Chapter Text
"It's like I'm the only one who's even trying anymore!"
As Candace paces away, Edwin draws a knee up to his chest. His back aches with every muscle twitch, the hard carpeting digging through his rumpled slacks. There is more than one chair in his wife’s office, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to sit in them. After all, he can’t say that Candace is wrong.
“People are dying!”
Candace’s cheeks flush with anger, her expression filled with a drive he can’t hope to match. Her hair has been pulled into a frazzled bun, and the lines across her forehead are stark. There are dark bruises underneath her eyes. She hardly sleeps anymore. Her lips are cracked, sweat shimmering on her forehead from a fever that won’t come down.
“Oh, God…” Edwin drops his forehead onto his knee, his chest tight with despair. “Please, no…”
“Do you even care?!”
Edwin jerks upright. His eyes bulge, and his heart pounds. He isn’t in Candace’s office. He’s sitting at a desk in the main computer room. An alarm blares throughout the facility, each shriek digging further into his skull until he can’t breathe. He reaches for the off switch with a trembling hand, when he sees the live feed of the blockaded entrance.
There’s a little girl standing in front of the main door.
He stands up, swaying so hard that he has to grab the desk to keep from falling. Her hair hangs in a pale waterfall around slim shoulders. His hands clench, throat tightening with panic. He feels hot all over, his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.
“No…” Edwin slumps, tears burning his eyes. “Go away.” He can still feel little toes curling against his fingers. “You’re not real…”
When he looks up, the girl is still there. Her hair is not the blond he saw a heartbeat ago, it's dark on the colorless security camera. He can’t tell how old she is from the monitor, but he’d guess around nine or ten, more fluffy curls than anything else. She’s sobbing so hard in between banging on the door that she chokes on each breath. If the infected aren’t already following her, they’ll be drawn by the noise. She’ll be torn apart long before he reaches the entrance.
Edwin lunges away from the desk, cold sweat breaking out across his skin. The chilled air of the CDC whips across his face as he sprints up the ramp and down the hall that leads to the elevator. His automatic rifle hangs on a hook beside it, untouched since his last trip above. After Candace’s death, he hadn’t ever planned to use it again. Edwin is glad he didn’t bother putting it away as he slings it over his shoulder.
He rushes inside the elevator, shouting for VI to take him to the top floor. As the doors slide shut and VI responds with an affirmative, Edwin slumps against the railing. He knows that he needs to get his breathing under control or he won’t be able to aim with any accuracy. He could already be too late. Maybe he’ll get there just in time to watch a little girl be ripped to shreds. When he swallows, saliva slides thick down the back of his throat.
The moment the elevator opens, Edwin sprints across the lobby. He stops just long enough to input the door code and lifts the gun into position. The security door slides up in a rush, and sunlight blinds him. The smell hits him next, and despite working regularly with bodies, refrigerated flesh cannot compare to organs, skin, and viscera left to bake under the sun for days on end.
As the glare clears from his eyes, Edwin’s gaze drops to the child before him. Her skin is a warm russet, her hair a dark brown, her round face smudged with sweat and dirt. They stare at one another in shocked silence. Before Edwin can find his voice, she turns away, taking a step back towards the field of bodies the military left in its wake. A woman with dark brown skin is there, her elegant features mirrored in her daughter’s face. An enormous herd follows close on her heels.
“No!” Edwin reaches forward, catching the edge of the child’s shirt. “Get inside!”
She wails, twisting in his grip as he struggles to drag her back. The middle-aged woman limps faster despite the agony twisting across her face. Blood pounds in Edwin’s ears as he drags the child back against his chest. She thrashes harder, his grip starts to slip, and with a bellow he heaves her inside the CDC.
He lifts his gun as he turns, gritting his teeth while he tries to pick out a target. It’s hard to aim with precision when using an assault rifle. They are good when fighting humans, but not so great when anything but a head shot is a waste of a bullet.
The woman stumbles.
They swarm her before he can blink away the sweat stinging his eyes. Her screams break through the ringing in Edwin’s ears. His throat tightens, pain raking through his chest as he lifts the gun. Bullets spray across the growing pile of infected. Her shrieks cut off, but the dead are still coming, swiftly approaching the main doors.
Edwin steps back, reaching out to the side and pressing the button to shut the doors. They slam down, closing him and the little girl inside. The roar of the dead is muted, and as Edwin’s adrenaline crashes, he sinks to his knees.
The girl gets to her feet. She stares at the closed doors, her expression empty. Edwin looks away as she walks over to them, resting one hand against the metal. After a minute, she crouches, shifting to lay down on the cold floor without saying a word.
“I’m… I’m sorry…” Edwin whispers, reluctantly looking up. She doesn’t respond.
He hangs his head, tears burning in his eyes. He wants to lie down like she has. He’s so tired.
He isn’t sure how long they sit there. She doesn’t make a sound, her fingers still pressed against the door. The infected bang their broken limbs against the shutters, and there’s a chance whatever is left of her mother is staggering up right now. Maybe they left enough muscle for her to scrape bloodied fingers across unyielding steel, the only thing protecting her little girl from a similar fate.
He lifts his head slowly and looks at the child in front of him. With a quiet sigh, he climbs to his feet, moving over so he can crouch down and stroke her shoulder. His shaking hand steadies the longer he traces his fingers over her tiny body. She doesn’t respond to the touch, but the warmth of her reminds him that she’s alive. He doesn’t want to be, and he can’t see why she would want to be, either, but she is. She wouldn’t be if he hadn’t…
“Come on,” he says. “We need to go downstairs. They’ll leave if we aren’t up here.”
Eventually, Edwin lifts the limp girl up, cradling her against his chest. Her head rests on his shoulder, lashes flickering against the side of his neck. Her breath comes in small, warm puffs as the elevator carries them back down into the cold depths of the earth.
“My name is Dr. Edwin Jenner,” he tells her, rubbing his fingers in the dip at the base of her back in a comforting gesture he’d used many times with his own daughter.
When she doesn’t respond, he continues by asking her for her name. She doesn’t tell him. In fact, she doesn’t say a single word to him, not as he carries her to the infirmary, not as he reluctantly checks her over for cuts and bites. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if she’s been bitten.
All he finds are scrapes and bruises, along with a fine dusting of glass shards that glitter amongst her many freckles. He sits her up on the medical bed and runs a washcloth over her from head to toe, then cleans out the scrapes with alcohol wipes.
“Sorry,” he apologises when she flinches. “I know it stings, but we wouldn’t want you to get an infection, would we?”
She tilts her head up, although she’s careful not to look at his face. Fresh tears drip in steady streams down her cheeks. She doesn’t make a sound.
“Ah…” Edwin swallows and looks away. He needs to get back to his work. He’s wasting time. This is— This is bigger than either of them.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. The girl shakes her head. “Okay, well, you could lay down if you like? We have couches, blankets…”
She nods. He comes over to the table, helping her down. He’s struck by just how small she is, her head barely reaching above his ribs. Little fingers reach up to hold onto his lab coat, clutching with an iron grip. He freezes in place, looking down and expecting smooth, blond locks. He finds dark brown curls, and the wrongness of it makes his eyes sting.
They shut the dorm rooms down early on to try and conserve power. The recreation area, however, has several different rooms set aside for privacy; areas to relax with lots of couches. He and Candace dug a cot out of storage, not that she ever slept in it. She’d go days without proper rest; he found her passed out at her desk all the time. What little she ate he brought her, and if it hadn’t been for the bathroom close by her office he wonders if she would have even remembered to drink water. He didn’t understand her obsession, not until the end. Now it's him who doesn’t sleep, who never eats. He keeps himself awake using anything available, and he works.
Edwin leads the girl to the rec area, avoiding the room he and Candace shared. He picks a smaller room with a decently sized couch and a table. There are blankets folded up on the shelves, and he grabs one to cover her.
She sits on the couch, staring at the far wall. Edwin settles on the coffee table, pulling her feet up and undoing her shoe laces. He sets each shoe to the side, tugging off her socks and placing them within her shoes so they won’t get lost.
“Get some rest, okay?” He grabs a pillow and eases her down into the cushions, tucking the blanket up over her shoulders. With a tight smile, he stands to leave.
“Nnn…”
Edwin stops, staring as the child’s face twists with grief. She squirms until one of her arms comes free, and reaches forward with a trembling hand. Her shoulders hunch, tears running so fast that they drip off her chin.
Candace gave birth in the spring, to the quietest baby Edwin had ever seen. Where most children shriek their little lungs out when they come into the world, their child lay silent in his arms, her pale eyes alight with curiosity as she took in her surroundings. He had cradled her close, cupping that bald head with an awestruck smile, and knew that he would never love anything as much as her.
A sob brings him back to the present, hands too brown, hair too dark, and skin thick with freckles. The eyes staring up at him are wide, their green standing out against the reddened background.
“Okay,” Edwin whispers. He walks over on unsteady feet, sitting down on the couch with a thud. The girl kicks the blanket away, crawling over so she can collapse with her head on his thigh. Her hand comes up to grip his leg, digging in with the strength of grief-stricken desperation. He pulls the blanket up from the floor, tucking it back over her body and rubbing a hand across her shaking shoulders.
She falls asleep eventually, fingers relaxing and then going limp. Edwin strokes her hair and closes his eyes, tears burning in the corners. His lips tug into an unwanted smile, and he has to breathe deeply to hold in sobs. With a shudder, he slumps against the couch, staring at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes. The air conditioner whirs in his ears, a cushion of white noise to ease the quiet.
He wishes he could pretend that this was before, that he was at home, and it was his daughter nestled against his side. They’d sprawl out on lazy Saturday mornings, throw the TV on and watch cartoons. Sometimes, Charlotte would fall back asleep, and Edwin would turn the TV off. He’d lay there with his little girl, stroking silvery-blond hair and watching her face twitch with dreams.
The girl he saved isn’t Charlotte. The two girls couldn’t look less alike, and yet it feels so similar. It’s a deep desire to stretch this moment out for eternity. He’d felt this way before, when the world wasn’t falling apart, but it’s also strangely new. For the first time in his life, there are no new moments ahead in which he might feel proud, content or loved. There’s nothing to look forward to anymore, besides pain.
Eventually, he drifts back to sleep, his body too tired to stay awake despite his protests. He dreams every time his eyes slide shut, his tormented mind treating him to images of his loved ones dead and dying. Even so, those dreams aren’t the worst. The worst are the ones where he saves them, because even as he clings to them he can feel wakefulness tugging on every limb. As soon as his eyes blink open, they’ll be gone. Tonight, there is a new figure.
That umber-skinned woman, with near-black eyes that glint with despair. She stands on train tracks, a shrill whistle ringing in Edwin’s ears. He waves his arms, screaming and begging for her to move, ‘God, please, don’t make me watch you die.’ She smiles, something achingly sad in her gaze, a look that says, ‘I’m so sorry, I wish I could.’ No, no please, he can still save her—
The dream shatters as Edwin jerks upright, gasping for breath. But he’s still dreaming, isn’t he? He can hear the train. The sensation of movement at his side is alarming and unexpected, and he flinches back as his gaze drops down. What—
The girl thrashes against him, legs tangled in the blankets. With a curse, he grabs the blanket, wrenching and pulling until her limbs come free. He throws it to the side, easing the trembling child onto her back.
He drops his hand to her damp curls, stroking them off her face. She whimpers, quivering against him as tears drip from tightly closed eyes. Her little fingers reach up, seizing hold of his sleeve.
What does he say to her? He can't say that it's okay, can't say that she's okay. She isn’t. He isn't. No one is.
“I’m here.”
Green eyes blink open, squinting up at him through tears that won’t stop. For the first time she looks at him head on, something searching in her gaze. It lasts for less than a heartbeat then with a wail she rolls over scrambling into his lap and throwing her arms around his neck.
Edwin wraps his own around her on instinct. The slight weight of a child sitting on his lap, the warmth of a body trembling against his chest, even the wet cheek rubbing against his neck, it's a relief. He clutches her tightly, dropping his head down to her shoulder and letting out a shaky breath.
“I’m here, baby.” His voice cracks, fingers digging into thick curls where he wants soft, flowing locks. “I’m here.”
They sit on the couch tangled around one another, until Edwin gives in to the need to relax. He eases onto his back with her sprawled over his chest and she stays clinging to him, her face hidden against his throat, arms gripping with what little strength they have.
As he strokes her quivering shoulders, Edwin reflects that he still doesn’t know her name. One glance at her face tells him she’s unlikely to share. Still, he should ask.
“Sweetie.” He reaches up to massage the back of her neck. “Can you tell me your name?” He doesn’t press her when she tenses up, trembling harder and not saying a word. “Okay. It’s okay.”
He needs to call her something. He closes his eyes as he tries to think past the fog of hunger and exhaustion weighing down his head. Her body is a reassuring weight, familiar and pleasant, even with the tears. She’s such a tiny thing.
"Mouse," he whispers, drawing back and looking down into a confused expression. He gives her a tired smile. "You're too little to be a lab rat."
The girl’s confusion fades, eyes widening. A smile flickers on her lips, followed up with a sharp giggle. Edwin stares at her in disbelief, his chest tightening with something hot and painful as she lets go of his arm to give him a thumbs up.
"Mouse," he repeats the name, bringing both of his hands up to brush over her cheeks. She leans into the touch, that small smile still flickering on her lips despite the tears, despite having to— to watch— to see—
“I’m going to take care of you,” he promises, cupping her cheeks and leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “I’m going to take care of you, Mouse.”
“How old are you?”
After that first grueling day, they fell into a comfortable pattern. She still hasn’t spoken, not a single word, but she clings to him with a desperation typically reserved for parents, and Edwin greedily accepts every touch. They eat together, sleep curled against one another, and he spends every moment he can lavishing her with all the attention he can spare.
He asks the question over vanilla yogurt, the spoon hovering halfway to her mouth. Mouse freezes, her eyes widening and her breath hitching in her throat. She isn’t mute, at least, he doesn’t think so. Not physically, anyway. She giggles and screams from the nightmares. He can’t be sure if it's a result of her recent trauma, or perhaps merely an ongoing symptom of some other condition. Either way, they do their best to work around it.
“Show me on your hands?” he suggests, reaching over to stroke between her tensed shoulders. “I’ll eat an extra bite if you do.”
He knows that he’s probably reinforcing bad habits, but she's a little underweight for her height and it's just easier to persuade her to eat by pairing it up with him taking care of his own health. She always looks so worried when he goes without.
Mouse shoots a scowl at the spoon, then gives him a long suffering sigh. She forces it into her mouth and swallows before pushing the container back towards him.
Not wanting to make her any more anxious, Edwin pops a subtly sweet spoonful of yogurt into his mouth. He makes himself swallow the lump in his throat, giving Mouse a forced smile.
She fidgets for a moment, her breath coming in quick bursts. With another grimace, she lifts stiff hands, holding out all eight fingers and two thumbs widespread. After a moment, she drops all but two fingers down.
“You’re twelve?” Edwin asks, surprise lacing his tone. She nods quickly, her shoulders slumping as she pushes out a heavy breath.
“I wouldn’t have guessed.” He pops another spoonful of yogurt into his mouth, grinning when he sees a smile flicker on her lips.
Seeing her smile is enough to push away the apathy graying out Edwin’s mind. It’s hard to work, hard to focus when all he wants to do is lay down and sleep. Mouse has become a reason to get up and stay up. Nowadays, he has to take care of her and himself before working on the cure. Being away from her is hard on both of them, but it isn’t safe in the lab.
He should have known it would never last.
Edwin’s hair is still wet from the decontamination shower, his fresh clothing clinging to his damp skin. As he sits down in front of his computer, he turns the camera on before staring at the little blinking light. He needs to say something. For some reason, he doesn’t want to, as if saying it will make it real, rather than just one more nightmare.
“The TS-19 samples are gone.” His voice comes out flat. “The tragedy of their loss cannot be overstated.” An unopened bottle of wine catches his eye, sitting beside the monitor. He left it there, the day before Mouse arrived. He grabs the bottle and the wineglass beside it.
“Those were the freshest samples I had,” he adds, taking a long drink. The bitter aftertaste lingers on his tongue. “None of... None of the other samples come close. They’re just… dead flesh. Necrotic.”
He pauses to consider the screen. “Don’t know why I’m talking, anyway,” he says as he swirls the wine. “It’s not like there’s anyone listening, is there?”
Silence echoes back at him, the soft hum of machinery the only response. Edwin snorts, draining the glass as he pushes himself up.
“Fine,” he tells the computer. “Just saves me the embarrassment. I think, tomorrow I’m going to blow my brains out—”
Mouse.
Edwin’s stomach twists, the alcohol settling harsh into his all but empty insides. With a gasp, he lurches to the side, twisting away from the computer. There’s sweat pouring down his face, and he can’t breathe. He’s going to be sick.
Mouse. What is he— Mouse—
He’s a failure. He’s such an absolute failure at everything.
He collapses onto the floor, deep sobs spilling from inside his chest. His world is dead. It died three years ago, but he’s just been limping along, tied to reality by the love he held for his little girl’s mother, and then to the promise he made to a dying woman. He broke it. He failed. Worthless.
Charlotte wanted to be a scientist working side-by-side with her parents. He thinks she’d have hated it here. His daughter was a free spirit, always up and running around. He doesn’t think he’d have become a virologist if he had known how much he would love his baby. Every hour spent away from her was pure agony.
“I’m sorry…” he whimpers, covering his face and shuddering with sobs. “I’m so sorry…”
A small hand brushes his shoulder. It takes him a heart-pounding moment to recognize Mouse. Even with tear-blurred vision he knows it's her, quietly scurrying around without ever making a sound.
He wants to throw himself into her arms, scream and cry and beg her to make it all stop. God, she's just a baby, so small that he could carry her in one arm. She doesn't deserve any of this. He should be taking care of her, not weeping on the floor.
She holds out a little plastic cup filled with water. There are sinks and cups for water in every room with little signs that proclaim, “Remember, Hydration is Healthy!” and other such trite slogans. He wants to laugh and scream and cry and beg her to never leave him, but he can’t do that, can he? Because he’s doomed her, in a day or so, she’s going to…
He takes the cup with a trembling hand, forcing himself up into a sitting position and drinking slowly. He gives her a tight smile that cracks halfway through. The plastic crumples in his grip and with a choked cry he spreads his arms. He just wants to hold her, to remind himself that she’s not gone yet, that she’s still here, that they both are.
She recoils back, eyes wide and uncertain. He drops his arms, tries to apologize through the tears. She’s a child, she shouldn’t have to comfort him.
He’s worthless.
Mouse climbs onto his lap. Her arms lock around his chest, and her cheek presses against the front of his shirt. He isn't the only one in pain, the only one crying. Tears roll down her face, and he just wants to make it go away. He wants to make everything go away. Edwin doesn't know what that means and the thought scares him.
"I'm sorry," he whimpers, grabbing the back of her head, twisting his fingers into thick curls. "I'm so sorry. I... I couldn't. I wasn't fast enough. I should have been paying attention. I... I'm so stupid."
His lips press to the center of her forehead, and he breaks completely, devolving into senseless crying and murmurs of, ‘ I'm sorry, I'm stupid, I hate myself.’ She shouldn't have to hear it. Her mother should be the one holding her.
She starts squirming in his grip. Edwin tightens his arms at first, terrified of letting her go. He relents in the end, because keeping her close when she has every right to hate him isn’t just selfish, it's wrong. He lets his arms fall, choking as he slumps down in utter despair.
Small hands seize each side of his face. He blinks in shock, staring up into equally tear-filled eyes. With a frustrated gasp, she bends down to press chapped lips to his forehead. He sits there in silence, shaking as she snuggles down and buries her face back into his neck. With a whimper, he wraps back around her, holding tight and sobbing into her thick hair. ‘ I’m so sorry.’
The proximity alarm goes off.
Edwin flinches, tightening his grip on Mouse until she squirms, a pained whine escaping her lips. It’s just the infected, it has to be. There’s no one left alive out there, Mouse was a fluke, a miracle, and he failed—
“There’s nobody here!”
The voice comes over the radio, distorted and crackling. Mouse jumps in his arms, her eyes wide with alarm. Edwin doesn’t move, he just sits there shaking his head. No, it can’t be, please.
“Then why are these shutters down?”
The group, it must be a group, bursts into an argument that the radio catches bits and pieces of. “ Walkers!” Someone shouts in warning. “ This is a dead end,” says another and it’s soon followed by, “Where are we gonna go?”
“Anywhere else,” Edwin whispers, running a hand down Mouse’s back. “Anywhere else, please…”
Mouse thrashes in his lap and with another choked sob Edwin lets her go. He doesn’t want to, but he’d never force her to stay if she needed space. He couldn’t do that to her, he—
She scrambles up, grabbing his arm and pulling. He looks at her in confusion, his gaze finally drifting to the monitor beside them. He shakes his head, trying to turn away. He can’t bring them down here and doom them, like he did with her.
“Rick, there's nobody here!” A woman speaks this time, her voice thick with fear.
“Please,” one of the men from before says, his voice close to breaking. “We're desperate. Please, help us. We have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left.”
“Just go away,” Edwin gasps, doubling over and curling in on himself. Mouse jerks on his arm harder, then abruptly lets go.
“If you don't let us in, you're killing us! Please!”
“I’m sorry,” Edwin whimpers, digging his fingers into his scalp. “I can’t. I’m— I can’t—”
“You're killing us! You're—”
Mouse screams wordlessly, her hands returning to grab at his wrist. She pulls as hard as she can, unable to so much as budge him. Her breath is taken in deep, panicked sobs like that first night when her mother…
Edwin scrambles to his feet. His fingers fly across the keyboard, typing in commands. She tried to do it herself, but she didn’t have the right code to deactivate security. Candace gave him everything before she died. He’s the only one left alive who can make this facility do anything aside from what it was programmed to.
“Stay here,” he orders, rushing away from the monitor as VI counts down. “I’ll be back!”
He dashes down the hallway, heart hammering in his throat. This is insanity. There’s nothing for them here.
“You’re killing us!”
Yes. He is.