the dimness, they seemed to glow; they stared down at her with a feverish intensity, glittering with emotion she couldn’t identify.
Her mind, a traitorous, paranoid thing, belayingly filled in the gaps: high cheekbones, glasses perched on a hooked nose. For a moment, she was so convinced it was Jack—Daddy, who somehow, someway survived all the way to Romania—that she reared her arm back as far as it could feasibly go from her position, and aimed for the nose. Her offense proved pitifully ineffective. Her limbs were still heavy with sleep, and her voyeur easily dodged it, jerking to avoid her swing. She was preparing another wind-up when he quietly laughed and carefully clasped her wrists in two large palms, brushing fingers over her knuckles.
“It’s me, baby,” He said placatingly, devoid of the accent she’s come to associate with raw terror. “It’s Ethan.”
When her hind-brain finally caught up, her first coherent thought was: oh, thank god. The adrenaline fueling her dissipated immediately, allowing her arms to go limp in his hands. The added clarity of his voice painted a clearer picture; the slopes of his visage rounded off, the edges less ragged and blurry, and the misplaced mania in his eyes dissolved in the dark. Yet, that feverish quality, something she had never associated with him, remained.
“Jesus, Ethan,” She startled. She made a half-hearted attempt to place a hand over her diaphragm, if only to urge her breaths to slow, but Ethan only cinched tighter on her wrists.
Her second thought, however, was so colored with guilt that it instantly took priority. Accident or not, how could she nearly hurt her dear husband, her sweet Ethan? She’d never forgive herself if she gave him a black eye.
“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to do that. You scared me,” She blurted out, fighting the urge to sink back into the mattress out of exhaustion and shame.
“No, baby, it’s fine,” He answered, and she could hear the smile in his voice, if not see his expression. At least he took her freak out well. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I just…wanted to look at you, that’s all.” His last sentence came out with a slight stutter, words running together as though he were hoping she wouldn’t catch them. From his grip, she felt his skin radiating heat. In the back of her mind, she wondered if he was ill.
Nevertheless, the admission isn’t too staggering. Ethan had always had a bit of a staring problem; it was partly how they met. In college, she had gotten so fed up with him—a stranger then—staring at her in class that she confronted him after, demanding to know what the hell his problem was. It hadn’t been subtle either. He had big, puppy-dog eyes; she noticed him staring holes into the back of her head from across the entire lecture hall. It wasn’t until he stammered out that he thought she was cute that she finally let up. She originally thought he was a creep, or some weirdo, and maybe those things were somewhat true, but they’re endearing qualities more than anything nowadays. He’d still stare when she wasn’t looking, looking at her like she hung the moon and stars. It was kind of amazing; despite everything, he looked at her like she was the most important thing in the world. If she wasn’t the reason they were in witness protection to begin with, her ego would be brimming. Instead, it made her feel like an imposter—she wasn’t the woman he thought she was. She couldn’t ever be.
Personally, Mia didn’t understand what was so fascinating about her. She could understand admiring someone—she admired Ethan often, committing his face to memory whenever the light hit him just right. There was a time at the Bakers when she couldn’t recall his appearance at all, simply a blankness where his face once was. She wailed over her burning memory then, weakly consoling herself in thinking that it’d at least keep him safe, which turned out to have not been true in the end. Now, she’d gaze at him whenever she got the chance, silently vowing to keep his image in her mind’s eye. Even after three years, he hadn’t forgotten her, and it was only polite to return the favor. Maybe he felt similarly, but she preferred ogling him during the daytime, when she could see him. Their room was nearly pitch-black. Unless he could see her in the dark, there wasn’t much of her to view.
But Mia has always been indulgent of him and his habits. She simply couldn’t help herself. It was a slightly disquieting feeling coming from her own husband, but manageable. If he wanted to watch her, in the albeit limited way he could, then she wouldn’t stop him.
“Look at me? You know, if you take a picture, it’ll last longer.” She teased instead, tucking herself more firmly under the covers. It took some awkward maneuvering; Ethan still held her hands and didn’t seem keen on letting her go anytime soon, but she made it work.
She heard Ethan chuckle fondly. “I prefer the real deal. It just makes me feel better, knowing you’re here. I don’t—it doesn’t feel right otherwise.”
Ah. There it was. She knew he didn’t take her disappearance well—he spent three years searching, grieving, and hoping all at once. He told her he’d put up missing posters while burying an empty coffin. That he’d visit the station every single day until the officers had to physically force him out. How he’d stay up late just waiting for her to come home, and that was only a fraction of the physical toll. He never said it explicitly, likely not wanting to feed into her guilt, but she knew his health suffered. When she first saw him at the estate, she couldn’t believe it was really him. She hadn’t wanted to, and with how skinny he was, she thought him a stranger. The button-up he used to fill out sat draped over his torso, too-big sleeves hanging at the shoulders, and a little death around the eyes.
Dulvey damaged both of them in different ways. He was afraid she’d vanish, and that was understandable. She had similar fears, nightmares where she’d wake up back at the Baker house with him dead beneath her, body gouged from a chainsaw. It wasn’t exactly the same, but close. She sympathized.
She twisted towards him, raising her hands to cup his cheeks. His grip on her wrists loosened accordingly; his fingers trailed down her arm, resting at her elbow. Mia coaxed him down, his head to hers, and pressed a gentle peck to his lips. He permitted her, eyes fluttering shut with a hum. His long eyelashes nearly tickled her skin.
When she pulled away, her nose brushed his. “I’m not going anywhere.” She stifled a yawn, the tempting lull of sleep tugging at her. “You’re stuck with me forever. No take backs.” Or, for as long as he’d have her. Ethan eased his weight onto her, nuzzling into the junction of her collar. It was enough to push a breath from her chest, but she didn’t move to push him off; he was a comforting weight, like a living safety blanket.
“Good,” He murmured, sliding an arm from her elbow to her waist, and wrapping snugly around her middle. His thumb drew absent circles into her hip. “I don’t want any take backs.”
Mia let out a muffled, contented noise into his hair, inhaling faint traces of balsam and moss. One of her hands found itself draped over the back of his neck, nails lightly scraping the baby hairs at his nape. The other rested along the small of his back, absently counting the knobs in his vertebrae. A drowsy warmth settled over her as her thoughts began to blur together at the edges, eyes slipping shut. She was dimly aware of Ethan speaking to her, lips moving against her skin, but the words slur in her ears before she can catch them. He shuffled in place, craning his neck to plant a kiss to her temple.
Then, muffled against her crown, he mumbled a hushed: “Never leave me again.”