Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     Snow drifts down from the gray November sky and melts into dozens of tiny little droplets against a windshield. An unmarked black van meanders down the dirt road in relative silence, the only noise being the rumble of the vehicle’s engine on the otherwise empty path. The drive from Machias to this secluded area of woods on the outskirts isn’t particularly long. At least, not to someone who has to make the trip twice a month.

     Chris Redfield sits behind the wheel as his eyes remain carefully trained on the backroad in front of him. He knows the way to his destination by heart now after enough visits. A few more turns along the tree-lined road, and soon enough the treeline breaks into a small clearing. At the center is a house–an older, rustic one with two floors and a gravel driveway leading up to a moderately-sized garage sticking out from the side. Chris almost feels envious. A house like this is far more scenic and cozy than his one-bedroom apartment, but his living situation is the least of his problems. He came here for a reason, after all. Aside from his assigned duties. 

     In the almost two years since the village incident, Chris's life hasn’t become any easier. While his current duty of swinging by to keep an eye on the residents of this house twice a month isn’t particularly stressful, it’s the circumstances that have led him to this position that weigh on him. Going rogue from the BSAA, everything that happened in the village, joining up with the DSO–not to mention all the other horrors of his past…all of it leading him to the present. To an emptiness that gnaws at his core and a misery that leaves his jaw and shoulders set almost perpetually tense. He feels almost out of place against the idyllic, quiet house resting in the snow-covered clearing. A dark shadow against the light of an otherwise peaceful day. 

     As nightmares and memories flash behind his mind’s eye, Chris huffs out a breath that fogs up in the air around him and begins his trek up to the front door of the house. Maybe a quiet afternoon with a family he’s come to call friends will help him feel less like something is missing from his life…help him feel like he isn’t completely without direction or purpose. Just maybe, it’ll help him feel more alive, when all he’s felt ever since the day he fired a rocket at his greatest enemy and left him burning in a volcano…is dead on his feet.

    It's an average day in the Winters household–or at least, about as normal as one can be when the residents of said household consist of two bioweapons and their equally dangerous daughter. Heisenberg is tinkering with some secret project in the basement, Rose is playing with a small set of building blocks on the living room floor, and Ethan is reclined across the couch, laptop resting on his legs. 

     If someone had told Ethan a year ago that he’d be able to have a warm, domestic life like this again, he’d probably have looked at them like they were crazy. Then again, it’s far from the strangest thing that’s happened to him. Ever since he and Heisenberg escaped from the village together, he’s come to enjoy days like this more and more. The sight of snow drifting down outside the window, his daughter smiling as she stacks up the blocks only to knock them down with delight, the knowledge that his partner is working quietly somewhere downstairs…it’s nice. It feels more like home than his life with Mia really ever did. The house is warm and tranquil despite the cold outside, in a way that brings a sense of bone-deep relaxation to Ethan as he lounges on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of it. It’s the closest thing to a normal life he’ll ever get, after all.

     Ethan is suddenly startled out of his peaceful reverie by a knock at the door that almost feels as loud as a firework against the near-silence of the house. Putting aside the laptop he'd been scrolling through, he stands and makes his way across the room. He pauses for a moment and takes a quick glance through the peephole. Thankfully, the figure on the other side of the door is a familiar one, and Ethan breathes out a small sigh of relief as he opens the door. 

     "Oh, hey Chris, wasn’t expecting you to drop by. Did something happen? You look like shit," he remarks, looking the operative up and down. It's the first thing that sticks out about his friend–he looks like he hasn't slept in days, and his expression is grumpy. Well, grumpier than usual, which is saying something in Chris's case. Ethan steps to the side and holds the door open so Chris can head inside, and once he does, Ethan carefully shuts the door behind him to keep the cold November air out. 

     They weren’t expecting Chris to stop by for another week or two—so this must be just another instance of Chris dropping by to hang out. Or something’s wrong, one of the two. Ethan hopes for the sake of his recently-peaceful life that it’s the latter.

     Maybe for the sake of Ethan’s peace of mind, Chris gives a half-hearted smile and holds up a case of beer in one hand. “Figured I’d swing by and hang out?” He suggests, crossing a shrewd gaze behind Ethan’s back. “Maybe kick a few of these back or something...” 

     “Yeah, sure thing,” Ethan answers. Rose curiously looks up from her blocks, and Ethan smiles down at her. “Look Rose!” He calls to his daughter in a heightened voice, “It’s Uncle Chris!” 

     Rose lights up with excitement at the name, and her head darts up to find the large figure of the man at their door–there he is! Her favorite playmate. The girl smiles a toothy grin and waves, and Chris offers a small wave back. He’s gotta admit, he’s got a bit of a soft spot for the girl.

     While Ethan crosses the room to look for a bottle opener, Chris sets the beers down on the table. “So, where’s Heisenberg?” He asks, looking around again. The man in question is nowhere to be seen, which means he’s probably elsewhere in the house working on something.

     Ethan gestures with his thumb towards the stairs to the basement—currently blocked off by a safety gate to keep Rose from stumbling down them. “Downstairs. Working on something, probably.”

     Chris raises an eyebrow. “Working on something?” Sounds suspicious. “He’s not up to anything, is he? Nothing dangerous, no weird zombie cyborgs?” It certainly wouldn’t be outside of Heisenberg’s wheelhouse. After all, Chris still remembers the morbid factory the inventor once called home–and the crimes against nature he found inside. He trusts Ethan, of course, but the blonde’s partner tends to be a bit more of a wild card. Or maybe Chris is just being paranoid. 

     Ethan scoffs. “No, nothing like that,” he assures him. “He hasn’t told me much about it, though. It could be a surprise? He’s been working on it for a while. Seemed really excited to go check on it earlier.” Ethan can still remember the grin of anticipation on Karl’s face that he’d woken up to this morning. Whatever project the former lord has taken up recently, he’s certainly been eager to finish it, that’s for sure.

     Chris gives Ethan a dubious look. “Little suspicious that he won’t tell you what it is, isn’t it?” When Heisenberg’s creative whims seem to vary wildly between “a prosthetic to replace Ethan’s missing fingers” and “What happens if I replace an entire person’s torso with a giant turbine,” Chris can’t help but be a little concerned about what the former lord’s inventive genius could bring about if left unchecked. 

     Ethan rolls his eyes. Typical Chris. “I’m sure it’s fine, he’s been a lot better since—“ he begins, but before he can finish his thought, Ethan is interrupted by a bizarre sound. A strange, inhuman groan, followed by a crashing noise and a lot of muffled exclamations coming from the basement. What the hell was that…? 

     Ethan and Chris’s eyes both whip towards the door. Chris shoots a look over his shoulder at Ethan, and his face is deathly serious. “That doesn’t sound like any ‘surprise’ I’d want,” he remarks. “Put Rose somewhere safe.” Without further ado, Chris charges his way down the basement stairs. 

     Ethan watches him go, blood running cold at the sight of Chris charging through his house like a man on a mission. The last time he’d been in a situation like this…

      He doesn’t want to dwell on those memories. Now is not the time. Ethan grabs Rose and puts her in the nursery, before grabbing a gun out of his bedside drawer and dashing back downstairs to the basement—where Chris is currently pounding on the door. Must be locked, then.

     “Heisenberg! Open up!” He shouts, though Ethan’s partner seems to be ignoring him, as the sound of footsteps approaching the door never comes. Chris huffs in frustration, and when it becomes clear that he’s not going to get an answer, he slams his shoulder into the door, which sends it flying open. He storms into the basement, ready to face the worst—and maybe a fight if he has to.

     Heisenberg’s usually cluttered basement has seen tidier days. Tabletops are busy and disorganized, and notes line the walls on cork board. This behavior isn’t unusual for Karl; Ethan recognizes this effort as one he’s made before. Ethan can only surmise that what lines the walls is evidence of Heisenberg’s latest sleepless nights, and the proof of his progress lies prone on the floor beside Karl’s feet. 

     Beside the crouching machinist is the pale figure of a man, blonde and covered only by a tarp tucked under his quivering body. A rumbling growl erupts from between the pursed lips of the man struggling to lift himself from Heisenberg’s dirty basement floor. Karl’s knees reach the ground just as he notices the heavy footsteps of Chris bounding down the basement steps, and he’s looking down the barrel of Redfield’s firearm not long afterwards. “ You, ” Like a kid caught doing something naughty, Heisenberg almost pouts as he turns his back to the man on the ground. “Of all people…” his head can’t help but shake. “Man, I need a smoke.”

     Ethan comes up behind Chris, eyes darting between him, Heisenberg, and the figure on the floor. What is this? “Karl? What the hell is going on?!” he asks almost frantically. That’s…a man. A living person. Lying on the floor. Just what was his partner up to?

     Chris’s eyes snap to the man on the ground. All at once, it feels like every nerve in his body is alight with dread. A chill runs down his spine and his limbs go stiff. This man…Chris knows exactly who this man is. There’s no mistaking him, but…that can’t be. It’s impossible. He was dead, for good this time, Chris was sure of it. It’s been almost a decade since then, even…and yet, there was no denying the sight before his eyes. 

     While Chris is frozen in shock, Ethan grabs Heisenberg by the arm and pulls him out of the line of fire. He narrows his eyes at his partner, confusion, concern, and frustration all welling up in his expression at once. “What the fuck did you do?! Why is there a naked man in our basement?!” Ethan looks back at the prone figure. Heisenberg’s not experimenting on corpses again, is he…?

     Chris, meanwhile, can’t seem to tear his eyes off of the man on the floor. It can’t be…there’s no possible way… His hands clench into fists. “What…the fuck. This…no, it can’t–this isn’t possible. No. No, no, no, no, no. It can’t be him. It can’t!” He whirls around, leveling a glare at Heisenberg. His panic is overtaken by rage in an instant, one fueling the other like gasoline to a fire. Chris storms back up to the former lord, grabs him by the shirt collar, and glares daggers into his eyes. “You better start explaining fast, or I’ll make you wish you died with the rest of the village,” he threatens, trying to ignore how his hands want to shake at the thought of the man behind him really being who he seems to be.

     “Whooh! Handsy, Chris—I’m a married man!” No he’s not. Not officially, anyways. “You’re such a hardass, I thought I’d be out cold by now.” Heisenberg gives an all-too-casual glance toward Ethan, clearly unbothered by whatever he’s done. 

     Chris can hear that someone behind him breathing, wheezing, discovering breath once again. It sends a cold sensation down his spine— fear. That’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time. Not like this. 

      And this fear is one that runs deep.

     Two hands are planted on the ground, holding him up in the position Karl left him in. His head only raises so far, but his bright red eyes reach the back of Chris’s head nonetheless. With a short breath in, he speaks the name: “Chrrriiiss…”

     Chris freezes on the spot as soon as he hears that voice. He knows that voice. Still hears it echo in his mind during his worst nights–in memories he’ll never be able to completely drown in booze, no matter how he tries. A voice that whispers to him in the shadows, that haunts his waking moments…that rumbles in the back of his mind any time his finger finds a trigger. "No..." he begs. This can't be happening. This has to be a nightmare or something– it has to be. His gaze falls, slowly, as though wary that seeing the man's face will bring his whole world crashing down in a moment, and he dreads the idea of even a glimpse–of finally laying eyes on the face that always finds its way into his nightmares. 

     When he turns and meets those scarlet eyes, Chris’s stomach drops and his heart skips a beat. There's no denying it. Even before he heard his voice, Chris recognized him straight away. There’s no way he wouldn’t. Not after everything he’s been through.

     The man laying on the floor of the Winters' basement is none other than Albert Wesker himself.

     Chris’s greatest enemy. His former captain. His mentor, his nemesis, his tormentor…his motivator. Somehow in the flesh, over a decade after Chris personally put a rocket between his eyes and brought his world-ending schemes to an end.

     Naked on the floor.

     All at once, Chris is on the move. He almost doesn’t realize he’s in motion until his feet have already begun to close the distance. He walks over to Wesker with furious strides, grabs the man by the shoulders, and shoves him up against a nearby table. Wesker's back hits the table with an uncomfortable thud , as Chris stares at him. "Wesker," he snarls out. "How the hell is this even possible?" He keeps his gun trained on the man, as though he expects Wesker to attack him at a moment's notice.

     Wesker’s body shifts aimlessly within Chris’s grasp. He’s heavy, but Chris is already exerting enough force in his pin to hold still a man multiple times his size. Wesker doesn’t budge, he just stares back into Chris and his befuddlement with mild amusement. Chris can’t help but watch a smirk curl up from the corner of Wesker’s lips. 

     “Bah! Hey, stop that!” Heisenberg calls out to Redfield, but before Chris can turn his gun on Karl, the former lord whisks it away into midair. “Put ‘em away, Redfield. I won’t have you ruining all this hard work. Ethan, help me out here.” Karl looks aside to the practically petrified blonde just beside him, who stares back at him with the same look of surprise and confusion as when he entered. Chris simply glares and snatches his gun from above himself while Heisenberg is distracted.

     Ethan's head whips around to Heisenberg, still baffled by what's going on. "’Hard work?’” he parrots, almost dumbfounded. “The project you've been working on down here for a year is..." he gestures to Wesker, "a whole guy?" Ethan sighs. They'd talked about this. No bodies, no Soldat-esque projects, especially not with Rose in the house. Where did Heisenberg even get this man? 

     Then again, Ethan can't exactly have Chris snapping and deciding this is what finally deems their little family too dangerous . The last thing he wants is to have his entire life uprooted again . He should probably step in. "Chris, let's just talk about this–I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this," Ethan placates, shooting a pointed look at his partner.  

      "There damn well better be," Chris shoots back, keeping Wesker pinned where he is. Thankfully, the man doesn't appear to be putting up much of a fight, which catches Chris's attention. He's just...letting this happen. It's odd, all things considered. Does he just...not have the strength? Or is this another sick game? For now, Chris turns his intense gaze on Heisenberg, expression silently demanding information.

     “Eehhh,” Heisenberg waffles aimlessly, hands twisting around in the air, “It’s a long story.” He says.

     “Karl!” Ethan scolds him. This is no time for games; does he not see the burly, armed man across from them?

      “Alright,” Heisenberg says at first, then he gives everything a good think, “Alright. He came to me shortly after Ethan started making his fuss in the village,” he recalls, holding his chin. He remembers the meeting vividly: a wiggling black spot attached to his boot. It appeared before him moments prior to his departure for Ethan following their first meeting. The thing pulsed violently, begging for his attention, so he took it. Karl’s never been one to leave his curiosity unquenched. “He wasn’t like this, though,” Heisenberg tosses a hand across the room toward Wesker. “He was a little, wriggly…thing. Like a leech, or a bug.” 

     Recognition blossoms across Ethan’s face, followed by shock once again. That…?

     Karl nods at him. “That’s right! He’s that worm…!” He confirms with a proud smirk. Words escape Ethan, not to mention Chris. It takes him not a moment longer to notice the little animal habitat made from scraps in the corner of the workshop—a facade to hide in plain sight, Chris concludes. 

     “I’ve been keeping him as a pet,” Karl continues, despite Wesker’s disgruntled sigh. “Guess you could call this body of his a final evolution! Like a beautiful butterfly emerging from its cocoon!”

     Wesker’s head tilts away from Chris’s restraint. As he moves, Chris bears more of his weight down on his neck to keep him stationary. “Grrh,” he grunts at the man on top of him, but his glare is pointed elsewhere. “I told you before not to call me such things...”

     "So, wait–that worm you were keeping down here...that's him?" Ethan gestures to Wesker. "And you've been...what, helping him get a body?" Ethan is bewildered, but at the same time, it's very on brand for Hesienberg. "Wait–so he could talk to you? And...how exactly did you manage to get him a whole body?" 

     Chris glares at Heisenberg. "Do you have any idea how serious this is?" He keeps a firm grip on Wesker–turning his head over his shoulder to look at the former lord. "How big of a threat he is? I spent most of my life trying to stop this guy, and now you bring him back?" Chris looks almost ready to punch something–or someone . Probably Heisenberg. Or maybe Wesker. Jury's out. Something's getting punched, either way.

     A low hum comes from the man Chris has pinned—a chuckle. “Oh, Chris… you make it sound as though you haven’t missed me.” He mocks Chris as though he hasn’t a care in the world. His nonchalance only raises Chris’s guard further. 

     Heisenberg’s gloved fingers run pinched across the brim of his hat as he replies to Ethan’s inquiry. Like Wesker, Heisenberg is peculiarly casual. If anything, he’s excited—happy that he’s finally able to spill his project to someone. “ Get him a body? I didn’t get him anything. He grew that one back himself,” Karl insists. “With a little help from yours truly, ‘course.”

     Ethan raises an eyebrow at the remark from Wesker, but otherwise focuses his attention back on his partner. One thing at a time. "What did you do ," he asks flatly, noting a nearby cart with some surgical equipment and an array of bottled chemicals. It’s not unlike some of the rooms back in Hesisenberg's factory, which has him wondering and more than a little nervous as to how the engineer actually pulled this off. 

     Chris, meanwhile, glares furious daggers at Wesker. His fist reels back and punches the side of the table–centimeters from Wesker's face. "Shut the hell up," he spits. He should just kill him, put an end to this living nightmare, probably prevent an untold amount of chaos...but for some reason, he hesitates. He's perfectly fine with threatening some physical violence, though. And he still might actually punch him. It would certainly make him feel better.

     Heisenberg grins giddily as Ethan flinches from Chris’s fist pounding down onto the table across the room. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says, grinning as he unbuttons his collar and pulls away the shirt underneath. A new scar lines Karl’s chest, opposite of his heart. The stitching is rough, like the person with the needle couldn’t see what they were doing. “What do you think, Winters? New scar for the collection?”

     Ethan blinks at him for a moment, before he realizes. Oh. "The Cadou?" he glances over at Wesker. That's...huh. Ethan knows first hand how effective the Mutamycete is at regeneration, after all, he's living–or rather, walking–proof. But for it to generate an entire body from just...a worm? Loathe as he is to admit it, it's kind of impressive. 

     If it was possible for Chris to tense up more, he would. "Wait–" he turns to better face Heisenberg, while still keeping most of his weight on Wesker. "You're telling me you gave him the same shit that made you what you are?" He glances back at Wesker. Fuck. If that's the case...Wesker is undoubtedly dangerous. Combining Wesker's existing abilities with the high-speed regeneration factor of the Mutamycete...he nearly shudders at the thought. Killing Wesker may prove to be more difficult than he'd like...unless he does so now , while everything is apparently still settling. Chris considers his options. Frankly, he doesn't like any of them. 

     Ethan glances down at Heisenberg's scar again and reaches out to touch it, carefully. Karl seems fine, overall, so he must have only used a portion of the Cadou, and his own must have regenerated. That calms his worries a little, but he's still concerned with how upset Chris seems to be. Based on what's been said, they definitely have a history, but...well, Chris hasn't exactly talked much about his past with Ethan. Or at least, he's never mentioned Wesker by name. Something is off here. There's a tension between those two that can't quite be defined. Ethan briefly wonders if he should be worried that someone is about to die.

     While Chris is distracted, Wesker makes an effort to pull himself up from the slab. Chris jumps back to attention, repinning him with a sudden and violent force. Wesker growls out a pained groan. “Damn it, Chris, get off of me.” His searing eyes avert to Heisenberg. “Karl!”

     “You think I have enough metal down here to restrain that muscly idiot?” Heisenberg responds, a mix between a shrug and a head-shake returning as a result of a secondary consideration. Wesker resigns to his solitude. Leaning back, Wesker’s head hits the workshop table with a light thunk.

      Chris looks back at Wesker. It's only now, with the two of them so close, and the focus off of Heisenberg's explanation, that he realizes he's been sitting practically on top of Wesker this whole time– all while the man is entirely naked. Alarmed, Chris stands, averting his eyes away from his nemesis. Heat rises to his face–wait, why should this embarrass him so badly? Ugh . Damn Wesker and his whole... everything . Chris spots the tarp discarded on the floor, and hastily tosses it across Wesker. 

     Chris presses the flat of his palms to his eyes. How the hell is he supposed to explain this? God knows what the higher-ups at the DSO would do. If he's lucky, they'd just have Chris kill Wesker. If he isn't…

    He chances a glance back at the blonde on the ground. Wesker takes a deep breath now that he's not being nearly crushed by Chris's weight, and the look in his eyes is smug. Chris narrows his eyes in fury, but averts his gaze again. He hasn't had nearly enough sleep– or alcohol –to deal with this right now. But that's just his luck.  

     "Okay, what is it with you two? I've never seen Chris this freaked out," Ethan says, removing his hand from where he's been distracted staring at Karl's scars. He folds his arms and stares at the two men on the floor. Despite everything, it's still his house, even if it was provided to them by the government, and he'll be damned if he doesn't at least try to figure this out so he doesn't end up having to clean blood out of the floorboards later… or get dragged off into government custody.

     With breathing room to spare, Wesker lifts himself from the table with a considerable effort. Once he’s sitting up, he finds some stability and is able to take a moment to feel the sensation in his fingertips again, his palms, his wrists, his arms. Chris interrupted his first chance to reacquaint himself with a familiar form. Satisfied, his hand balls into a fist. 

     “We have a certain…past,” Wesker relays, twisting himself counterclockwise until his legs hang off the table before him. “Let’s leave it at that.” Wesker snaps his fingers for Heisenberg’s attention, and as Karl approaches, so does a weary Ethan. “Fetch me something to wear, would you? And you,” Wesker turns his eyes that blaze bright onto Ethan, who soon notices the ironic disconnect between his cold stare and fiery eyes. “You must be the father I’ve heard so much about. Hmhm,” he chuckles slightly, for whatever reason, Ethan has no clue. “Ethan, yes? Your companion is really… quite unique,” He says that dryly. “Very talkative. Not that I haven’t heard of you before, of course.”

     Ethan chances a glance over his shoulder towards Heisenberg as he walks off elsewhere into the house, leaving him and Chris alone with the other blonde. "Karl wouldn't shut up about me, huh? That tracks." He's not quite sure what to think of this stranger, frankly. Something about him exudes danger , and makes Ethan feel uneasy. Just being in his presence feels unsettling. It reminds him briefly of back in the village, when he first met the four Lords–the sense that the people nearby are a potential threat , that there is power and danger in this person's body. He briefly wonders if he has the mold to thank for that, but he pushes the thought aside for now. 

     Whatever is the case, Chris is clearly put off by Wesker just being here. If they have a history...it must not be great, given Chris's reaction, but Wesker's attitude towards Chris could imply several things. There's a sense of familiarity, like Wesker is someone who knows Chris extremely well, in the way he looks at the operative. Yet at the same time, there's almost an undercurrent of malice. And Chris is undoubtedly wary of the man. Ethan decides to proceed with caution, but since Karl seems unbothered, Ethan's willing to speak cordially at least. As long as Wesker doesn't try anything. 

     So far, the man has posed no threat despite Chris's insistence on restraining him. Heisenberg seems more wary of Chris than Wesker right now, so...Ethan chooses to trust his partner's judgment. Not to mention the two of them could probably handle him if they really had to. He finds it kind of unlikely a guy who was a worm just a short while ago would be much of a threat to two men who took down Mother Miranda.

    He steps forward slightly. "Yeah, I'm Ethan. I'm sure I don't have to explain where you are, if Karl's been talking your ear off." He waves a hand dismissively.

     Wesker extends a hand and Ethan takes it, giving it a shake. His hand is cold, like that of a corpse, which is unsurprising. “Albert,” he says simply. A sideways glance from Wesker meets Chris’s uneasy gaze. Heisenberg returns before Chris is able to get a word in edgewise. He hands off a sloppily folded set of clothes that he obviously pulled straight from the drawer without much thought. Wesker glances over it, then begins to dress himself. The others look away.

     On unsteady feet, Wesker stands. He’s dressed in a dark button-up and slacks that Ethan must have only worn once, because it looks brand new. Ethan would be frustrated that Karl took his clothes without permission, but he knows Heisenberg’s wardrobe is more fit for a hobo machinist like himself than a normal guy. Not that Ethan is exactly sure of Wesker being a normal guy…yet. Besides that, Ethan can’t help but notice how much better Wesker wears this set compared to him. These are the same clothes he usually wears to dress up, you know? Functions and stuff. It’s supposed to make you look nice but it never fit on Ethan quite like it does on Wesker. It makes him sigh. Maybe Ethan just can’t pull off such a stylish look…

     Wesker eyes Chris whilst leaning against the table he started from. His fingers work on neatly folding the sleeves of the shirt while his gaze remains trained on Chris, as though he expects him to snap and lunge at him any moment now. Chris half-expects himself to do the same.

     After a long pause of consideration, Chris moves. He storms towards Wesker, feet falling heavy on the basement floor as he approaches. He stops maybe a foot from Wesker's face and takes a moment to just look at him. As much as Chris may not want to admit it...this is real. His worst nightmare come true. Albert Wesker, back from the dead again . Is Chris just not allowed to catch a break? Apparently not. 

     Before anyone can intervene, Chris grabs Wesker by the shirt and nearly lifts the man off the ground. "So what now, back to the same as before?" he grumbles out. "What are you scheming, Wesker, and why are you getting these two involved with it?" Chris keeps his gun at the ready, but doesn't level it at Wesker yet.

     Wesker returns Chris’s steely gaze with one of his own. For a moment, they halt at a standstill. “You’re just revving to start a fight, aren’t you? Why should I give you the pleasure?” Wesker is smirking all the while, but halts upon noticing something. “Ah, Karl.” Wesker summons Heisenberg with the tilt of his head. He approaches and all Wesker does is pick his glasses off of his nose and replace them on himself. Now fully dressed, Wesker looks back at Chris to proceed with his threats. He’s all too unaffected by Chris’s actions.

     Chris scowls at Wesker for a long moment, before turning towards the basement door. In an instant, his mind is made up. There’s only one thing for him to do now. Something he should have done the second he spotted the bioterrorist lying there. He marches out the door and up the stairs, dragging Wesker along behind him. Wesker grunts as Chris manhandles him and hauls him up the stairs, then quickly out the front door before anyone else can get in a word of complaint. As Ethan looks to Karl, dumbfounded, Chris drags Wesker outside and drops him into the snowy grass on the front lawn.

     It’s dark outside. And mind numbingly cold, just like this morning. The breeze is stifling and frigid. The cold air is a shock to the senses.  

     Chris tosses Wesker in his weakened state onto the snow along the edge of the light emanating off of the front porch. Unable to resist the force of the toss, Wesker merely catches himself on the frosty snow. “So it’s come to this already, Chris…” Wesker drags his eyes up from the ground as Heisenberg’s shades slide down off of his face. His red eyes shine in the darkness as he drags himself to his knees. “And here I thought we could have some more fun before I go…such a pity.” He shakes his head, then fixes a wayward lock of hair.

     Chris's feet crunch on the snow as he crosses towards Wesker. "Fun?" He scoffs. Leave it to Wesker to still treat this–to treat everything they’ve gone through–like a game. Chris clenches his hand into a fist, meeting Wesker's eyes. "Cut the bullshit. What exactly are you planning, huh?" If Wesker has really been tagging along with Heisenberg since the village, and the engineer went to all the trouble of using part of his own Cadou to bring him back...something has to be afoot here, right?

     Wesker doesn’t look at Chris, just at the snow beneath him and the shivering of his limbs. How detestably humiliating. “Planning?” He laughs at him. “You’re looking at it, Chris. The result of a decade and a half of planning returned me to this, a shadow of my former glory.” He stares at his palm, then up at Chris standing over him. “Of course… it’s just like you to interrupt at such a pivotal step…” He sighs.

     Chris eyes Wesker suspiciously, incredulously. "What, you just wanted to exist again?" he takes a step closer. "What happened to that great big plan of yours, then?" Surely it's not that simple. Things with Wesker are never simple. "Your whole...trying to usher in the next stage of human evolution or whatever bullshit you were doing before." He levels his gun at Wesker. "I don't see why I shouldn't just put you back in the grave where you belong."

     Wesker stares down the barrel of that gun. Unflinching, his gaze rises to meet Chris’s. “Would you really believe me if I told you otherwise? It looks to me like you’ve got all my moves decided for me already. Hmm,” he hums along to a thought, then smirks, adding a sarcastic, “Can’t a man enjoy his retirement?” With that, his gaze lowers, and those blazing eyes disappear beneath his eyelids. “I suppose you’ll take it as you will. You always have.” Chris can see a cloudy huff escape him into the cold night air. “You try living in that restless purgatory, Chris. Perhaps the perspective will do you some good.” He stares up at Chris after returning the glasses to his face. Under the shade of the night sky, those eyes shine the same piercing red as it did all those years ago. Wesker sits, awaiting Chris’s decision.

     Chris steps forward, slowly. He stares at Wesker for a long moment, considering. If he’s going to end this, now is the time. He likely won’t get another chance. It’s now or never. 

     Chris levels his gun at Wesker. His finger rests on the trigger, poised and ready. One in the Cadou, one in the heart, and one in the head. That’s all it would take.

    He stands there. 

    But he never fires.

     After what feels like an eternity, Chris sighs in frustration and lowers his gun. He can’t do it. For whatever reason, he can’t bring himself to kill Wesker, the man who tormented him for so long. He just can’t.

     Once it’s clear enough to the both of them that Chris is not going to be able to do the deed, Wesker hums knowingly. “As I thought… you can’t do it.” His eyes reach Chris over the rim of the shades. “You’re all bark, Chris.” Wesker nods toward the door, then raises an arm for Chris to take. “Here. Now, take me inside. It’s freezing out here.”

     Chris huffs in frustration, then stows his gun away. He hates that Wesker's right. He hates that he can't bring himself to finish him off. Frowning and looking aside, Chris walks up and helps Wesker to his feet. He refuses to meet the other man's gaze right now–he just can't. Sighing, Chris helps Wesker inside, shutting the door behind him with a foot as he brings the man into the living room and leads him to a chair.

     As Chris hauls Wesker back inside, Ethan and Heisenberg are already waiting in the living room. While Heisenberg is reclined on the couch as casual and can be, Ethan stands off to the side, arms folded and staring at the two others as they walk back in. Judging from his posture, he's been more than a little on edge while the two were out. That, and the faint black stains visible on his fingertips– his unease is making the mold act up. 

     "Are you two done trying to kill each other in my house?" Ethan asks, unimpressed. He's frankly sick of this by now, and just wants to have a semblance of a normal evening. Even though that's long since gone out the window, he can certainly try to at least hope that Chris has chilled the fuck out by now.

     “I certainly hope so,” Wesker concurs, stretching in the chair. As Chris stares down at him aggressively, an eyebrow of Wesker’s raises. “What’s that look for? I’ve been nothing if not a cordial house guest,” He declares. “ You’re the one making a ruckus. ”

     Heisenberg strips a leather glove off with his teeth and spits it away. While his hands are free, he quickly takes Ethan’s palm in his and covers his hand with his second one. “ Out o’ sight, out o’ mind, ” he murmurs, his hands rubbing away the darkness from Ethan’s fingertips. “Chris, go home,” Karl says sternly, looking up from his partner’s hand. “You’re stressing everybody out. Don’t make me sick little Rose on you.” He points a warning finger at Chris. 

     Wesker’s eyebrow remains at an incline. “The child?”

     Ethan chuckles a little bit. "You'd be surprised," he remarks, before giving a grateful smile to Karl. He then turns towards Chris. "Look, I get that you're freaked out, but seriously." He shakes his head. "Plus, it looks like you haven't slept in days. Get some rest, and worry about it tomorrow or something."

     Chris groans and puts a hand to his head. Damnit, Winters. "Ethan, you don't know this guy like I do. I can't trust him to be here unsupervised..." He chances a glance at Wesker, who looks all too self-satisfied with the current situation. Chris groans. "You guys have a guest room, right? It'd probably be best if I crashed there. I can't risk leaving him," he explains, resigned. If he can't get rid of Wesker, he's sure as hell going to make sure he doesn't cause more problems.

     All three of them stare back at Chris with similar looks of affirmation. One from Ethan is genuine, but the nods Chris receives from the other two feel more like an encouragement for him to leave than a wishing of his good health. Neither of them speak a word, but Chris’s mind is already screaming danger, chaos. He can’t leave them alone together in good conscience.

     Ethan sighs and gestures over his shoulder. “Wesker can sleep in the guest room.” Ethan points at Chris, “You can take the couch. No offense, but you’re at least able to stand on your own. If you insist on chaperoning him, fine, but you’re sleeping on the couch.” His tone suggests finality, and there’s a familiar stubbornness in his expression. Chris knows full well that once Ethan has his mind made up about something, there’s no getting him to back down from it. 

     Chris looks uneasily to Wesker, before turning back to Ethan. “Fine,” he grumbles, taking a seat. As much as he’d like to argue, he’ll take what he can get. At least he’ll be able to keep an eye on Wesker this way. 

     Ethan gives an approving nod before walking off towards the kitchen, presumably to either go look for the now long-forgotten bottle opener, or to find something to feed all of them for dinner.

     Everyone around Wesker scatters like busy bees, making him all too aware of his current ineptitude at the strides they so easily make. Ethan works his way around the kitchen, sliding away baby formula to make way for the kitchen’s cutting board. He stares at it thoughtfully. What to cook? is written across his expression. 

     Elsewhere, Chris hustles upstairs to the guest room. He’s in quite the hurry, Wesker spots Chris’s gaze darting to him just before Wesker leaves Chris’s point of view. Naturally, he’s clearing the room of any dangerous tools. That, or barring the windows. 

     Last is Heisenberg, who approaches Wesker with a lighter in his hand. He flicks it… opened, then closed, then opened. The fidgeting… grates on Wesker’s patience. Clearly, the distress of the others is wearing on his new associate’s nerves. Is everyone in this household as obvious to read as a novel? These fools are easy pickings. 

     “Can you eat?” Heisenberg asks, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to Ethan in the kitchen. The question is a common one, but Karl’s tone hosts too much investment. Wesker can tell he isn’t asking for any other reason than to assess the state of his newest experiment. No matter; Wesker would do the same to him. 

     “It’s unlikely,” he retorts, “judging by the sensitivity of this body, it might simply reject it” Something strikes him, and Wesker narrows his eyes beneath the darkness of the sunglasses. He thinks in silence, perhaps just to spite Heisenberg’s rapt gaze.

     Ethan chances a glance back towards the others in the living room. Well, that's one less portion to make, then. He gets to work, cutting vegetables and setting a skillet on the stove. Ethan has had to do most of the cooking since the village, but he's been finding he has quite the knack for it. Now accustomed to it, he moves through the kitchen with ease and hums to himself while he cooks. 

     Meanwhile, Chris charges up the stairs, heading for the guest bedroom. If Wesker's really going to be staying here, he needs to check it out, and probably move some things out of the room, too. Hopefully there's nothing too dangerous in here...but he has to be sure.

     Ethan speaks up as he moves on to cooking the vegetables. "So, just how far back do you two go?" Wesker sure seems to know Chris well, so they've got to have known each other for a long time, surely. He can't help but be curious. Chris has never brought the man up–at least, not by name.

     Wesker finds the question laughable. “Further than I’m sure he’d like to admit.” He doesn’t bother pondering the specifics, and returns an estimate. “A few decades. Though my sense of time hasn’t been exactly what it used to be.” He turns his gaze up to Ethan. Now, a question for him: “What year is it?”

"2022. November 2022 if you want specifics," Ethan answers. A few decades, huh? It makes him wonder. Ethan's only known Chris for a few years, but if Wesker's really known him for that long..."Was he always such a hard-ass?" Ethan remarks with a little laugh.

     Wesker exhales something like a short laugh as well. “Certainly not. He was a rookie hardly half the size he is now and still wet behind the ears from military service when he was suggested for S.T.A.R.S.. He’s always been adept with a firearm, though. I’ll admit. I’d accept nothing less from my point-man.”

     Ethan begins cooking the meat while Wesker talks. It's hard to imagine Chris the way Wesker describes. He's so different now. Ethan hums slightly in response. Chris had mentioned S.T.A.R.S. before, but mostly as an off-hand remark about his early days. Ethan knew very little of the details, aside from the fact that it was some sort of strike team. Wesker must have also been part of it, and from the way he talks..."So, you two were in a team together? Explains why you two seem to know each other so well." 

     Ethan hears Chris moving around in the room upstairs and gives a sigh. "You were the team captain or something, weren't you?" Ethan's not completely dense, Wesker's phrasing didn't escape him.

     Wesker nods. “That’s right, of S.T.A.R.S. and of its Alpha Team,” he specifies. “Never thought I’d be talking about this again...” He looks aside. 

     “Tell him about the boulder!” Heisenberg insists, elbowing Ethan as he does so.  “Tell him how he’s a boulder punching asshole!”

     Wesker exhales. This is what he gets for telling Heisenberg about his past. “That man… punched a five ton boulder into a pit of boiling lava…” Wesker’s arms are crossed, as are his lips pursed. He has nothing he’d like to discuss about this. It just so happens that he did the math around the time he met Heisenberg and the information… escaped him. Not that he intended on sharing it; the information simply hit him like a ton of bricks, or… should he say, a ton of boulders?

     Ethan glances up from his cooking. "Wait, really? Is that why Karl keeps calling him that?" He looks to his partner, who grins. Huh. Certainly explains where he knew about that from, then. 

      It's then that the number really hits home for him. "Wait, five tons ?" Ethan turns around, dumbfounded. There's no way . Chris is a huge guy, sure, and Ethan's seen first hand how physically strong he is, but...five whole tons? There's no way any normal human being could do that. "Wh–you're exaggerating, right?"

     Wesker’s gaze turns sideways toward the staircase and the heavy footsteps coming down them. Here comes the man in question. 

     “It was likely heavier,” Wesker contends, sizing up Chris with his eyes.

     Ethan blinks, stunned briefly before turning back to his cooking. As Chris comes down the stairs, he gestures at him with a spoon. "Chris, are you sure you're not a bioweapon?" He asks half-sarcastically. "Anyways, you're just in time, I'm almost done with this. Go take a seat," he says, starting to plate the food.

     Chris looks at Wesker, then at Ethan, and narrows his eyes. Oh great. They were talking about him. Given the fact that they were talking with Wesker about him...god knows what he told them. "What?" he asks in response to Ethan's own question. Where did this come from? "I'm pretty damn sure, Ethan." Chris walks to the living room as instructed, keeping an eye on Wesker. Just in case. "What the hell has he been telling you?"

     “Oh,” Karl smirks across the counter at Chris, “just all of your secrets.” He chuckles, but the weariness on Chris’s brow persists. “Does your government provide super-steroids, Redfield?”

    Wesker sits quietly across the room, disinterested in the conversation now, as he knows Chirs’s answer won’t stray from what he already knows. “For the record, I suggested nothing of the sort.” Once he finishes, he calls Heisenberg over to his side to lend him an ear. Karl nods and draws a messy notebook from his trench coat that he soon hands to Wesker. A pen dances along the air and into his grasp. He begins furiously writing, and Karl walks shamelessly back into the kitchen to grab something to eat.

     Ethan hands off a plate to Karl–beef stroganoff, from the looks of things–before grabbing servings for himself and Chris and bringing them out to the living room. 

     Chris raises an eyebrow at Wesker's notepad, but politely accepts a plate of food from Ethan before taking a seat around the dining room table. He takes a moment to consider what the others said. It takes him a while, but he eventually puts together from what little context he has what they must have been talking about. 

     "It was the damn boulder, wasn't it," he deadpans. 

     Heisenberg already makes jabs about that often enough, but on top of that, the memories of why exactly Chris did punch that boulder make him grimace. His eyes drift briefly to Wesker–images of their final confrontation all those years ago playing in his head. It makes him think of the lava around him, the intense heat almost as unbearable as the pressure of the situation, he and Sheva fighting for their lives, and Wesker's Uroboros-infested form. It still feels surreal to have the man sitting around the same table as him now, after seeing him perish in that very same lava. 

     Ethan rests his own plate on the table and sits down, Heisenberg falling into the seat next to him. There's an awkwardness in the air, as though Chris isn't sure how to participate in the conversation with Wesker here now, especially after Ethan and Heisenberg were able to speak with him so casually. He's still unendingly on guard around the man, and it still baffles him how Ethan and Heisenberg don't seem to share his unease. Or at least, not nearly to the same degree he does. Then again, neither of them were put through what he was thanks to Wesker.

     The room quickly falls silent as everyone eats. Clinking of utensils and the scribbling of a pen are the only sounds that surround them. Wesker writes on his lap, below the table to keep away from prying eyes. Periodically, Chris finds himself listening to the start and stop of that pen in Wesker’s grasp, as though that will do him any good. Wesker fills a couple pages with his thoughts until the table begins to disperse around him.

     Once dinner is done, Ethan takes the plates to the kitchen and sets them in the sink. Heisenberg gets up and stretches his arms, and Ethan returns a few moments later. "Alright, well, we're gonna call it a night, try not to kill each other, yeah?" Ethan remarks with a raise of an eyebrow and a small smirk. Although, he kinda wouldn't put it past them. Chris gives a small nod as they both turn to leave, and the second they're out of the room, his eyes snap to Wesker. The two of them are alone now, and the tension in the air thickens. Other than when he dragged Wesker outside earlier, this is the first time he's been alone with Wesker in years. Every muscle in his body is tense, every part of him on edge. 

     He watches Wesker write another line in his notebook, seemingly unbothered by Chris's staring. Damn that self-absorbed asshole. Despite everything, Wesker always seems so unaffected–or at least, like he tries to act that way. It's infuriating. Finally overcome by both curiosity and paranoia, Chris reaches out and snatches the notebook from Wesker.

     Wesker grunts unhappily, but can do little more than watch Chris take the notebook. The most recent few pages consist of notes and thoughts jotted down in a simple, fast to access style. The handwriting begins sloppily, letters forming in crude and shivering shapes. It looks like a child’s script, although perhaps it’s better to say it looks like the script of someone learning to write again after quite some time. Despite the rough beginning, the letters find themselves rather quickly and morph into the handwriting Chris recognizes from the reports from his S.T.A.R.S. days. The handwriting is very distinct and intentional after the first page. 

     The notes themselves appear organized, although the categories are unwritten. The first page lists the current month and year, the names of the Winters and Heisenberg and details about the three of them. 

     The next page has a lot of science jargon that Chris is quick to frown at. The names of chemicals, probably. Or compounds. Big words. Latin. The simplicity of the notes removes any context that could help him understand this science nonsense. He’s forced to flip the page. 

     The last page features his name at the top: Chris Redfield. There’s two lines drawn swiftly under the name and a series of unfilled bullet points create a column just beneath them. The only section filled out is the first row: B.S.A.A B.O.W. . There is no context to make this information settle any easier. Perhaps he’d have some if he allowed Wesker to fill in the rest of the lines beneath this, but what’s done is done. Wesker awaits the booklet’s return with an open palm on the table between himself and Chris.

     Ultimately deciding that the notebook mostly seems to be so Wesker can better organize his thoughts about the current situation, and finding nothing of too major alarm, he passes it back. That little bit under his name gets his attention, though. The ' B.S.A.A. B.O.W. ' part. Chris remembers seeing the bioweapons the BSAA had sent into the village during the final showdown with Miranda…and he also remembers the eerie resemblance they held to himself. It's a mystery that has still remained unsolved for now, although the DSO insist they're looking into it.

     Chris glances over at Wesker. If he knows about the BSAA bioweapons, he must have been at least semi-conscious when Ethan, Heisenberg, and Chris were leaving the Village. Just how aware was he during all of that? And, furthermore...how much does he know about what happened in the Village?

     He gives Wesker an uncertain, questioning look. "So, you were conscious for that, huh?" He sets his arms on his knees. "Have you been alive this whole time? But just...as a worm?" It feels awkward to be talking so conversationally like this with a man who had once made his life a living hell for years on end, a man who had betrayed him so thoroughly ages ago, but he can't help but want to know. Try as he might not to admit it, Chris has been thinking back on his times with Wesker as of late–hence the reason for his lack of sleep. Maybe it was a sign, or something. Chris doesn't believe in fate, but he sure as hell seems to be a victim of it today.

     Displeased, Wesker presses Heisenberg’s glasses higher onto his nose. “…I prefer the term vagrant .” As he says that, his fingers pitter-patter against the wooden dining table. “You’ve led quite an unfortunate life, haven’t you Chris? I can’t say telling you would make it any peachier, and I’m feeling generous tonight.” He leaves it at that, a roundabout way of avoiding the question. He returns to his writing.

     Chris continues to stare, looking Wesker over. Now that he’s stopping to actually observe him, he takes note of Wesker’s new body. He looks almost identical to how he did all those years ago back in Africa, minus the coat and tactical equipment. It’s kind of jarring. Chris himself has changed a lot physically in those few years, but Wesker looks the same. 

     Furthermore, despite everything, Wesker seems fairly relaxed about his current circumstances. He’d referred to his current situation as his “retirement,” but can Chris really trust that? Can he trust anything when it comes to Wesker? 

     Even with Chris’s eyes nearly boring a hole into the side of his head, Wesker continues to write, unphased. In his current state, Chris could undoubtedly be a threat to Wesker, so why is he so unconcerned? Is it just pure confidence? Then again, Chris thinks back to earlier in the snow, when he’d found himself unable to pull the trigger. No. It’s not the confidence in himself that allows Wesker to be so unconcerned. It’s the fact that he knows Chris won’t hurt him. His stupid brain simply won’t let him kill this man, and Wesker knows that. 

     Sitting here like this almost takes him back to his S.T.A.R.S. days, sitting in Wesker’s office while he worked. Chris hates how relaxing those times had felt. The sting of Wesker’s initial betrayal has tainted many of his formerly good memories of those days with the knowledge that it was all a show, but he can’t help but still look back on those memories with some fragment of fondness. 

     Calling his life “unfortunate” is a hell of an understatement. Chris’s life has been back to back nightmares for years, even after Wesker’s death. How his former enemy knows that is a mystery, but he has a feeling it has to do with the lack of an answer to his question.

     Sighing, Chris stands. “Yeah, well, it isn’t exactly all sunshine and rainbows when your job is stopping bio-terrorism,” he points out, voice bitter and weary. His life has left him so tired , and it shows in his face and mannerisms.

     “Mmh,” Wesker grunts a half-attentive response, his eyes elsewhere. His pen works down the list of Chris notes quickly, faster than Chris could possibly do himself. He must have been watching for longer than he realized, because Wesker interrupts Chris’s gaze with a distraction. “Something else you require?”

     Chris sticks his hands in his pockets. As long as he’s cooperating…

     “Why come back, if you’re not planning to try and accomplish your old goals again?” He asks. It still doesn’t make sense to him.

     One of Wesker’s light eyebrows peaks over the circular edge of Heisenberg’s shades. “Is this really the line of questioning you desire to take?” Wesker huffs. He could berate Chris’s interrogation more, but that won’t do him any favors. “If I answer this, you’re to bring me to that room Winters mentioned, understand?” Wesker places his pen down upon the notebook, then levels Chris with a flat look. “Why do you keep going, Chris? And why put others out of their misery?”

     Chris goes still. The question sits in his mind, heavy. There’s an assortment of answers he could give—and frankly, he’s not sure which one is the truest nowadays. 

     When he was younger, he would have said it was to save people. To make the world better, to put his unique skills towards a good cause. 

    If he had been asked this back in Africa, the answer would probably have been to stop those who intended to do harm. To protect others by eliminating threats. Threats like Wesker had been back then. 

     Now though…?

     Chris gives an exhausted sigh. “To survive, I guess. I keep going because I feel like I have to. Like I have a duty to stay alive, to keep fighting,” he admits. After all, there’s very few people in this world as capable as him to deal with bioweapons. Somewhere, there’s still that desire to do good, to protect and save people, but the sense of hope and optimism in that conviction is gone. Now, he fights because he has to. Because someone has to. 

      “And hopefully, if I’m lucky, so that one day I don’t have to keep fighting,” he mutters quietly. It’s the smallest glimmer of hope left in his conviction. The idea that one day, the nightmares will be over. One day, he’ll finally get to just. Live.

     Wesker gives a single nod to Chris once he’s done. His own answer to that question is somewhere amongst Chris’s thoughts, by the looks of it. But he said he’d answer the question, so he supposes he should be obvious so Chris will be satisfied. “I take it your answer to that question has changed over the years. No longer so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as you used to be, hm?” Recalling a younger Chris while staring at him now causes Wesker to chuckle slightly. “Whether I live or not is not my greatest concern at the moment, Chris,” he says, finger rapping against the table. “My efforts until now were to release myself from that thing. That purgatory. The body project very well could have gone awry, as I hadn’t the means to check whether this Cadou of Karl’s would get along with whatever biomechanics of myself I carried in that pustule…” He exhales tiredly through the nose. “Though, had that been the case, the release of death would have been the least of my concerns.” He makes it sound as though he couldn’t die as the worm. Is that how he survived this long? “That being said, should I have found the drive to get back to work— from scratch, mind you—I see no purpose for it since you already sniffed me out.” Wesker tilts the little booklet until the pages begin to flutter backwards into Heisenberg’s handwriting. “Projects like those require decades of planning.” his eyes dart up to Chris’s, “And a lifetime without my equipment. So you may rest easy for now.”

     Chris stares at Wesker. Oddly, he finds that he…kinda gets it? Not the whole being a worm thing, but the rest of it. Wesker has a point—it would be extremely difficult as things are now for him to get any plans off the ground, and Chris would likely try to stop him again. He effectively is retired, although perhaps not entirely by choice, and he seems to have accepted that fact. And Chris can understand wanting to change the circumstances he was in—he can’t imagine being a worm for who knows how long must have been very pleasant. 

     He’s still a little worried Wesker might try something—he can’t help but be paranoid about it, really, but his former enemy does seem unlikely to be a major threat to the general human race’s continued existence anytime soon. So, reluctantly, he lets a little of the tension bleed away. Turning to face Wesker, he meets his once-captain’s eyes. “Fine. Just don’t give me a reason to make your death stick this time,” he grumbles, before walking up to the seated man. Wesker’s conditions for answering the question would be Chris helping him to his room, so he supposes he has to. Putting an arm under Wesker’s he hauls the man to his feet and lets Wesker lean most of his weight on him. It still feels weird, to be helping Wesker of all people, and it almost reminds him of their S.T.A.R.S. days a little bit, but he doesn’t mention it. Gingerly, he escorts Wesker to the guest bedroom.

     The room is lit only by a single bedside lamp. If they were anywhere else, street-side light might reach them through the windows, like in Chris’s little one-bedroom apartment. One might imagine a hero like Chris to be living the high life, but no. His place is more like his barracks than his home. His work keeps him busy, so he’s hardly had the time to disparage his home life. Until recently, that is. His higher-ups have been letting him off the hook more and more on account of his ’seniority earning him more opportunities for leisure’ —business talk for unused vacation days. But Chris likes to keep busy, so he’s got work on top of that. 

     He’s been keeping busy for so long that nowadays time feels like it ticks by on a broken clock. ‘Overworking’ cost him peak performance on a mission once and he hasn’t been able to live it down since. That’s why his job is as it is now: just checking in on the Winters, but he hardly considers it a job—it’s more like a bi-monthly get-together. Chris struggles to fill his days, and when his hands aren’t busy, his head is working overtime uncovering memories he’d prefer forgotten. A secret project of Heisenberg’s might have been a blessing in disguise if not for Wesker being the man at the center of it. All of this nonsense is just giving him a headache. 

     Wesker says nothing as Chris places him atop the soft bedding like a wounded soldier, his mind elsewhere. ‘Thank you’s are out of the question, so he merely huffs and pulls the sunglasses from his eyes. After folding them, he holds them out to Chris. “These won’t do,” is all he says.

     Chris takes the sunglasses, and pockets them. "You can ask Heisenberg if he has any others in the morning," he replies. Even with the sunglasses, the red gleam of Wesker's eyes always stood out, and now, in the dim light of the guest bedroom and with the sunglasses gone, they're all the more vivid and piercing. Chris catches himself staring for a second too long before finally glancing aside. 

     Thankfully, Chris already removed all the dangerous items from this room, so everything should be fine, but something in him is still uneasy. Maybe it's just the effect that Wesker's proximity has on him. Once certain that Wesker is settled, he heads for the door, pausing briefly to look over his shoulder at the weakened man. He says nothing, but Wesker meets his eyes with a knowing look and a smirk. Chris huffs and steps out, closing the door behind him and on the man who will likely be plaguing Chris's thoughts for the rest of the evening. 

     Chris starts to head down the stairs towards the couch, but as he gets about halfway, he pauses. Despite everything...and despite the multiple reassurances he's received from Ethan, Karl, and even Wesker himself that nothing will happen...he can't help but still be on edge. He contemplates the couch, and initially takes one more uncertain step down the stairs. Almost as soon as he does so, however, he gives a frustrated huff and walks down the stairs, grabs a chair, and brings it back up into the hall. He sets it outside the door to the guest room and plops down in it. Like a soldier standing guard, he sits outside the door with his elbows on his knees. Just in case. For his own peace of mind.

     Eventually, despite his still-racing thoughts and the tension in his nerves, Chris drifts off, resting his head against the wall behind him. Maybe tomorrow will be easier. Or maybe he'll wake up and it will all have been a dream. He's not sure which outcome he'd prefer.

     Day breaks with the hooting call of an owl from the forest outside. Ethan has come to terms with the seclusion, the result of his and his family’s…biology. It’s better than living in a lab, and that thought is what keeps him chipper. Rose tends to be the priority in his mind with things like this. Since they’re here and not in test tubes in some stuffy lab somewhere, Rose has a better chance for a normal life. It’s what keeps him going. 

     Karl stands idle in the kitchen beside Rose in her high-chair while Ethan bustles around doing morning tasks. Although the scene could be mistaken for normal, the Winters are far from it. Metal-laced toys dance around the baby’s head as a mobile on the go, as does a stainless steel bowl, which Karl passes to Ethan with the flick of his fingers. Heisenberg’s powers are useful as always, and provide extra hands for childcare that Karl never in his lifetime thought he’d require. He’s learned a lot since living with Ethan—about the modern world, media, technology, and fatherhood. Ethan reads a lot of books about the latter. Heisenberg’s come to learn that Ethan’s a pretty normal guy, but normal is good. He likes that about him. He’s the most normal bio-organic weapon Karl has ever come across, and he still could have kicked his ass; Karl’s sure of it. He pities the version of him from another time someplace where Ethan didn’t accept his proposal to team up against Miranda. That guy probably isn’t looking too hot right now, but what does Karl know? All he gives a shit about is this tranquility, right here. Oh, and what movie they’re gonna watch next movie night. He should bring that up sometime. Scream sounded interesting.

     Ethan prepares breakfast with ease. A bowl of cereal and some fruit for Rose is set out in front of her, to which she begins happily digging in with her fingers. Despite her biology, Rose has been growing up healthy and normal—so far, at least. 

     Ethan glances briefly over his shoulder to pass a cup of coffee to Karl before resuming his cooking. Wesker couldn’t eat yesterday, but that may have changed overnight, so Ethan’s making enough food for four today. 

     Speaking of which, as he begins to plate eggs and toast and set them on the table, he thinks about their new houseguest. There’s no telling how long he’ll be staying in their house, so Ethan figures he’ll have to get used to it. It doesn’t mean he’s still entirely keen on this near-stranger, even if Karl insists he’s fine. 

     That reminds him. Wesker—and his new body—had come out of almost nowhere. Ethan generally didn’t pry when it came to most of Heisenberg’s projects—and on the rare occasions Ethan spent time in the basement, his partner was usually tinkering with something else, instead. He wonders, briefly, why Karl kept it from him.  

     Ethan chances a glance up at the man in question. The former lord is currently distracted by watching Rose stuff her face with as much fruit as she can fit in her little hands at once, but the feeling of Ethan’s eyes on the back of his head seems to get his attention. 

     “Hey, I was just wondering,” Ethan begins, setting forks down on the table beside the plates. “Why didn’t you mention anything? About the whole—body project, I mean.” Ever since his past experiences with his ex-wife and Chris, Ethan’s not exactly been a huge fan of people keeping things from him. Generally speaking, people keeping secrets from him is how he ended up in the living hell that was Dulvey, and later the Village. Sure, it got him the life he has now, but still.

     Karl turns up from Rose just in time for Ethan’s question, and he flicks the brim of his hat idly after hearing it. “Ah, that.” He says, as though expecting the question. “Albert insisted I keep it to myself. Thought you’d mention it to Chris, I suppose.” Wesker or not, this little project of his would have been stamped out if Chris noticed it any sooner. “And hey, can’t men have hobbies?” He jests, but the discomfort in Ethan’s expression remains, so he steps over and wraps an arm around him. “Hey, hey, you know I wouldn’t do anything that’d hurt you or the kid. Hell, I’ve grown fond of the little rascal, myself.” His eyes land on Rose in her chair, who giggles and babbles at the attention of a little toy monkey Karl dances in front of her. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve still. And should the worst come to pass, we’ll just have to show ‘em what’s what, won’t we?” He chuckles as he shakes Ethan by the shoulder. He mimes a pow pow with finger guns, then grabs his chest, as if defeated. Rose loves the show. “She gets it,” Karl insists.

     Ethan sighs and shakes his head fondly. “Alright, alright. Fair enough. I trust you. We’ll just have to keep an eye on things,” he responds, turning to pour coffee for the rest of the adults and set the cups out on the table. 

     “Speaking of, actually,” Ethan continues. He looks briefly towards the stairs. So far, nothing. “Chris is really paranoid about this guy, huh? Didn’t think he’d sleep out there.” Ethan laughs, but there's disbelief within it. He takes a seat and sips at his coffee. “Could power a whole city with the kind of nervous energy he seems to get from being around that Wesker guy,” he says with a small chuckle.

     “Maybe he couldn’t stand to be apart?” Karl jokes and lifts a brow, “You’re right, though. That big guy’s gonna blow a gasket. And I wouldn’t want to see him when he’s angry.” Heisenberg watches the stairs as well. “Or hysterical.” He takes a seat.

     Ethan nods. “I get that they go way back, but something must have happened between them at some point.” He huffs a little, looking over to his daughter as she briefly considers her tiny plastic spoon before tossing it to the floor and digging her hands into the cereal instead. “I guess we’ll have to be on guard for if anything happens with those two,” he remarks. “If Chris tries to punch any of our walls like he did that giant rock, though, I’m kicking his ass,” Ethan adds with a pointed sip of his coffee.

     Heisenberg grins, amused by Ethan’s acceptance of the Chris/boulder slander. They chat a little longer until they hear the rattling and thumping of movement upstairs. It’s muffled, but if it was Chris, the sound would be clearer, right? Must be Wesker. 

     Heisenberg is nearly out of his chair before he spots Wesker descending the staircase across the living room. “Well, I’ll be damned…” Wesker is white-knuckled, holding himself up by the railing, but he’s walking on his own nonetheless. Impressive. His descent is slow and methodical—careful to avoid a slip or miscalculation. Because of this, Chris is quickly upon him from behind.

     Chris stops on the stairs just behind Wesker, frankly more than a little alarmed to see him up and moving—but also just to see him at all. It wasn’t a dream, then. Damn it.  

     Chris had awoken this morning to the sound of the door opening and Wesker maneuvering his way past his chair in the hall. The man had definitely noticed Chris’s choice of sleeping location, but he didn’t comment on it. The most Chris had gotten from the man in the hallway was a pointed, smug look down at him before Wesker continued past. Now, as Chris stands behind him, his hands waver uncertainly by his side. He’s not sure whether he should attempt to restrain Wesker again, or help him down the stairs.

     Wesker takes himself down the staircase slowly, but stumbles after a few steps of no concern. His feet slide down two steps at once, but he catches himself with an uncomfortable thud against the railing. His teeth grind with impatient frustration. 

     The more his walking comes off as pitiful, the closer he can feel the looming, pitying presence of Chris right behind him. It makes him seethe. The next step he takes is followed by another from Chris right behind him, and the next has Chris reaching out a hand around him. It’s hovering beside him, as if to prepare for his inevitable fall. Wesker swats it away like an invasive insect. The rest of his descent is slow, but he reaches the first floor eventually. He’s trying not to show it, but he’s working hard to catch his breath. 

     The Winters continue their morning jovially as though all's right with the world. Wesker stopped being a concern for them once Chris appeared behind him. The kitchen is the picture of a happy family—golden rays of sunshine pouring in between the curtains, the warm smiles and laughter of camaraderie and family. It feels like intentional torment to Chris and Wesker’s mutual torture. For once, they share an unsaid common ground. An agreement. Those assholes are rubbing it in our faces…

     Ethan glances up when Wesker reaches the bottom of the stairs. At least he didn't fall. As much as he might be trying his damnedest not to show it with Rose around, both Chris and Wesker's presence in the house right now is making him more than a little bit nervous. Sure, Wesker may not be able to walk steadily right now, but aside from his apparent history with Chris–and the animosity between the two of them–Ethan knows very little about this man. Chris talks about him like he's as dangerous as Miranda was, and that worries him a bit.The man can barely function right now, but what happens when he gets back to his full strength? What do they not know about him? Are he and his family in any danger?

     Ethan trusts Karl implicitly, but he knows his partner tends to be more act-first-ask-questions-later. He's brilliant, but impulsive, and that can be a risk, sometimes. Ethan keeps his guard up, just in case, but he tries not to let it show on his face how ready he is to potentially level a weapon at either Wesker or Chris, if the need arises. Even though he'd rather not. His guts seem to churn uneasily– or maybe that's just the mold, it's hard to say for sure, but he takes a deep breath to clear his head. They've made it through worse. It's going to be fine.

     "Oh good, you're up," is what he finally says. Rose turns her head and smiles wide at Chris as he reaches the bottom of the stairs beside Wesker. She waves excitedly at him, giggling and calling out "Uncle Chwis!" at the top of her little voice. Despite the tension in the air, Rose seems unaware of it, and as blissfully happy as ever. That's good, at least, Ethan supposes.

     As much as he’d like to greet the toddler, Chris is glued to his spot beside the stairs. Wesker is staring at the space in front of them: front door, living room, and kitchen just beyond that. Only after he stares long enough does Chris get an idea of what he’s thinking. There’s nothing to hold onto to support him all the way to the table. Nothing except…

     Chris trudges over to the table with Wesker attached to him by the violent grasp of his shoulder. He’s holding him so hard, Chris is surprised he hasn’t broken skin. He can hardly walk, yet his grip is like that of a…maniacal climber…? What kind of metaphor is that? Chris doesn’t know what to think…

     “Morning,” Karl addresses them both when they get close. “Any changes?” He passes a steaming cup o’ joe Wesker’s way. His red glare looks as though it could break the porcelain. 

     “Congratulations, Heisenberg. Your efforts have awarded this body an extraordinary level of agony.” He grabs the side of the table and the top of the mug with his other hand, grumbling curses. 

     “Ouch, Al’, you hurt me…”

     “Don’t call me that.” As soon as Wesker spits those words from his lips, he drags himself and the cup off of the table. “You’re to refer to me as ‘Wesker’ from now on.”

     “What!” Heisenberg hops up from the table, but Wesker has already turned and carried himself back the way he came. It’s light outside, but not completely. He’s shrouded in the shadow of the dim living room until he stops and settles down at the window seat alcove that looks out onto the cold autumn forest. Heisenberg shuffles past Chris in a hurry to remedy the situation. “C’mon, Albert, I thought we were friends, you and I!” He refuses Karl the honor of meeting his gaze and just sets the coffee down on the flat part of the window seat. The machinist tries to sit, but Wesker’s legs deny him access.

     “ Friends? ” Wesker growls. “Are you really so naive?” His leg kicks him back.

     “But you said we were friends before!” 

     “You sound like a child.” Their argument shows no signs of ceasing. So Wesker doesn’t even change for the man who dug him up from the grave…

     Ethan sighs. "Karl, just give it up and come eat your breakfast," he calls across to his partner before taking a seat himself. "Your food's going to get cold." Ethan watches Wesker dubiously while he eats his own food. Is he always this miserable of an asshole? 

     It's then that his words catch Ethan's attention. "Wait, agony? Are you in pain?" Ethan asks, looking back up. Is it just part of the whole new body thing, or is there something wrong? Ethan looks to his partner for an answer, but he seems too caught up in trying to continue the back-and-forth with Wesker. 

     Chris's head flicks up at that. Wesker's...in pain? Chris has seen this man shrug off all kinds of impacts like they were nothing. Gunshots, punches, kicks...the occasional explosive, even. What could be hurting him so bad as to cause him this much pain? Or, does he just not have the same resilience he used to right now? He almost wants to take some sort of smug satisfaction in that– Welcome to my world, Wesker –but at the same time, it does make his brow furrow with a mix of confusion and concern. Wesker's not going to suddenly mutate or something because of the Cadou, is he? Without a word, Chris stands and crosses the room to Wesker, looking him over.

     “ Yes, I’m in pain. You’ve discovered the meaning of the word,” Wesker huffs as Heisenberg steps back at Chris’s command. “Ah, and you’ve gotten this one interested. Well done.” His cruel sarcasm isn’t lost amongst the group. 

     Karl, wounded only emotionally, retreats to the table murmuring something about a deal they must have made. Wesker stares up at Chris only with his eyes. One of his arms is across his lap, and the other is at his side clutching the window seat’s cushion with a force Chris recognizes. He hasn’t the energy to kick or push away Chris as well, so he merely looks away while Chris takes his arm in his hands to examine it. 

     Wesker’s sleeve is still rolled up from last night, so nothing looks unusual at first until Chris notices the short blonde hairs all across his arm standing on end. Wesker notices it as well, and writes it off with a flick of his mussed hair. “It’s a piloerection, Chris.” He says that as if Chris knows the term. “Because it is cold.” His retort is cut short prematurely. 

   Arm still in Chris’s hands, he watches as Wesker’s upper body begins to spasm suddenly, his arm going stiff. It jerks uncontrollably in Chris’s grasp, unresponsive to any stimuli or force asserted by Chris’s knee-jerk reaction. In fact, the pressure his fingertips press into Wesker’s pale arm presses back. Flesh contorts unnaturally beneath his grip, bubbling and writhing just below the surface of the skin. Chris instinctively whips his hand away—a reflex not unlike that of a finger touching a hot iron. There’s nothing there though, just Wesker’s wrist beginning to calm from its seizing. Wesker stares on, unseeing and unresponsive once he falls still again.

Chris stares down at Wesker's arm for a long moment. Behind him, he hears the sliding of a chair, and a glance over his shoulder is all it takes to confirm Ethan is on his feet. "What the hell?" Ethan asks, simultaneously wary and concerned. 

     Turning back to his former enemy, Chris levels him with a serious look. "It was Uroboros, wasn't it?" There's not a lot of other explanations for why he would have felt movement like that under Wesker's skin. That definitely confirms he still has it, then. Great . The question now is why it acted up so violently like that. Chris remembers the easy control Wesker had over the virus before, so...what gives? 

     He pivots to look at Heisenberg, who's staring at Wesker with fascination. Right, this must be exciting to him, given the fact that he's the one who helped Wesker grow his body in the first place. Him and his fucked up science. Eyes cold and intense, he glares at the former lord. "What the hell just happened?"

     Karl raises his palms to the air in an innocent shrug. Chris’s glare makes it clear as day that he doesn’t trust him as far as he…as far as a normal guy could throw him. Wesker sits idle and unhelpful, watching the same spot he last saw before this all occurred. It isn’t until he snaps out of it that any further answers can be reared. 

     He uses that same hand that just spasmed to hold the bridge of his nose, his expression tensing from the sudden onset of a new pain. A migraine, brilliant. His glare reaches the others momentarily, and it takes him a few moments before he comes to a consensus. “The lab,” he says to Karl, ordering him simply. 

     “Hmn,” Heisenberg rubs his beard in response. “I’d say it’s more of a workshop than a—”

     “ Take me to it, ” Wesker commands through his teeth.

     Chris stops Heisenberg's approach by extending his arm in the way. "I don't trust him having access to any sort of lab, giving him any sort of resources for science is a huge risk," he argues. Heisenberg is about to chime in with some sort of snarky retort, no doubt, when Ethan's voice cuts through the air. 

     "Is now really the time for this?" He calls from the table, hands planted squarely upon it and face seething with frustration. Rose looks at him with brief surprise, at which point Ethan quickly schools his expression back into something calmer and turns his attention to drawing her attention away from the chaos in the room beyond. 

     "Look, every bit of damage that man's caused started in a lab," Chris says through gritted teeth. Surely there's another way they can figure this out, right?

     Karl points a finger back at Chris, but keeps his voice down because of the baby. “Aren’t you a soldier, not a scientist? What do you know about any of this?”

     Wesker exhales tiredly, unwilling to fight such a battle with Chris over something like access to a scalpel and some gauze. He listens begrudgingly as he lifts the mug filled with now mildly hot coffee to a pointed sip between his lips. He stares down at the mug after using it. Hand through the handle, he reads the university name printed across the side of the porcelain. Must have been Ethan’s undergraduate school. 

     Wesker growls from another surge of pressure, this one working up through his abdomen and right down his arm, like a chain reaction. His hand seizes again, and the pressure differential between his brain and his hand alters, causing his casual grip to turn deadly. The mug practically explodes in his hand, leaving the man drenched in warm coffee.

     Chris turns on the spot to look at Wesker, now covered in coffee. With how weak he's been the past few days, it's almost easy to forget how strong Wesker used to be. Almost . Chris could never truly forget how much of a threat Wesker is if he tried. That's part of the problem right now, actually.

     The loud noise, combined with the existing tension of the situation, makes stains of mold spread from Ethan's fingers across his hands to his wrists, and a few dark patches of mold to make themselves known on the sides of his face near his eyes. Chris's inability to think beyond the potential danger Wesker personally seems to pose, or rather, the possibility of the things Wesker might do intentionally , that the rest of his rational thinking seems to have gone out the window, not that Ethan's particularly surprised.

     Ethan's stares at Chris from across the table, probably about to give Chris a piece of his mind, when the agent lets out a defeated breath. "Alright, fine, " Chris concedes. Infuriatingly, Heisenberg has a point. Chris is far from a scientist, and what he knows about the viruses in Wesker's body is limited. He has no idea what's going on with Wesker's body, and much as he might hate the idea, the one with the most knowledge in the room is undoubtedly Wesker himself. "Unfortunately for all of us, he does have a doctorate. In virology," he admits with a huff and a roll of his eyes. Chris unceremoniously shoves his arm under Wesker's like yesterday, and hauls the blonde to his feet. Having that potentially-deadly grip now resting on his shoulder is a little nerve wracking, but Chris can handle it. Probably. At least long enough to get him where he needs to go: back down to the basement.

     Once they arrive, Wesker takes a seat in the chair Heisenberg used last—the one beside the counter he awoke from. He decides this is the best place, as the resources for the body are all gathered nearby, albeit unorganized. His hand is closed into a fist covered in blood and coffee, but he opens it against the table just in time to watch several cuts close themselves. The end of one of his eyebrows raises. There’s something special. That’s quite fast at a stage like this. It’s perhaps even faster than his previous healing factor. “From minutes down to just seconds…” he says to himself, examining his hand from many angles. This Cadou has potential. 

     Chris is already standing over his right shoulder, so the others fill in the left. As ambidextrous as he is, Wesker’s preferred writing hand is the one he’d like to examine right now, and he’d rather have his other one free for simple usage, so he commands Karl to note his dictation. Once he finds some paper and a pen, Wesker begins. 

     “Sudden onset focal seizure of the right arm. Abnormal electrical activity in the brain, likely caused by…” He exhales, numbering the possibilities, “the Cadou attacking the other viruses. Although, it could also be an issue with blood chemistry or some other chemical the body might not have the ability to reproduce.” Wesker turns his gaze upon Ethan as he feels down the length of his forearm with his spare hand. “As far as you’re aware, this Mutamycete mimics human tissue?” He glances aside at Karl, more so his notes. “Perhaps it’s rejecting the non-human qualities like the Uroboros…” He hums, seeing that the arm that caused such a scene earlier is reacting so normally is unhelpful, if not vaguely reassuring. “If that is the case, it strikes me as unusual,” he says, spinning around in the swivel chair. 

     Heisenberg looks up from the notes once he’s caught up. “Why? Seems like a pretty typical bodily reaction to a virus.”

     “Mmh, perhaps,” Wesker responds, tapping the arm of his chair idly. “That is, for a normal human.”

     Chris looks to Wesker. “So, the mold is basically fighting with the other viruses?” It’s not very reassuring of a concept, but it does make sense, given Wesker’s situation. From what Chris remembers reading, the mold assimilates and mimics the DNA of a host. Wesker does have a point, it’s possible that the mold doesn’t recognize the other viruses in Wesker’s system as just being part of him. It sounds unpleasant— the idea of your own body attacking other parts of itself just because they’re different— and it looks painful too. If what Wesker says is true…there’s essentially an ongoing war in his body between the mutamycete, and two other viruses. 

     Ethan interrupts Chris’s thoughts by speaking up. “Wait, other viruses?” He asks somewhat suspiciously. This is news to him. He’d noticed Wesker’s unusual eyes, that’s for sure, but until now, he’d assumed it was the Cadou’s doing—after all, he’d seen what it did to the four Lords. If Wesker’s been infected with other viruses this whole time, Ethan has no idea what this man will actually be capable of once he’s at full strength. It’s unsettling. Ethan looks to Heisenberg, the mold on his face creeping slightly closer towards his eyes out of stress.

     Heisenberg cups Ethan’s cheek with one of his hands, rubbing his thumb across the mold like it’s dirt. It recedes on the side he’s holding, and Ethan closes his eyes, leaning into that hand. 

     “It shouldn’t be the case, but yes. Seems so,” Wesker posits, leaning across the table to reorganize and gather a handful of materials. “It regenerated this body directly from the DNA that was stored in that pustule. I’m blind to its true nature as of now. Agh, if I had better equipment I could make a clearer analysis. ” That is muttered beneath his breath. “Chris,” Wesker turns over his other shoulder, looking up at the large man standing hesitantly over him. “Leave. Get me an electron microscope. If anyone could carry something so huge, it would be you. Mmh,” he looks back to his arm, taking the nearby scalpel in his hand. He examines either side of it. It’s certainly not disinfected. Wesker has watched Heisenberg’s practices down here long enough to know that. “Or,” he looks back to Chris with just a sideways glance, “if you could bring me to a fully stocked lab, that would be even better.” As he says that, he smirks, satisfied. Even weakened like this, Wesker has the potential enough to scare Chris into doing what he says and it makes him grin.

     Chris frowns, grimacing at the thought of not only having to haul such a big piece of equipment, but at leaving Wesker unsupervised. He trusts Ethan and Heisenberg, but they don’t have the same experience with not only Wesker but Uroboros as well. Not to mention, if Wesker needs equipment, Chris doubts an electron microscope is the only thing he’d be asked to grab. With how much back and forth he’d have to do…it might take a while, and Chris isn’t sure how much time they have before whatever’s going on in Wesker’s body gets worse. That could pose a big risk as well. 

      He deliberates for a long moment, fists clenched in frustration and indecision. None of their options here are great. Chris briefly regrets not going through with killing Wesker when he had the chance—they wouldn’t be dealing with this now. But it’s too late for that. He could always turn the man in…but that risks getting Ethan and Heisenberg locked up too, and he respects Ethan far too much to do that. 

     Taking Wesker to a lab would give Chris the opportunity to make sure he can keep an eye on the man, but it has its own host of problems. For one thing, the only other person with scientific knowledge among them is Heisenberg, and even then, virology is far from his speciality. There’s no easy way of guaranteeing he can trust the things Wesker does in that lab… and giving the mastermind that is Albert Wesker access to any sort of scientific resources is inherently dangerous. Plus, he’d have to actually get him in there—and Chris isn’t quite prepared to report his former captain’s newfound existence to the higher-ups yet. 

     Chris paces the floor, staring down at his feet. Regardless of what they do, there will always be an element of danger, of risk, of everything going to hell in a handbasket at a moment’s notice. The joys of working in anti-bioterrorism, Chris figures.

     Out of the options available, Chris hates that there’s a clear answer as to which poses less of an overall threat. They need to get this done quickly and with Wesker being watched—so the lab is their best option. But how to keep control over such an environment? How to keep such a brilliant and devious mind as Wesker’s in check?

      A memory crosses his mind. A scientist he’d met, a younger one, working for at one of the DSO labs who stays late working on personal projects. And most notably, owes Chris one hell of a favor for a time he’d saved both her ass and her job after an experiment gone horribly wrong. She probably wouldn’t recognize Wesker from his appearance, so as long as they didn’t make it obvious who he was, there’s a chance she’d be none the wiser. And , she’d have the know-how to keep an eye out for anything strange in Wesker’s work. Probably. 

     Chris stops pacing abruptly and rounds back to face the others. His stare lands on Wesker, and he sets his shoulders squarely, the same posture he uses when on the job commanding the Hound Wolf Squad. 

     “Fine. I have a contact at one of the government labs—I’ll see what I can do to get you in there,” he concedes. “But on some conditions.”

     He steps closer to Wesker, looming in front of where the blonde sits. “You have to dictate what you’re doing so we’ll know if you try anything. And we’ll be keeping an eye on you,” he says definitively.

     Wesker looks unfazed, “I expected as much. Though, I cannot guarantee your comprehension level.” He glances aside to Karl, who takes his look as an order to help him clean up. He’ll need to change clothes and dry up before they head out. They’ll do that while Chris is on the phone.

     Moments later in the garage, Chris waits with a tapping foot, his arms crossed, and his back leaned against his car. The call went just fine. The scientist sounded surprised, but just as gracious as she did the day Chris saved her. To be entirely honest, he never intended on calling in the favor, as much as she insisted on repaying her life’s debt. It isn’t that he didn’t want to put her mind at ease, it’s just that he has no reason to be in a lab. Had no reason. Any science that’s a part of his job comes down to briefing; he’s entirely removed from the hands-on lab stuff. The last time he was in a lab must have been on duty in some mad scientist’s dungeon. He killed some sorry bastard with a series of bulging growths under his skin, all across his body. The guy popped like a water balloon. Chris didn’t feel clean for days. 

     Wesker’s return under Heisenberg’s wing knocks Chris from his thoughts. He’s dry; Karl must have wiped him down. His blonde hair is completely wet now, but brushed back in its usual style down the length of his head. They must have washed his hair. There’s no blood on him now either, and his shirt is black again, a turtleneck. Chris wonders whether Wesker really insisted Karl fetch him his preferred color or if he just knew. No, this is Wesker he’s thinking about. He definitely made Heisenberg take the shirt back at least once. 

     “Well?” Wesker eyes Karl, implicitly asking what is taking him so long to pass him over to Chris or into the car. Heisenberg shakes his head and places his hat where it belongs atop his head. 

     “I’m coming too,” Heisenberg insists. “I can’t miss this!” Ethan walks around the corner with Rose in his arms just in time for Karl to look back at him. “And a real government lab, too!”

     Wesker harumphs, “You say that as though you have never been in one…”

     “It’s different now; you learn nothing as the guinea pig.” Karl remains steadfast, and even pulls his partner into it. “Ethan, you should come too! Imagine what we could see…”

     Ethan sighs. He’s not exactly enthusiastic about the idea of being in a lab again—he spent a few days in one before they were cleared to move out to their current safehouse. Heisenberg’s enthusiasm helps lighten his mood a little bit about the concept, at least. And, all things considered, he’d like to be on the same page as everyone else for a change. 

     Ethan sees Chris open his mouth to speak, probably to protest letting Heisenberg anywhere near a government lab, but Ethan interrupts him. “We should go,” he agrees. “If he’s going to be staying here for who knows how long, we deserve to know what’s going on.” Chris almost argues again, but seems to think better of it and shuts his mouth. He gives a resigned shake of his head. 

      “But there’s still one problem.” Ethan adjusts his grip on his daughter slightly. “Who’s going to watch Rose? We can’t take her along.”

     Chris takes his phone back out. “I can get someone to babysit. Shouldn’t be too difficult to get someone down here quickly.” He shoots off a quick message to the higher ups, first:

[ALPHA]: I’m taking assets E-007 and M-003 on an important errand run. Will be supervising them following usual procedures.

     Once he gets an affirmative from the higher ups, he then opens another contact. 

[CHRIS]: Leon, can you come watch Rose? I gotta take the guys somewhere.

Chris receives a simple message in return from his DSO contact:

[COMMAND]: Understood. Our people are on standby if you need them.

     Karl brings Wesker around to the backseat of Chris’s van and helps him inside. It’s a sleek black van with the appearance of a car fresh off the assembly line. This most certainly is maintained by some group Chris is affiliated with, or it’s another member of the Hound Wolf Squad’s car. Chris wouldn’t be able to keep his hair straight if he didn’t cut it so short. There’s no chance this man has the time to beautify his car if he can hardly take care of himself. Wesker massages a migraine, considering another idea. Or does he just treat this car better than he treats himself? The incompetence frustrates him greatly—the misplaced effort even more. Unfulfilled potential is the folly Wesker loathes the most, and of course, even unintentionally, Chris knows how to strike a nerve. 

     None the wiser, Chris feels a prickle run up the hairs on the back of his neck from Wesker’s deadly glare. Although, he writes it off when he feels the vibration of another text. 

[LEON]: Sure thing. I’ll get the chopper to drop me off.

     That established, Chris turns to the others. "Also, we should probably do something to...well, disguise him. Unfortunately, he's kind of a big deal, and he's likely to be recognized looking like this." Especially his eyes. Even if they changed his clothes again, Wesker's eyes would give him away in a heartbeat. They need something...but what?

     Ethan suddenly jumps into action. "Hang on –I have some colored contact lenses, we could probably use those," he points out as he turns to go back into the house. A quick trip inside and back, and Ethan returns with the contacts in one hand, and a large, green winter jacket that it looks like neither Ethan nor Heisenberg have ever worn. It seems far outside the normal wheelhouse of something Wesker would wear, so it should work, right?

     Heisenberg seems to catch on, and, with an all-too-mischievous smirk, reaches over and musses up Wesker's still-wet hair, several strands of which hang down in his face. Ethan hands off the contacts. "That should work, right?" He asks, shifting to hold Rose on his other side.

     Flatly, Wesker addresses Ethan’s question. “Yes, this should do,” his tone stifles under extreme tension. He’s holding back a boiling hot rage that lies just below the surface. “As for the hair, Karl ,” he exhales, brushing his hair onto the top of his head again. “Take me to the front seat. I need the mirror.”

     He’s obedient sometimes; like a scolded puppy, Heisenberg pulls Wesker back out of the car and helps him around to the front passenger seat. He steps back around to Ethan and Chris a little after Chris pockets his phone. Seems like things are sorted for now. They’ll head to the nearest DSO lab—the one they’ve been to before. First, though…

     Chris glances aside at Ethan and Heisenberg. “There’s something I need to grab from my apartment, first.” Something that he has a feeling Wesker will want. Something that’s been resting in the bottom of a box back at his place, something he’d left buried for years at the risk of bringing up more bad memories. Something he needs to return. “We’ll be back afterwards to pick you up.” His tone leaves no room for argument–this little detour isn’t something he wants anyone else to witness. The last thing he wants is to have to answer more potentially-humiliating questions about his past. 

    Chris gives a quick nod to the others and hops in the car beside Wesker. They’re on the road not long after.

     As he drives, Chris tries not to look at the man sitting in his passenger seat. He and Wesker haven’t really been alone since last night, and the car is silent as they travel. Wesker in his passenger seat is something Chris never thought he would see, and the man’s presence is a palpable weight in the atmosphere around them. 

     It’s almost surreal to be in this situation. Here he is, driving his worst enemy to his apartment and later to a lab. If you had told Chris ten years ago that any of this would be happening…he’d probably have thought it sounded insane. 

     Steeling his nerves, Chris speaks up, breaking the awkward silence. “So,” he begins, not entirely sure what to say. He pauses to gather his thoughts. What can he say? 

     “…How’s the arm?” He finally asks, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

     Wesker’s eyes are fixed to the small mirror hanging above him, and he runs his hand through his hair to ‘mess it up’ in a neater fashion. He went for so long in that worthless form that could hardly do or feel anything. The sensation of soft hair running between his fingers is familiar and satisfying, but dulled, as though he’s feeling through gloves on bare skin. Wesker stares at the hand that can’t feel, then tries the other. This one didn’t have the seizure, but it isn’t working at peak performance either, nevermind the muscle fatigue. He buries the frustration beneath a sigh and drops his hands. 

     The pain that is growing gradually more familiar to this body has spread since Wesker first noticed it. The arm feels the worst of it, but now his chest feels tight too. He can feel the arm pulsing, and each beat sears a new discomfort; it takes all his focus not to break the flesh on his palms with his fingernails. 

     He desires a distraction, so Wesker looks to Chris. His question ruins the point of the distraction, though. “Just drive, Chris,” is all he says in return.

     Chris huffs and shakes his head, focusing back almost entirely on driving. "Fine," he answers. Wesker's barely changed a bit in all these years. It simultaneously feels like it's been forever, and almost no time has passed since that fateful day on the volcano. Why does he even care if Wesker is doing okay physically? Why does he give a shit? Why is he helping this man? 

     Chris is frustrated with himself. This whole thing has been messing with his head–he's not sure what to think. Or what he feels about most of this. At least Ethan and Heisenberg seem to be taking it fairly in stride...well, Heisenberg is, at least. Good for him. Ugh .

     Why does he care? Wesker has done nothing but torment him for years. Even just the memory of the man haunted him for the past decade and a half. So why does Chris care about how he's doing or what happens with him? Is it just the paranoia that something might go wrong? Or...is it something else? Does it have something to do with the nights Chris has spent lying awake over the years, reminiscing on his S.T.A.R.S. days? He's not sure, and he's also not entirely certain if he wants to know the answer to everything that he's feeling right now. It's nearly headache-inducing. Or maybe that's just the constantly oppressive air that seems to surround Wesker all the time. Who's to say?

     Chris pulls up to a stop sign and follows road safety rules, despite the fact that they haven’t seen another car on the road for the last few minutes. He finds his eyes on Wesker during that pause, even though he can’t recall what made him look. Wesker stares ahead, attention unbroken by Chris’s staring. He must be deep in thought, Chris assumes and presses hard on the gas. 

     Wesker rocks back into the seat as the vehicle rushes forward. He’s decided he won’t allow Chris the pleasure of getting on his nerves, so the feeling he has shall be dubbed… ‘mildly perturbed.’ He turns his cold gaze upon Chris, expression unchanging. Chris looks ahead to the road now, and they turn a left corner so sharply that Wesker’s hand must dart to the window. He narrowly avoids colliding with the glass. In this weakened state, it would hurt, but not as dreadfully as it would wound his pride for being slung into a wall so easily. He presses his thin lips together to keep his tongue at bay. He’s not going to give in to the prodding. I won’t allow Chris the pleasure, he tells himself again.

     Chris chuckles slightly to himself. Wesker's irritation is evident, he can practically feel the glare drilling into the side of his head, but he doesn't care. He might as well take advantage of this situation to use the edge he has while he has it. If nothing else, to make himself feel better for all the torment Wesker has caused him. 

     He pulls one more reckless, sudden turn, a right this time, almost causing Wesker to get slung into Chris's shoulder. Chris finds this all too funny–if Wesker wasn't weakened right now, he wouldn't be able to pull this kind of stunt. Sure, his driving right now puts him at risk of pulling a Leon and crashing into something, but it’s funny.

     Thankfully, Chris has a bit more regard for road safety than his compatriot, so he resumes driving as normal once he's had his fun. He shoots a small smirk towards Wesker before his expression returns to normal. They're almost at the apartment, which is bound to be uncomfortable. Wesker will almost certainly start criticizing his living space the moment they get inside. He'll take what small enjoyment he can get before then.

     Wesker sits white-knuckled in shotgun for the rest of the ride to Chris’s place. Whether it’s to hold him in place or to hold him back from wrapping his fingers around Chris’s neck, neither man is completely sure. The van skids to a stop right outside the apartment complex—a final jab, no doubt. Wesker is so frustrated he gets up from the car and slams the door without thinking. Chris finds him holding himself up against the car outside, shivering from the cold or the rage. He glares daggers at him through his brow, but still refuses to speak a word, lest he lose his composure. Chris walks around the van with a laugh and takes his arm over his shoulder to carry him inside.

     Chris shoulders open the door to his apartment. The place the DSO provided him is fairly large; it’s bigger than the spaces provided to the other members of his squad, but it’s still sparsely decorated. The furniture is fairly unremarkable, and there are very few personal affects placed around the apartment at all. The walls are a boring, average off-white, with no decorations on their surface. A TV sits on a stand across from a gray couch, and a few side tables rest on either side. 

     Chris leads Wesker over to the couch so he can sit if he wants, then releases the man and moves to his bedroom. There's slightly more stuff in here, namely a bunch of extra combat equipment and other supplies and a few boxes containing what few personal belongings he still has. A few more of these boxes sit pushed up against the walls in the other rooms, more or less untouched. Chris never really bothered to make the place look nice–his apartment was more a place to sleep than anything else, even with his lessened workload during the past year or so. 

     The reason Chris came here is twofold. On one hand, he needs to make sure he has some extra gear on him, just in case. He picks up an extra magazine for his gun, and briefly examines the rest of his equipment. He only takes what supplies he thinks he might need that he can easily conceal on his person, and leaves the rest behind.

     Chris then turns to look at an old box shoved into the corner–one he'd intentionally left unopened for years, now. The other reason he'd come here. The words "Old stuff" are scrawled across in black marker, and the box has been collecting dust for some time. Walking over, Chris opens it. Inside are some old uniforms, random objects he'd picked up or received as gifts on old missions, and other mementos. Reaching in, he pushes the other items aside. There, at the bottom of the box, untouched but not forgotten, never forgotten, is a single pair of very particular sunglasses. Chris stares for a moment, uncertain, before grabbing them. The feel in his hand of the sunglasses almost has a weight to it, despite the shades actually weighing nearly nothing. Taking a deep breath, he stows them in his pocket.

      Chris’s apartment is stationed near the edge of a small town called Machias in southeast Maine. It’s quiet and cold, and, by all accounts, this place is a veritable ghost town by the looks of things. Fewer casualties, Wesker thinks to himself. The perfect place to hide bio-weapons. He’ll remember that for later. 

     His weakness doesn’t lend him the luxury of mobility, so Wesker is forced to sit on Chris’s couch. It’s hard and uncomfortable. There’s hardly a hair on the thing either; the couch screams how neglected it is just from the first touch. This place is hardly a home. Actively taking up space inside of it hasn’t changed Wesker’s opinion on that. He couldn’t have imagined it would; Wesker’s spent more time in this lousy apartment than Chris has and he doesn’t even know that yet. He idly wonders if the spot he frequented as that leech thing is still as dusty as it used to be. Of course it is. Chris never discovered him, and neither did he dust. The fool. 

     Chris wanders back into the main room to see that Wesker has left the couch and is standing on the other side of the room. He’s atop one of the stools from the counter where he eats his meals, except Wesker has pulled the stool around in front of the kitchen cabinets. He reaches a hand up on top of the cabinet in front of him and runs a finger along the length of it. A thick layer of dust lines his forefingers, and he tuts at Chris’s disgrace. “You never quite got the hang of living on your own, did you Chris?”

     Chris raises an eyebrow. “For the record, I can live on my own just fine,” he says with a disgruntled huff. “There’s just no need to be fancy about it in my line of work.” 

     He keeps a wary eye on Wesker—the man can mostly stand on his own now, but Chris is half-expecting him to fall off the stool at any second. He walks past, moving to a small closet in the wall between his bedroom door and the living room, where he rummages around before pulling out a karambit knife—one he’d kept in another coat. He stashes it in the pocket of his current one before turning back to Wesker. “I have something for you, actually, if you’re willing to not be a smug asshole about it,” he says, raising an eyebrow doubtfully. He knows full well that Wesker’s likely going to be one regardless, but Chris might as well shoot back a little bit.

     Wesker turns to Chris, only half-interested. “Mmh, is it another missile between the eyes?” He flings the dust from one hand and sticks his other into the pocket of his pants.

     Chris rolls his eyes. “Maybe it will be, if you keep being a dick. I’m sure I could find one. Should I check my junk drawer?” he retorts, stepping closer. 

     Despite the dry, sarcastic tone he carries in the exchange, Chris tries not to think about the memories that Wesker’s remark brings up. Nope. Not right now. Already dealt with those earlier. Don’t need to deal with that again right now. He huffs. He’s annoyed, but his face turns serious as he reaches into his pocket and hands the sunglasses over to Wesker. Chris knows he’ll recognize them. “Here. You might as well take these.” He says nothing more as he holds them out, carefully trying to keep his expression unaffected.

     Wesker’s pointed expression slowly drops as he stares down at the sunglasses placed into his hand. Turning them around in his palm, there is no doubt in his mind that these are his preferred brand. If they once belonged to him, then the lenses have surely been replaced since he last used them. Where could he have gotten this? 

     He isn’t so quick to respond this time, the gesture weighing on him uncomfortably. His eyes tell Chris that Wesker finds him strange. “How… very sentimental of you to have kept this after all these years.” He lowers himself onto the stool and sits, hooking the glasses so they hang off of the turtleneck of his sweater. “Should I assume you stole these from an evidence locker?” Wesker asks with the cock of an eyebrow.

     Chris folds his arms. “Actually, not quite,” He asserts. “The BSAA raided your old base back in Africa. After a while, they decided they were gonna toss those. So I grabbed them. Wasn’t entirely sure why at the time. Still don’t entirely know why now,” he explains. 

     Turning around, he closes the closet and crosses the room. Chris stops by a backpack disregarded off to the side of the couch, which he starts rummaging through. He grabs an emergency med injector just in case, but ultimately decides against most of the other items in the bag.

     It isn’t often that Wesker’s bank of snide comments and comebacks runs dry, but it appears today is one of those days. His stare follows Chris as he rounds the counter and slips the health vial into the space between his belt and his pants. He comes only halfway around to the other man, eyeing the cabinets behind him as though debating whether he should address them now or later. Wesker exhales tiredly knowing that if he’s debating it like this, then those cabinets are going to remain dusty until the end of time. 

     “Chris,” his name spoken by Wesker’s rumbling voice is always enough to snap him to attention. “Take me to the mirror. I tire of waiting.” As he finishes the command, he tilts his head toward the bathroom, where the one mirror in the apartment is. Chris is immediately struck with the tingling pang of unease from that simple movement. How did he know that? That the mirror is over there? Chris second-guesses his suspicion only a moment later. As cautious as he is, even he reckons that yeah, everyone knows a bathroom is going to have a mirror in it. Damn Wesker has him overreacting… He thinks that way until his suspicion comes back around twofold. These apartments are structured in a three-room layout—enter into the main room, bedroom on the right, bathroom on the left. He never told Wesker where the restroom was, and yet he knows. He chose a rather strange place to check, so he knows he doesn’t dust either. Chris wonders what else he knows, still unsure whether he’s overthinking these simple details. He could easily write it off as lucky guesses, but the coy way the corner of Wesker’s lips turn up into a smirk keeps him constantly on overdrive. Even now, he could give Wesker the benefit of the doubt that he’s simply grinning at Chris’s silent torment as he normally does, divorced from any previous circumstances.

     However, all of these suspicions together tell Chris that Wesker must be smiling because Chris knows he can’t prove any of what he knows is true. Damnit , Wesker’s got him right about his little finger. 

     Chris looks up from his thoughts to find Wesker gone. He must have left on his own after Chris just stood there motionless like that. What is wrong with him? He can hear the man in the bathroom nearby, but he can’t imagine what would have happened had he fled the scene. Chris needs to keep on his A-game. 

     Entering the restroom, he finds Wesker half-sitting atop the counter where the bathroom sink is embedded. He’s turned away from the door though, looking at the mirror. His pupils are a grayish-brown—Ethan’s colored contact lenses.

     The sight of Wesker with normal-colored eyes is…jarring, to say the least. He looks almost normal like this. It’s the same effect Ethan seems to have on the people around him—he looks so normal it’s hard to remember that he’s a dangerous bio-organic weapon. Or, at least, he looks as normal as he can get when the man in question is Albert Wesker. 

     He almost looks like he did back in their S.T.A.R.S. days. Before him isn’t the enemy he’d fought for years on end, instead he faces the man he’d once called Captain.

      Wait, what is he thinking? Chris shakes his head. He has to keep it together. Wesker may look normal like this, but he’s still just as dangerous as he has always been. He was dangerous back then even, and he’s more so now. 

     “Those work better than I expected,” he says, rather than express any of the turbulent thoughts tormenting his brain right now.

     Wesker’s eyes narrow as he examines himself in the mirror. “That they do.” Once he’s finished with a small strand of hair, he turns around to face Chris, who stands in the doorway. An immovable object. If only Wesker had the strength to be an unstoppable force. The tension is still thick in the air between them, and the way Chris stands says he’s not going to back down. Wesker’s arms fold across his chest. Whatever this big oaf wants from him, Wesker is going to make him say it.

     Chris holds the staredown for as long as he’s able. But even someone as strong as him finds himself faltering in the face of Wesker’s imposing air. Giving an exasperated scoff, he leans against the doorway, finally breaking their eye contact to look aside. 

     If this is how it’s gonna be, he might as well try to get an answer to the mysteries plaguing his thoughts right now. “Why do you seem so familiar with my apartment?” He finally brings himself to ask, sounding more than a little bit suspicious and clearly irritated that Wesker continues to have such a profound effect on him.

     Wesker smirks the moment he asks that question, as if he was waiting for his chance to answer it. “Because I’ve lived here, of course.” His head shakes, showing his disappointment from Chris’s slow reaction. “I’ve been here as long as you have, Chris.” His eyes turn back up to the other man. Even with eyes the same color as Chris’s, it still feels as though they’re burning right through his flesh. “It’s a shame. You should be thanking me. After all the drunken nights I ‘helped’ you through…”

     All at once, Chris tenses back up again. He rushes forward at Wesker, grabbing him by the shirt collar. In a second, the blonde has been pushed up against the wall roughly and with no regard for his current weakness. 

      “How do you know about that,” Chris nearly growls through gritted teeth. “What the fuck do you mean?!” He’s right up in Wesker’s face, glaring daggers as though trying to kill the man with his eyes alone.

     While it’s true Chris has spent more than the occasional night drunk half-out-of-his-mind on his living room couch, kept awake by memories of his past, how could Wesker know? And why does he specifically know that more than a few of those nights were spent reminiscing specifically on his memories of his former captain, of the mastermind he’d worked so hard to kill. 

     Chris tries not to think about those nights, about the sleepless, miserable nights where he almost misses his past—where he almost misses his greatest tormentor. His grip is vicious in Wesker’s shirt, almost threatening to tear from Chris’s ridiculous strength alone.

     Wesker’s head thunks hard against the bathroom wall. Perhaps that was deserved; Wesker was goading him on, and Chris reacted exactly as Wesker expected him to. It only makes his smirk persist. “Come now, why don’t you put that thick skull of yours to use before you ask me these kinds of questions?” Despite his predicament, Wesker flicks Chris on the forehead. When he moves even an inch, Chris’s thick arm presses harder against his neck. Neither of them budge. “ Slow as ever, Chris. You should have realized this much, much sooner.” His head shakes disappointedly. “How do I know about this pitiful setup you have here, you ask?” His eyes meet Chris’s. “How could I not know? How else would Karl have known about you back in that village? Not to mention your failure to perform in the snow yesterday. You haven’t asked me about that. Your missions, your habits, good and bad. You took up smoking again and you haven’t quit since the volcano. Hmhm,” he laughs at Chris’s face, a sight for sore eyes. “You know, those things will hinder your performance, Chris.” 

     Chris is struck with a wave of nostalgia—a memory of this exact lesson from his past. He was a smoker too when he joined S.T.A.R.S.. Wesker made him lose the habit. Just as he recognizes the words, the mastermind adds, “Although, you already knew that, didn’t you?”

     Chris is momentarily stunned, his grip going slack for a second before tightening again. He crowds Wesker's space–getting right in his former captain's face. "Shut up," he threatens. What the fuck is Wesker saying? Sure, he knew that Wesker had to have been updated on some things involving him, but the way he talks about it is as though he'd been present for all of it. And his attitude is as infuriating as ever.

     A thought strikes Chris, then. How did the worm that would later become Wesker end up in the village? How would it have gotten there from Africa? Had...Had Wesker hitched a ride with him? And if so, that would mean that Wesker's been with him the whole time...there's no telling how much of Chris's life over the past decade and a half or so that the man has seen. Just how much of that was he aware for? How long has he been... haunting Chris?

     Chris seems to finally be putting it all together in his head, that much is evident from the way he briefly looks aside and furrows his brow in thought, and when it all clicks his eyes snap back to Wesker. Their faces are inches from each other, and Chris's expression is nothing short of furious. "Son of a bitch– you latched onto me, didn't you?"

     Wesker’s smirk never fades. As soon as Chris finishes his question, Wesker aims for the bridge of his nose and headbutts him with enough force to send him tumbling backwards onto the other side of the small restroom. 

      One mistake is all it takes for your opponent to get the better of you. Never forget that, Chris. Those words are another lesson he recalls all too frequently in moments like these. It’s all he hears as Wesker sweeps his feet out from under him and he collides with the floor. Stunned a second time from the impact, Wesker straddles his waist and grabs his throat with his good hand. He presses his thumb down into the divot above his sternum while unfolding his sunglasses with his other hand. Any movements—even slight ones—make Wesker’s grip grow tighter. That lesson weighs on Chris’s mind a moment more once it dawns on him that the man atop him is the one who taught it to him. He was cheeky in the Air Force before S.T.A.R.S.. Talented, yet inexperienced. Wesker taught him so much, only for it to land him here, beneath the dark glare of those damn sunglasses. 

     Wesker isn’t smiling any longer as he watches Chris struggle for wheezing breaths beneath his grip. This all moved so fast. Growing in desperation, Chris’s free hand struggles forward to grab ahold of Wesker—anywhere, the placement doesn’t matter. 

     As though waiting for that cue, Wesker whisks Chris’s handgun from its sheath and presses it against his forehead. Only now that Wesker starts to see some fear behind Chris’s tensed expression does his grin begin to return anew. 

     “Pitiful,” Wesker says between a smirk and a laugh. “You’ve gotten sloppy with age, Chris. What’s the point of all this muscle when you leave yourself open at every opportunity?” He isn’t sure, but Chris believes he can see Wesker’s eyes narrowing beneath the shades. He has no time to think about it as he feels Wesker’s fingernails dig into his neck. “Hah,” Wesker laughs simply.

     “You make it far too easy for me.” 

    Chris feels the gasps of air returning to his lungs before he realizes Wesker’s hand has pulled back. While he’s lying there grasping his neck, Wesker pats him on the cheek a couple times, then jabs him with his own health vial. Chris can feel his pain and discomfort dissipating as he watches Wesker pull himself off of him and head out the bathroom door. He dips back into the doorway only to toss Chris’s gun onto his chest. It hits him with a thump that knocks some air out of him again. Damn that guy…

     Chris struggles to collect himself. He ends up having to grab onto the counter with one hand just to pull himself mostly upright. Despite how weak Wesker had been, the man had gotten the advantage over him in seconds . How could he have let that happen? The lesson plays again in his mind, and he hates that it does so with Wesker’s voice. 

     Chris grabs and looks at his gun. Wesker could have killed him in that moment. Could have shot him dead or choked him out. His throat still aches and he takes in unsteady breaths at the thought. But despite everything, he didn’t. He could have taken advantage of the moment to kill Chris and run, to pursue whatever scheme he desired, but he didn’t. 

     Chris’s head hurts, although he’s not sure whether that’s from the brief lack of sufficient oxygen, or from the feelings tormenting his head right now. On one level, he’s livid. Livid at Wesker for what he did, and livid at himself for being such an idiot and not taking Wesker’s own lesson to heart. His hands clench into fists as he re-holsters his gun. 

     Yet, the thought of Wesker using the health vial on him, of choosing to leave him alive…stirs more complicated feelings. On one hand, he’s glad he’s still alive. But he’s also stunned by Wesker choosing to spare him. Not to mention, loathe as he is to admit it, the man is right: he’s getting sloppy. He’s not been at peak performance in years—it’s why the DSO assigned him to watching Ethan and Heisenberg in the first place. It’s a fairly low-effort task where he gets to talk to people he considers friends. It’s effectively a vacation in disguise as an assignment. Yet Chris has taken no opportunity to make the most of it and improve himself, get back into peak condition mentally, physically, and emotionally. And now look where it’s landed him.

     And then there was the…almost intimacy of the situation. Of the way Wesker can read him like no one else, of the way Wesker’s eyes met his own so knowingly. The way he had predicted his attempt to fight back—and immediately countered with the gun. Not to mention Wesker’s decision to straddle his waist and wrap a hand around his throat. Chris tries especially hard not to think about how that makes him feel. 

     Taking a deep, desperately needed breath, Chris steadies himself as best he’s able and walks back out of the bathroom. He’s left Wesker unwatched for too long, anyways. Especially after a stunt like that.

     Wesker is leaned against the wall by the door when Chris steps back into the main room. Chris doesn’t even stare; the moment he sees him by the door he knows it’s a message for them to move along. Good timing. Chris could use some air.

Chapter Text

     The car ride back to the Winters’s house is silent, hushed by both men’s reluctance to speak   again. Nevertheless, they pull into the driveway at the house to pick Ethan and Heisenberg up. Both men chat casually as they enter the car, unaware of the violent fight that sullied the air around the front seats. 

     Somewhere in the middle of it all, Heisenberg leans forward to look into the front of the car. “What’s the matter? You two are so quiet up here.”

     Wesker waves him off with a huff and a gesture to sit back down. “It’s nothing unusual. You should be more concerned with where we’re going.” He glances over his shoulder, meeting Karl’s eyes, sunglasses to sunglasses. “If you don’t keep your mouth shut, I trust your partner wi—”

     “Those sunglasses!” Karl exclaims. “They look absolutely perfect on you!” Heisenberg gets so excited over the littlest things. “You went glasses shopping?” He offers a thumbs up, then looks to Ethan and speaks in a quieter tone. “Did you know about this?” Somehow, Ethan gets the feeling Karl wishes he could’ve joined them.

     “I had an extra pair at my apartment,” Chris half-lies. It’s not entirely untrue, but he’d really rather not explain the finer details of those sunglasses. Or why they seem to fit Wesker so perfectly. He decidedly refuses to chance even a second’s glance at Wesker, keeping his eyes set firmly on the road. The events in the apartment replay in his mind no matter how he tries to force the thoughts away. 

     Ethan just rolls his eyes and gives a fondly exasperated shake of his head in response to his partner. The tension in the air around Chris and Wesker is thicker than the snow coating the ground around them. Ethan doesn’t dare ask—whatever happened between them must have been intense, judging from the hard set of Chris’s shoulders as he drives.

     Wesker exhales tiredly and looks ahead again. “Remember, none of you are to refer to me by name. Although, if it is necessary, I’ll come up with a fake one to tell your scientist friend, Chris.” Wesker falls silent, considering his options for names. “The terms ‘Uroboros’ and ‘Progenitor’ are out of the question if this person knows their stuff.” He huffs. “What a nuisance. Very well, I’ll use code for those, as well.” The backseat is lost to the meaning of those terms, so Wesker is saying this to Chris more than anyone else. He’s hesitant, but the driver eventually offers a nod once he realizes Wesker’s saying that to him. Plan made, the car proceeds to its destination.

     The DSO Northeastern Branch Primary Research Lab is quiet as Chris leads the group of bioweapons through the doors. He’s lucky that the DSO has so much faith in him—and that he has the clearance to more or less go where he pleases. Their footsteps resonate on the tile floor, one of the few sounds in this place at this time of the afternoon. 

     The lab is fairly empty, at the moment. Somewhat intentionally so—Chris knows that there’s nothing important happening here today. Very few scientists are on duty, if even in the building. In fact, the only person standing in the reception room to greet them is a young lady in a lab coat who brightens up like a lightbulb when Chris enters. 

     This must be Chris’s contact, that much is obvious from the way she smiles at him. There’s adoration in those eyes. 

     “It’s great to see you, Chris. I’ve got the lab all set up—almost everyone’s out today so we should have the place to ourselves,” she confirms, gleaning around Chris’s rather substantial bulk to look at the others. She looks Wesker over. “I’m guessing this is the guy?” She asks, fingering her glasses. 

     “Yeah. Just–keep this on the down low, will you?” Chris responds. “The higher-ups really don’t want this being made into a big deal yet,” he lies. It’s not entirely untrue. It’s just that it’s not the higher-ups who want this to stay quiet. It’s him. 

     Luckily, the researcher—whose name tag reveals her name is Dr. Elise Galloway—doesn’t seem to find anything odd in Chris’s words. Instead, she seems to believe the lie wholeheartedly, nodding. “I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll keep this confidential.” Stepping around to the others, Dr. Galloway eyes Wesker again. Even without his full strength and in disguise, the man is an intimidating figure—and the cold scowl that seems to be a permanent fixture of his face gives him an imposing air unlike anything else. The very space around him almost feels colder, as though he quite literally sucks the warmth out of his surroundings just by being there. She shudders for a moment before uncertainly extending a hand in offer of a handshake. “Dr. Elise Galloway, sir. And you are…?”

     Donning the green jacket Ethan lent him, an intentionally messy hairstyle, and without the sunglasses he was recently so happily reunited with, not Dr. Albert Wesker shakes the woman’s hand. His deadly stare softens politely. “Dr. Birkin,” he lies, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my dear. Mr. Redfield mentioned you could be of some help to our little…project. I’m delighted to have access to your resources.” The surprisingly polite Dr. Birkin follows Galloway’s gaze over his shoulder, to the other two standing behind him. “These two are with us.”

     The scientist eyes the much taller man curiously for a moment. The name sounds familiar, that much is obvious. “Dr. Birkin,” She repeats, somewhat uncertain. She knows that name. Or at least, she’s heard it before. She looks him over again. He’s not familiar—and he doesn’t look like anyone she remembers hearing about before. Maybe a distant relative Sherry never mentioned? 

     The other two behind him, however, she recognizes. “Ah, Mr. Winters. Mr. Heisenberg. I see. Well, I’m happy to help however I can,” she responds, smiling. She turns back to Chris, seemingly disregarding the uncanny feeling that the supposed Dr. Birkin’s name evokes for her. “I’ll lead you to the lab,” she says, turning away to swipe her ID badge on the nearby door.

     Chris shoots a look at Wesker, surprise and bafflement on his face. He mouths a quick “ Birkin ?” at the man, almost immediately schooling his expression back into normal.

     Wesker just smirks back at Chris, smug since he got away with it. They enter the laboratory without crossing paths with anyone else.

      Ahh, the sweet, white, sterile serenity of a laboratory. The others don’t know the feeling, but Wesker longed for the day to come again that he’d step inside a lab—a real lab. He must make the most of his time here.

     As soon as he’s done taking it in, he shrugs the jacket from his shoulders and dresses himself in a spare lab coat from nearby. He gets to work in an instant. It’s almost uncanny to see someone Chris most often thinks about in a fighting context in a place like this, doing science just like any other doctor here. He’s known for so long that the mastermind that is Albert Wesker started all of his schemes behind a microscope, but seeing it in person now is a bit perplexing. 

     Wesker sterilizes and pricks his finger for a sample of his blood, which he examines under a microscope firstly. He narrates, as was agreed upon. “Examining blood sample now, no discernible difference from a traditional human’s blood,” he says, adjusting the sensitivity. “That sounds good, of course, but it is not what we’re looking for.”

     Before proceeding, he looks up from his microscope, his dark brown eyes pointed across the room at Chris. “What level of detail do you desire from this analysis?”

     Heisenberg swoops in, trotting around the counter Wesker is sitting at. Excitement in his eyes beneath his sunglasses, Karl rubs his hands together expectantly. “Lay it all on us, teach’.”

     Wesker exhales as he sees Chris nod to support Heisenberg’s answer. “Very well. Karl,” Wesker produces the notebook Heisenberg lent him from a pocket of the green jacket and hands it over to the engineer. “I expect you to note what I say in detail.” For some reason, that response just makes Wesker sound more like a teacher. Chris pities the sorry bastard who’ll have to take his exams. That…isn’t Chris, is it? Damnit, should Chris be taking notes too?

     The lecture begins before Chris has the chance to make a move for a pen of his own. “As settled previously, the Cadou is working feverishly to keep the appearance of a human being. What I am seeing here is the appearance of normalcy, although a trained eye can spot the difference.” Wesker looks up from the microscope again and draws Chris over with the pull of a finger. Although hesitant, once he’s close enough, Wesker sterilizes and pricks Chris’s finger with a small and simple device that houses a needle. The pain is nothing to Chris, if a little unexpected. He tries not to let himself tense up in front of Dr. Galloway, who half-watches from her own table across the room. 

     Once Chris’s sample is transferred to a second slide, Wesker places its corresponding coverslip atop it and switches it out for the sample he was looking at. “Hm, yes. Take a look.” Scooting back with his stool, Wesker makes room for the others to look at Chris’s blood. Karl quickly loses his shades and stares into the eyepiece. A look from Wesker tells Chris that he is to look at it, as well.

     Once Chris is looking down the scope, he sees a series of red circles. Most of them are distinctly separate, although some layer atop each other. 

     “This is a normal human blood sample: what the first one is mimicking. Notice the small specs between the blood cells. Those are platelets. They form blood clots that prevent the body from bleeding out. This is normal.” While Chris’s attention is on the sample, Wesker switches it for the first one again. “Here is my blood. Look for the platelets again.”

     Wesker’s blood looks pretty much the same to Chris, although Wesker suggested that someone unlike him might have trouble pointing out a difference. Looking for the specs, Chris shakes his head. “There’s more of them,” Wesker explains, spinning the objective lens to a reduced level of magnification. “There. That should make it easier to see.” He pats Chris on the shoulder to get him to get off the microscope so he can readjust the focus. Once done, he sits back down and lets Chris look again. The image of the blood is as he says. When Karl has a look, he asks what it means. Wesker continues, “It means part of the pain this body is experiencing may be from slight thrombocytosis—when there are high platelet levels, they can block arteries. This is merely a simple matter, though. The larger issue is why this blood is showing no signs of infection by either viruses that should be visible here.”

     Ethan tilts his head. So Wesker is infected with other viruses. He'd heard as much from Chris earlier, but this confirms it. That thought makes him wonder. First off: just what Wesker at his full strength would truly be like. And secondly, how much danger he and his family might be in. Then again, everything's been fine so far. For now, Ethan just focuses on trying to absorb as much information as he's able to understand, and enjoying the sight of his partner so excited. Karl looks like a kid in a candy store here. It's endearing.

     "So, they're not where they should be? Could the Cadou be preventing that?" Chris asks. Science is not his specialty, far from it, but he's following along. After all, this is information he'll need to know if he has to keep an eye on Wesker for the foreseeable future. "You said before that the mold might be attacking the other viruses. Is that why they're not visible? The mold's keeping them out of where they should be?" He continues. He's trying his best. Most of Chris's time spent in labs has been for briefings, but when you're in this line of work for long enough, you do learn some basics , at least.

     Wesker nods. “Yes, I suspect it’s holding the viruses back from circulating throughout my bloodstream.” His finger taps impatiently atop the slick, black lab table. “It’s likely that there are large concentrations of both viruses taking refuge from the attacks of the Cadou.” As he says this, he draws his right arm out from the lab coat and rolls the shirt sleeve up to his elbows. The flesh is discolored and swollen. “Blood vessel damage,” Wesker states plainly. Most of the arm is reddened, but tones of purples and greens peak through around where veins are nearby. The coloration is similar to bruising, and Wesker looks down at it unflinchingly. He takes another sample from a vein on this arm, expecting the platelet count to rise even higher. He’s correct, and communicates that to the group. The greater difference in this sample is that this blood is infected. So much so that the viral cells overpopulate the red blood cells, pulling them together and congealing into a greater mass beneath the microscope. Wesker watches as the blood moves under the lens. “The virus is trying to form pustules throughout the bloodstream,” Wesker says, mostly to himself. “The virus,” he glances up to Chris, “the one that is black in color, should be spread in equal portions throughout the body, including the bloodstream. It is not. You ,” Wesker looks across the laboratory and locks eyes with the young researcher listening in. “I need you to gather some chemicals for me. Note this if you must.” Once a pencil reaches her hand, Wesker begins listing a series of arduous chemical names, nearly all of which are lost to everyone aside from the two doctors in the room. Once he finishes, his expression softens politely. “Did you get all of that, Dr. Galloway?”

     Dr. Galloway flinches for a moment when initially addressed, and jots down the chemicals quickly. The way he called her out sent a shiver down her spine, almost freezing her in place. There's something intense about Dr. Birkin, but it seems to fade whenever he speaks to her. Must just be really dedicated to his work, then. He's surprisingly polite despite his imposing figure, and Dr. Galloway offers a small smile. "Got it. I'll be right back!" She declares cheerfully, walking to a nearby door and swiping herself through. 

     Once the woman is out of the room, Chris turns to Wesker, a baffled expression on his face. He's never seen Wesker act that nice, not in years. "You've never been this polite before," he observes flatly. "I didn't know you were physically capable of that." He folds his arms. That aside, what Wesker said before doesn't escape his notice. The strange sensations and movement he'd noticed under that portion of Wesker's skin before was definitely Uroboros, then. "Anyways. So you need to get the Cadou to stop attacking the other viruses so they can spread out like they're supposed to?" While Chris is still somewhat hesitant at the idea of helping Wesker get back to his full, terrifying self, it would arguably be worse for him not to have control of the viruses- who knows what kind of havoc could be caused if Uroboros and the Progenitor virus went out of control.

     “Yes,” Wesker replies to Chris, choosing to ignore his remark about his perfect people skills. “What I asked her for were some chemical compounds I can use to target fungal cells. If everything goes as planned, a depressant to slow the reproduction of Mutamycete cells should suffice...” Since Chris is still avoiding name-dropping Uroboros and Progenitor even while Galloway is absent, Wesker shall do the same. “That way, the other viruses will have the time and resources to repopulate and spread throughout the body. Any questions?”

   Ethan considers asking more about the other viruses, but decides it can wait for now. Dr. Galloway will be back any second. Instead, he gives Chris a pointed look– he expects explanations later. And he won't back down until he gets one. Chris gives Ethan an unsteady nod. 

      "I got everything!" Speak of the devil, Galloway shoulders the door open with various bottled chemicals in tow on a small cart, the type that might be used for carrying surgical instruments. She pushes the cart over to Wesker with a smile, before turning to offer that same smile to Chris. 

     Ethan spots Heisenberg making a move towards one of the machines near the corner of the room and walks off to grab his partner and drag him back over to the workspace, despite the other man's half-hearted protests. Ethan just scoffs fondly.

     “Splendid,” Dr. Birkin replies pleasantly. Chris can see Wesker’s warm smile twitch; this show must be exhausting for his patience. “Why don’t you stay over here? I could use a lab assistant.” Wesker lays out the general procession of a trail he’d like to run before proceeding to bodily injection. Galloway nods fervently at each new detail, jotting it down on a clipboard for later. Good research assistants are hard to come by; it’s why Wesker tends to work alone. As long as she keeps her head down and does as she’s told, she’ll do just fine by him. He’s something of the no-nonsense type in the lab. Important work happens here, which requires a pristine hand and laser focus. Distractions wear quickly on his patience.

     While Wesker goes about preparing the chemicals, Galloway has a brief moment of pause. She takes that moment to turn and look at Chris. To say she admires the man would be selling it short–he'd saved her life once, after all. Chris watches the proceedings with a serious expression, keeping his eyes glued to the blonde’s work. He's an amazing man, capable, strong...she can't help but find herself drawn in.

     In the moment of downtime, she steps closer to Chris with a smile. "By the way, I was wondering," she begins, not noticing Wesker pausing momentarily at hearing her speak up suddenly. "Would you...wanna get coffee, or something? Whenever you're free?" She looks up at him, hopefully.

     Chris is momentarily stunned. He's had people come onto him before, but he's almost never reciprocated. To say that his love life has been uneventful in the last decade or so is an understatement. It would be more accurate to say that his love life doesn't exist, and it hasn't for years. He's not really interested in dating or really feels anything but friendship for Dr. Galloway. He doesn't really feel particularly strong attraction to anyone.

     Although...his eyes briefly drift to Wesker. No. Whatever he feels for Wesker is intense, but complicated. He still isn't sure how to define it, whether it's hatred, bitterness, fear, concern...or something else. It seems impossible to put a name to however he feels about the man. It's the strongest feeling he has towards anyone , even more so than his camaraderie with his long-time friends, but...he's not sure what to call the sensation.

    Chris doesn't feel anything like that when he looks at Dr. Galloway. She seems nice and pretty, but he doesn't find himself particularly attracted as far as he can tell. Yet at the same time, she looks at him so hopefully, so kindly, that it feels cruel to just outright reject her. "Uh...maybe if I have the chance, sometime," he replies as politely as he can. 

     Dr. Galloway seems a little disappointed, but overall not upset, and nods with a small smile. A 'maybe' is better than nothing, she supposes.

     Wesker’s forced civility as ‘ Dr. Birkin ’ halts as he meets eyes with Chris briefly before accepting the possibility of the coffee date. He stares at the two of them, cold and expressionless. To the other doctor, his gaze looks like just a noticing glance, but for Chris… all he can see is the small way Wesker’s eyes narrow, and the light formation of a crease around his downturned lips. Wesker doesn’t have anything to say about the distraction. 

     A brief period of silence hangs heavy over the laboratory as Wesker and Galloway prepare compounds for experimentation. Once preparations are complete, Wesker gathers the various blood samples he’s already taken and uses them as to test his compound. Using a dropper, he drops a small quantity of the liquid onto the slab, covers it, then slides it back under the microscope. 

     Silence again. Karl briefly looks over to Ethan, who’s taken a seat at this point. He leans against the lab table with his armed crosses against it. Karl stands, notes in hand, but leans down to whisper to Ethan after more of this silence. “ They’re doing it again… ”

     Ethan nods, then blinks a few times and looks at Karl. Yeah, he's right, but...does he have to actually say it? Ethan takes a small breath and meets his partner's eyes staring intently. He focuses hard, attention fading from the world around them, and instead metaphorically ‘reaching out’--using the mold to seek out the presence of his partner's mind in the network. 

      Why are you whispering to me? Ethan's voice carries into Heisenberg's mind. It's a sensation Ethan is more or less used to by now–the mold allowing them to communicate silently with one another in their heads. It's useful, most of the time, although Ethan keeps a pretty conscious handle on the ability so as not to just constantly project his thoughts Karl's way. Heisenberg doesn't seem to have that problem, the lucky asshole. Still, why bother whispering it aloud?

     Karl whispers his response back, reaching a gloved hand to shield his mouth from the others’ view to add to the look of it all. “ Because, ahh… ” Why didn’t he? Because of the drama of it all, of course! Imagine if they got caught…! Ethan raises an eyebrow at Karl’s train of thought, which he just heard as well.

      You just love being a little shit to Chris, don't you, Ethan responds knowingly, tilting his head. The question is mostly rhetorical. Of course his partner loves being a pain in the ass. It's one of many fun things about Heisenberg–both equally entertaining and infuriating (when directed at Ethan. When directed at others it's mostly funny). Plus, Chris is such a hardass most of the time, it's no surprise Karl enjoys finding ways to get on his nerves.

     “ Do you think they’re noticing? ” Heisenberg asks that to Ethan, then they both look past his hand to see Chris frowning in their direction. Karl snickers quietly, satisfied by their gossip sesh. Ethan lightly chuckles to himself as well, amused by the antics of his partner. 

      Chris rolls his eyes before returning his focus to Wesker and Dr. Galloway. While the other bioweapons were busy gossiping among themselves, Wesker has made substantial progress on his work. It's almost scary how fast he works–mind moving at an unparalleled speed. Right. Doctorate in virology. Child prodigy. Of course.

     Chris doesn’t have time to consider Wesker’s genius for long, as he soon produces a syringe from the cart beside him, draws the solution back into it, then injects it into his bloodstream through a vein on his right arm. 

     Almost instantaneously, the discoloration and swelling fades as rapid cell regeneration takes place. In under ten seconds flat, Wesker’s arm is as good as new. “Hm,” Wesker smirks while watching himself stretch and close his fingers with ease. He’s still got it.

     While everyone else stands idle, Wesker is quick to shuck his lab coat and toss it over the empty side of the lab table. On suddenly stable footing, he takes the green jacket he wore earlier back from Ethan, who was holding onto it since they entered. He throws it over his shoulders before looking to the others. “Well then,” Wesker tilts his head quickly toward the way out, assuming his party will get the memo. “It was a pleasure meeting you, my dear Elise.” Something about his tone strikes Galloway differently again. It’s harsher, the insincerity of his words bleeding through the grit in his smile. Despite everything, he speaks true with his final words: “May our paths never cross again.”

     Dr. Galloway falters, suddenly nervous in the face of the other scientist's tonal shift. She's confused and more than a little intimidated. His words are like ice, where before they were warm and cordial…It's like whiplash. "Um...happy to help?" She replies uncertainly, gathering up the supplies and cleaning up the lab almost hurriedly, like she's now trying to get away from Wesker–or at least avoid interacting with him. She offers a small, hesitant smile towards Chris, before turning her back fully on the group. 

     Chris returns Dr. Galloway's smile before looking at Wesker with a frown. He doesn't say a word, but his eyes say it all. What was with that? Why suddenly drop the act? Chris doesn't get it. Maybe Wesker just felt like being cruel. He wouldn't put it past him. Turning away, he leads the group back out of the lab and to the car. 

     Wesker helps himself into shotgun without need for support. In fact, when Karl offers it, Wesker smacks him away. Heisenberg looks hurt, calling out to his good buddy ‘Albert’ as Wesker shuts the door on his pleas for friendship. The power Wesker exerts only grows day by day, it seems. Wesker walking on his own all of a sudden is a difference enough to fill Chris with dread.

     Once everyone is in the car and they're on the move again, Ethan meets Chris's eyes in the rear-view mirror and speaks up. "I think you owe us an explanation?" He points out. "What are the other two viruses in Wesker's body you both keep mentioning?" He's got that look on his face–the one that shows he won't be dropping this, won't be backing down. Ethan is nothing if not stubborn. Chris and Heisenberg especially know that first hand. 

     Ethan deserves to know, frankly. If Wesker's going to be living in their house, and if he's as big of a threat as Chris says, he at least deserves to be on the same page so he knows what to look out for. 

     Chris's hands grip the wheel tightly. Right. The look Ethan had given him earlier. Chris supposes he does owe Ethan that much. He might as well know what they're dealing with here. He looks at Wesker briefly, only to receive an indifferent glance in response. Well, alright then.  

     "He's got two," Chris answers. He holds up one hand and counts on his fingers. "Uroboros, which mostly looks like a bunch of tentacles and worms," he holds up a second finger, "and a prototype version of what we call the 'Progenitor' virus." Chris feels a little weird rattling this off with Wesker literally right next to him, but again, the man in question doesn't seem to care. "The Progenitor virus is why his eyes look like that. Gives him superhuman strength, speed, and healing." He sighs. "Uroboros gives him access to those tendril things–and only amplifies his healing more." Chris huffs and shoots a brief glare at the mastermind currently riding shotgun. "Made him a real pain in the ass to kill."

     Chris puts both hands back on the wheel. "If the Cadou makes him heal even faster, then now he'd be even more of a pain in the ass to kill." Chris carefully doesn't mention his earlier aborted attempt to do just that.

     Ethan gives a nod back to Chris, before turning to Heisenberg with a wary expression. If Wesker's that powerful...they'll definitely need to be careful going forward. Especially with Rose around. Ethan silently takes Heisenberg's hand in his own, and the drive continues in relative quiet.

     The house stayed under the careful watch of Leon S. Kennedy, friend of Chris turned family friend since Chris has called upon him on more than one occasion. Leon’s never minded it though. He’d do anything to help his buddy out, and plus… he’s got a soft spot for kids. 

     Rose is the independent type, he’s found. Needy as any other kid, but she doesn’t require full attention once she’s got her focus set on something. She’s playing with Leon when they hear the creak of the house’s garage groan up from its closed position. Leon glances over his shoulder at the noise. “Oh, looks like dad’s home, right Rosemary?” He turns back, grinning slightly as the toddler gathers all of the toys from around them in her arms. Leon laughs quietly when she tugs the small plush from his hand, letting it go without a fuss. “Fine, fine. Take it, you’re the boss.” He scoops her up into his arms once she’s satisfied and walks her over to the door that leads to the garage. He’s noticed after the last couple times of doing this favor that the first thing on Ethan’s mind once he gets home is to set eyes on his daughter. Who is he to delay their joyous reunion?

     The car door slams and little Rose looks up from the toys in her arms. First through the door is Chris, then Ethan, Heisenberg, Wesker. “What the?” Leon reacts immediately. Wesker!?

     Leon swiftly unholsters his handgun and points it across the room at the odd man out. He’s pivoted Rose away, holding her with one arm on the side of him facing away from Wesker. “Ha! Talk about a dead man walking.”

     Ethan stumbles back at Leon pulling the gun out, alarmed. Right. Shit. Everyone had been so caught up in the task at hand, nobody had thought to warn Leon–or at least get him out of the house before Wesker showed back up. Judging by Leon's reaction, Wesker's got a reputation, and not just with Chris. He squeezes Karl's hand. He knows Leon won't hurt Rose, but Ethan can't help but be a little jumpy.

     Chris takes a step forward. "Woah–Leon, stop!" He shouts. The last thing they need right now is shots being fired. "It's a shock, I know. Freaked me the hell out too. But just hold on for a second–! Trust me on this. I can explain." Chris holds an arm out in front of Wesker–simultaneously a signal for Wesker not to make a move that might prompt Leon to shoot and a protective gesture. Chris never thought he'd be defending Wesker ever in his life, but here he stands now. He almost hates himself for it.

     Wesker stares pointedly over at Chris from behind his large arm. “Your babysitter contact is Leon Kennedy?” He asks flatly. 

     “Yeah,” Leon retorts across the room. “And he’s a damn good one too!” He keeps his gun pointed across the room, but exercises trigger discipline at Chris’s request. He’s completely stunned. “Chris, what are you talking about? For you of all people…” his pistol lowers for just a moment, but he readies it to fire on Wesker just as quickly. “Don’t tell me…” Leon shakes his head, eyes widening from his realization. “Chris, your amnesia isn’t back, is it?”

     Chris groans. "I wish." At least then I wouldn't have to deal with this shit. "Look, it's a long story. Apparently he's been hitchiking on me for almost a decade like a fucking stalker. Then he hitched a ride with him–" Chris points at Heisenberg, who gives a smirk and a shrug, "and got him to help him regenerate his body." Chris gives a pointed glare at Karl, who seems all too proud of himself. It makes Chris seethe. 

     Ethan leans across to Wesker. "Karl, Rose, and I are basically government property. So our babysitter's a government agent."

     Chris ignores the blondes conversing behind him. "Believe me, I get what you're feeling right now. Felt the same way myself." He huffs out a sigh. "But apparently he's in 'retirement.' I punched the shit out of his plans, and it would take a lot for him to get those back up and going again." Chris keeps his arm in front of Wesker, but doesn't look at him, keeping his eyes on Leon. Even so, he can feel that glare on the back of his head.

     "Leon, I know how insane this sounds, but...just hear me out. I've been keeping an eye on him. And surprisingly, he's not tried....much of anything yet." Chris finally chances a look at Wesker. "In fact, he's been surprisingly cooperative aside from being about as much of a pain in the ass that he always is." New body, same smug asshole. Chris looks back to Leon. They've known each other for a long time now–there's almost nobody out there that Chris trusts more. Surely he can rely on Leon to trust him , even on something as crazy as this. Wouldn't be the first time he'd gotten Leon on board with something insane.

      Yeah , Chris, this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten Leon on board with something insane, but convincing him to do some keg stands at a party isn’t the same as convincing Leon that a world-ending threat like Wesker is all rainbows and unicorns now that all this time has passed. Leon’s eyes dart between Chris and the man standing behind him. 

     Inevitably, his trust in Chris wins over and he holsters his gun, although he doesn’t do it with a smile. “Hah… you never know when to quit, do you Chris?” Defending a guy like Wesker… Leon can’t imagine what Chris is thinking. Whether it’s a double-cross or a redemption arc, he’s got his work cut out for him. Shit, work. “Does the DSO know about this?”

     Chris finally lowers his arm. "Not yet. I'll have to tell them sooner or later, but for now...I’m keeping this on the down-low. At least until I can make sure that he won't...do anything. Nothing that could risk the DSO making all our lives harder, at least," he explains. God, how am I going to explain all of this to them?

     Leon shakes his head. He’s stayed close with Chris after all these years, enough that he has tried on more than one occasion to take missions in close proximity to Chris. He knows how DSO feels about Chris’s performance, and loathe as he is to admit it about his best friend, Chris has been performing poorly for years now. He’s heard some gossip that people think he’s just not the man he used to be, but Leon tries to keep that sort of chatter away from Chris. It’s his morale that’s down. That’s what Leon thinks, anyway.

     Once he remembers the reason Chris is out here in Maine and not putting red on the field, Leon knows he’s got to mention something. “Chris… I’m not saying you shouldn’t, but… if you tell DSO, there’s a good chance they’ll reassign you again. You know…” Leon brushes some hair behind his ear, then adjusts his hold on Rose. “Away from him.” He points at Wesker with his eyes. “I…I’m sure it would be good for you, but I don’t know anyone better qualified for keeping an eye on Wesker than you.”

     Chris runs a hand down his face. "Yeah...I know." He's not entirely stupid. Most of his squad get called out to field missions pretty regularly. Chris, on the other hand, has been assigned to watching the Winters's household for the better part of the last year. He knows they're trying to get him to take a break, in the hopes that it'll get him back in the swing of things. And he also knows it won't. 

     "That's part of why I'm not telling them yet," Chris admits. "It's too risky right now for them to know. So...maybe keep this between us, yeah? I know that little rookie of yours loves to hear about everything and everything, but we can't chance it. If they reassign me, we're fucked."

     Leon laughs for a second at the mention of his rookie—a playful term they’ve taken to calling a certain president’s daughter since she started training under Leon in the DSO. He nods though. “Yeah. She won’t hear a thing ‘til the time comes. You’ve got my word.” Leon turns away from Chris and their conversation once he feels the slight tugging on his collar from little Rosemary’s tiny hand. “Yeah? Hey, sorry about earlier. I know guns are scary,” he says softly. Leon squats to a knee and lets Rose onto her feet. “You want to show what you got to your old man, right?” Down at her eye level, Leon points a finger over to Ethan.

     Rose nods excitedly. "Papa too!" she declares, walking over to Ethan and Heisenberg. 

     Ethan hoists his daughter up into his arms with a smile. "Hey sweetheart, what've you got there? Did Leon bring you new toys?"

     Rose holds out the plush she'd wrestled from Leon's grip earlier: a small plush lion. Ethan can't help but note a resemblance, as he shoots a thankful grin to Leon across the room. He's always spoiling Rose–bringing her toys and snacks whenever he comes over to babysit or hang out. Needless to say, Chris isn't the only person Rose has taken to calling ‘Uncle,’ and Ethan approves of his daughter's judgement on the matter. 

     Ethan turns Rose in her arms so she can hold the plush out to Karl to see, as well. She giggles and holds it right up in Heisenberg's face. "Papa, look!" She declares excitedly, waving the plush around. Ethan chuckles. Despite Karl calling him "Papa" all the time as a tease, Rose heard him say it so much that she started calling Heisenberg that instead. It's heartwarming to see Rose accept Karl into her life so easily. 

     While this goes on, Chris shuts the door to the garage behind everybody, cutting off the cold winter air. He breathes out a sigh of relief, both at the reprieve from the chill, and from managing to talk Leon down.

     Ethan insists Leon stay for dinner as compensation for watching Rose. They’ve done this enough that Leon accepts pretty easily, though he is side-eyeing Wesker at every chance he gets. 

     Wesker sits by himself, separated from the others only by the dining room. Leon holds Rose and helps her dads prepare dinner where he can. Meanwhile, Chris leans against the archway that opens the dining room into the living room. He’s participating in the conversation—something about work—although not fully. Wesker can tell that he’s still keeping an eye on him, despite all that talk about him being safe. Wesker can’t help but smirk while thinking of Chris; if he’s so right, he should put his money where his mouth is and give me some privacy. He even chuckles slightly. Your weakness is showing again, Chris. Thinking about all this, Wesker looks up at Chris, wondering if he’s realized this little folly. If he has, then Wesker shall enjoy watching the bastard sweat. If he hasn’t, then Chris must be dumber than a bag of rocks. He’s not sure which he likes better.

     Wesker sits back against the couch after removing those blasted brown contacts and re-donning his sunglasses. As he sits in silence, his thoughts turn to the little fuss with Leon from a few minutes ago, and how Chris defended him both physically and verbally. The bastard. What game is he playing at? Wesker sees no benefit to Chris should Ada’s dog let him live. It almost makes him wonder whether Chris is vying for his affections—a humorous concept if ever he thought of one. It might just be the smartest decision Chris has ever made, even if unintentionally. It gets Wesker thinking. 

     Despite his attitude, Chris has been remarkably reliable since Wesker awoke in that basement. ’Reliable’ is a generous term, of course. He’s decent at best, but the fact that he hasn’t used any excessive levels of violence against him is something to say the least. Wesker could use this hesitance to his advantage. The longer Chris holds himself back, the more time he has to create a stable foundation for himself—perhaps even reconnect previous assets. The sooner he does that… Wesker allows himself a short glance Chris’s way. No, damnit. As much as it pains him to accept, his decade-spanning plan was foiled in a day by Chris and his temporary partner from the BSAA, that… woman in the purple . Whatever her name was. Chris has been a thorn in his side since the beginning, and every failure has come down to his underestimation of Chris’s abilities. Although it defies all logic, the man across the room defeated him nonetheless. Wesker sighs and taps his temple impatiently, deciding he’d rather that headache from earlier not return.

     Any hopes of getting a plan off the ground must either first be secured by Redfield’s death or his own disappearance. The BSAA only sent their finest to the town beside his setup with Tricell because Irving couldn’t keep his B.O.W. smuggling game under wraps, the moronic tool. Must his failures always come down to the imperfections of his peers? Had Tricell kept their experiments quieter, even for only a week longer, Uroboros would have been released upon the world and his plan would have been complete. 

     But enough of this useless thinking. He’s done more than enough of this over the years until now, and he’s found no use in crying over spilled viruses. The only way forward is to clean up and start again, or to forfeit and live however long he has in this new body under the muscly thumb of the boulder punching asshole that wasted everything he ever worked towards. Hm, what a trying matter. Even his thoughts have turned to bitter sarcasm. I’ll have to ponder this again with my hands around his throat once more. Two hands should do the trick. 

     Chris’s defense from before returns another possibility into Wesker’s consciousness. “A truce,” he says it aloud, as though testing the feel of the word on his tongue. Business agreements or partnerships with colleagues have both been common for him throughout his life, but a truce ? Wesker is sure he’s never uttered the term in earnest. He’s never had the need to; once an enemy is made, no longer is he allowed his life, so it goes. For all but Chris. Perhaps it’s time to use the forbidden term. It would be beneficial to the both of them.

     While Wesker is lost in thought, the others go about their business. Someone sets a plate of food in front of him, now long forgotten. Eventually, Leon says his goodbyes and heads out the door. Ethan takes his daughter to her room soon after. Karl helps his partner with the dishes, and soon enough they too depart for their room. 

     Now only Chris lingers, still in the archway to the living room. Wesker’s been silent for a while now, off in his own world. Chris can only wonder what kind of devilish nightmares his brain is thinking up. 

     Eventually, Chris moves to sit on the couch, beside Wesker, arm across the back. There’s a tension in his shoulders, like he’s expecting something, but when nothing happens, it fades. He sits there in silence, not entirely sure what to say. 

     Defending Albert motherfucking Wesker is something Chris never thought he would do. Maybe when he was still a wide-eyed young man fresh out of the Air Force with a profound admiration for his Captain, but not now. Not after everything that’s happened. Now, he sits beside the world’s most dangerous mastermind after having just talked down Leon from potentially shooting him. Would it even have done any good? It’s not like Leon’s bullets would have done much. 

     The complicated feelings he still doesn’t understand surface again, and he tries to push them aside. What on earth is wrong with him, lately?

     When Wesker speaks all of a sudden, Chris looks at him with eyebrows raised. Did he…hear that right? Wesker talking about a truce ? 

     Chris wasn’t even aware Wesker knew the word, frankly. For a man so deep in conspiracy and treachery and layered plans with betrayal always an option, the very idea of a truce seems purely incompatible with the man. But if he’s been sitting over here thinking about it, there must be a good reason he’s contemplating the idea. Why would Wesker be thinking about a truce? And between who? The answer seems to dawn on him all at once, hitting him harder than a freight train. Is Wesker suggesting a truce…between the two of them? He blinks at the man, astounded.

     “Wait—a truce? As in…between you and me?” He asks, uncertain. He needs confirmation. How would it even work? It would be nice to not have to constantly watch his back around the man, at least. But the idea of a truce with Wesker still feels unreal. Chris almost wonders if he’d imagined it.

     Wesker nods in return. He didn’t even grin maliciously at Chris’s befuddlement, he’s entirely serious. “Yes,” he responds, slowly at first. “That’s what I said.” Maybe an hour of puzzling led him to this, but after Chris’s reaction, his chin returns to his hand. He’s puzzling again, wondering whether this is truly the best course of action. All Chris knows, unawares as he is, is that if thinking that long led him to this, thinking on it further could just as easily nullify the proposal. He should act fast if he wants to cement it.

     Chris clenches and unclenches his fists. This could be just what they needed. This could make the entire situation so much easier for both of them and the couple now resting upstairs. 

     Taking the chance while he has it, Chris sits slightly more upright and turns his head to look at Wesker fully. “Okay. Sure. A truce,” he agrees. A spoke of fear shoots through him for a moment—he can’t chance not being clear and straightforward right now. “But we gotta set some kind of ground rules for this thing.”

     Wesker looks up from his thoughts and over at Chris once he speaks up. He’s willing to hear him out. “What terms do you propose?”

Chris thinks for a moment. It’s not particularly hard to come up with them, frankly. Most of his ideas are unspoken rules he’d been trying to enforce since Wesker revived in the first place.

     Chris counts off on his fingers while he answers. “First off, killing is out. You don’t kill anybody, and I won’t have to kill you.” It’s simple enough. And more or less already how they’re proceeding—minus the time in his apartment where Chris briefly wondered if it might all end then and there.

     Wesker smirks at Chris. He doesn’t have to say a word, but Chris knows he’s thinking about how he just couldn’t bring himself to kill him. It almost makes the first term pointless, but Wesker agrees, if only to satisfy Chris. “Fine. What else?”

     Chris nods. “I think it’s probably obvious to you that I’d say this, but no bioweapon projects on your part. If you’re really ‘retired’ here’s your chance to prove it.” Chris states his second term with a small hint of bitterness. The last God damn thing he needs is to contend with another doomsday plot from this man. And besides, Chris can only hope things go well with the DSO for as long as Wesker or his plans don’t remain a threat to them.

     Wesker exhales and shakes his head. He leans back against the corner of the couch opposite of Chris as he easily agrees again. “You’re no fun at all, Chris. Fine. Anything else?”

      Chris is a little surprised that Wesker agreed so readily to that one. Then again, like the man himself had said before, he doesn’t exactly have access to the resources right now to really get anything off the ground. This will just help ensure things stay that way—more or less.

      The third one is the one he dreaded telling Wesker the most. He knows there’s a chance it won’t go over well. Especially for someone so obsessed with being in charge, in control. But it needs to be established, especially if the DSO ever gets involved. 

     Chris takes a deep breath and gives an almost humorless chuckle. “You’re not gonna like it,” he prefaces. He holds up a third finger. “You’ll have to more or less cooperate if I tell you to do something. I don’t exactly want to be bossing you around…I don’t care about that. I just need to know that if there’s something important and I need you to cooperate, that you will.” He breathes out and turns his head away, but keeps his eyes on Wesker. “Especially if this shit gets out. I have no clue what the higher ups are going to do, so you have to work with me here if you don’t want to end up dealing with god-knows-how-much bullshit.”

     Wesker looks aside beneath his shades, but concurs. “Yes… if it is for our mutual benefit, I’ll play nice with you and your little… organization.” Wesker runs a hand through his hair to slick it back, mildly annoyed. All three of these rules can go without being said on the basis of the truce, alone. People who have truces don’t kill each other; it implies a common interest. He understands why Chris feels the need to hear an agreement from the horse’s mouth, however. But it is still a pointless conversation and Wesker has no desire of being the horse. Offhandedly, he remarks “Is that it? I thought you’d request something more substantial.”

     Chris shrugs and rubs a hand along the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, this isn’t exactly a conversation I ever imagined I’d be having,” he admits. 

      Shaking his head, Chris tries to mentally prepare himself for the part of this deal that has the potential to upset the relative peace of this moment, of their agreement. But fair’s fair. And Chris knows Wesker would only agree to a deal that he would be getting something out of, so…“You got anything you wanna establish as part of it?” He asks, body going tense again as if going on guard against an attack.

     Wesker considers the question, unmoving. He eventually returns with an answer that underwhelms Chris. “Mmh, some clothes. Hair gel. Other items such as that.” Following another moment of consideration, he settles on a better deal. “I’ll agree to your terms if you fetch me any items I request. Within reason and the terms of the agreement, of course.”

     Chris blinks a bit in surprise. He certainly didn’t expect that. Chris had half expected Wesker to take advantage of the opportunity to request something diabolical, but instead he just wants…clothes and stuff? It’s so strangely mundane for someone like Wesker, but Chris supposes he’ll take what he can get, especially when it works in both their favors. As much as some part of him, still scarred and hurt from all that Wesker’s done to him, wants to flare out and protest at the idea of being the man’s personal errand boy, Chris recognizes that it’s a fairly reasonable thing to ask for. 

     Nodding, Chris adjusts his position on the couch slightly, shifting his weight. “Works for me.” Could it really be that simple? It would be a huge weight off his shoulders…maybe this could work out after all.

     Since Chris turned to face him physically, Wesker does the same, and they stare at one another. Chris is fast to offer a handshake to seal this deal, as he has far more to lose if Wesker backs out. Similarly, Wesker extends his hand rather quickly since he was the one to suggest the deal in the first place. Synchronized from a look alone, their hands meet and they shake on it. With that, a decade-spanning rivalry is broken. 

     When Ethan wakes up, he’s surprised by the sound of muffled conversation drifting from downstairs as he rubs at his eyes. Confused, he shakes Karl awake. The only other people in the house are Chris and Wesker…he can’t be imagining what he’s hearing, right?

     Once both of them are dressed, Ethan and Karl head downstairs and are greeted with one hell of a surprise: Chris and Wesker sitting in the living room chatting idly with each other. The tension from last night is gone, replaced by something… friendly ? What the fuck? Chris seems relaxed, and even Wesker has an air of casualness about him. Ethan briefly wonders if he’s still asleep.

     From what he hears of the conversation, it seems to be one concerning their storied past. Ethan knows nothing of the story between these two, other than that it’s long and very complicated. To be entirely honest, he got the impression that there wasn’t any positive past they shared, but it seems that isn’t the case. 

     Wesker sits reclined on Ethan’s couch, sunglasses still on despite the low-light conditions of the room. Chris sits across from him in the living room’s leather recliner; he’s sitting at attention, as if hanging onto each work of this little chat. They seem to be discussing accessories. “Yes, I recall other departments getting onto me about that,” Wesker says, shaking his head mid-conversation. “Marini often came to me about the accessories—trying to appease word around the office, I’d wager.” He exhales at the memory of Enrico. “S.T.A.R.S. was unique enough on its own to warrant the breach of policy. And what does it matter to me whether everyone wears green, or blue, or red?” His eyebrow raises above the lens of his shades. “Not to mention those ridiculous officers from the east wing who always stuck their noses wherever it didn’t belong…”

     Chris chuckles and leans back in his seat. “Yeah, tell me about it. The unique uniforms worked, anyways. And we all had S.T.A.R.S. patches on our outfits regardless, so why did it even matter?” He shakes his head. It’s then that he notices Ethan standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking more than a little bit confused. Oh, right. This probably looks really weird. “Oh, hey Ethan.” How to say this? “Uh…we made a deal,” he offers as an explanation, gesturing vaguely to himself and Wesker. 

     Ethan gives Chris a dubious look, like he finds the idea hard to believe, which Chris supposes is fair. He can hardly believe it himself. Sitting around and talking casually with Wesker is already strange enough in theory. Maybe it helps that they’re talking about a much happier time in Chris’s life and some things they have more or less the same opinion on.

     Wesker only offers Ethan a brief nod of acknowledgement as a morning greeting, then he returns his valuable attention to Chris. “Speaking of, I arranged a list.” Wesker produces a piece of looseleaf torn from Karl’s notebook and passes it across the coffee table. He leans back and reclines just as Heisenberg steps up and stands over them. 

     “Look at the two of you,” he says, a grin beneath the shade of his dark hat. “Was beginning to think I’d see the place destroyed before seeing something like this.”

     Wesker huffs. “Be quiet, Karl.”

     “Ah! I’m Karl again to you? Look, Ethan. I’m loved.”

     Ethan chuckles and walks over to Karl, nudging him in the arm affectionately. “What, mine not good enough for you?” He teases, before turning to look at Chris. “You sure you haven’t been replaced by a doppelgänger or something?”

     Chris shakes his head with a laugh. “No, although it wouldn’t be the first time someone has tried,” he points out, thinking of those B.O.W.s the BSAA sent into the village. The fact that they did that—that they developed bioweapons using his genetic material—still gives him the creeps. 

     Either way, Chris grabs Wesker’s list from the table. He did say he’d get him things within reason, so…

     Heisenberg takes a seat on the couch and looms unflinchingly over the conversation, clearly interested in being brought up to speed. When Wesker simply ignores him, Karl pries further. “You two have got enough history to fill a textbook, hmm?” Heisenberg asks, intending his real question to be understood through the first. Wesker just turns his head to look at him, expression unchanging. “I bet Chris sure was different when you first met him, huh?”

     The corner of Wesker’s mouth curves into his usual smirk. Karl seems to be catching onto the little detail that mentioning the muscly man alters Wesker’s usually sour mood. Despite his usual reluctance to talk, Wesker folds at the chance to embarrass Chris. He steeples his fingers cunningly. “What is it you’d like to hear about?”

     Chris jumps to his feet suddenly. There is no world where his pride leaves this intact if he doesn't shut it down now. "No. Nope. Not happening–"

     Unhelpfully, Ethan notices Chris's reaction, and with a devious look, he steps up beside his partner to interrupt Chris. "You said he was fresh out of the military when he joined the team, and not nearly this much of an asshole. What was he like, then? Still all brawn and no brains?" Ethan feels only a little bit bad about the jab, especially when Chris shoots him an offended glare and tries to interject again–but it's too late for that now. All three of the bioweapons in the room have teamed up to embarrass him. Fucking great. His dignity is fighting a losing battle.

     Wesker shakes his head in return to Ethan’s suggestion about his brawn. “No, that was far later. As I mentioned, Chris was a much smaller soldier when he entered my employ.”

     “That’s a bit difficult to imagine,” Karl mentions, expecting a bit more of a description.

     Wesker can do him one even better, and produces an old photograph from within the breast pocket of his shirt. “Here.” He hands it over to Karl and Ethan.

     Ethan takes the photo, while Karl leans in to get a look. The photograph is years old, that much is immediately evident. What Ethan didn't expect, however, is just how different Chris looked back then. It actually takes him a moment to spot his friend. He’s crouched in the front row, several decades younger, and with far less of the muscle he's so known for these days. There's also a brightness to his eyes, one that seems to have faded almost entirely over the years, and Ethan doesn't have to imagine why. He barely can recognize the man. He can't be older than twenty-five in this photo...it's such a strong contrast to his present self that Ethan almost can't believe this is a photo of the same man. 

     When Karl realizes, he bursts out laughing almost immediately. Ethan will admit, it is kind of ridiculous how much scrawnier and far more optimistic he looks in the photo. He ends up having to suppress a snicker himself. 

     Chris groans, then suddenly goes still. Wait. Wesker didn't have any personal belongings. Where did he... His eyes dart to Wesker, accusatorily. "What is–where did you even get that?!" He snatches the photo out of Ethan’s hand. At a knowing eyebrow raise from Wesker, Chris puts it together. There's only one place Wesker could have got the photo–it doesn't take him much guesswork to figure out where he found it. "Did you grab that from my apartment?" Chris almost forgot he had even kept it. He stashed it away somewhere long-forgotten in his living space.

     Ethan steps around to Chris and looks at the picture again while the agent is distracted. He really looks almost like a completely different person. A sense of mischief overtakes him, suddenly, and he grins and cocks an eyebrow as he turns to face Chris. "So, your arms weren't always that huge. Did you decide to just start...compensating for something?" He snarks, noticing Karl stepping up to snatch the photo while Chris is busy giving Ethan an offended scowl.

     Heisenberg lowers his sunglasses onto his nose to examine the picture in detail. When Wesker shrugs smugly at Chris’s accusation, Karl shakes his head, unable to hide his grin. He proceeds with Ethan’s mockery. “Y’know, working out won’t help you with anything down there. ”

     Wesker’s smirk begins to bear teeth. Never did he think he’d hear these tiring housemates of his berate Chris’s manhood. This might just be enough to get him to like them. Perhaps .

    Chris grits his own teeth as he stares daggers at Ethan and Karl. "That's not why I started working out more. Come on, what are you, five?" He scoffs. "For the record, I had a damn good reason. And it's paid off, so I can't complain," he adds, glancing only briefly at Wesker, who looks all too satisfied with the damage being done to Chris's ego today. Their truce certainly won't save him from emotional attacks–just physical ones. 

      "Plus, I was twenty-three. A lot changes in two decades," Chris tries to deflect. Judging by the look on Wesker's face, though, he's not going to let him live this down. Great.

     Everyone stares at Chris, and in relative tandem, Karl and Ethan agree: “He’s in denial,” says one.

     “Definitely,” the other concludes.

     Wesker chuckles quietly. Even his laugh carries the same level of decorum as anything else that exits his mouth. “ Perhaps, but I won’t speak on his size.” Wesker waves a hand to refocus the conversation. “No, I was of the understanding that he trained as compensation for something else.”

     “To train your body to such an extreme extent?” Karl repeats, unable to imagine himself doing the same. Although, he’s nowhere as active as Chris is. Or was. “Must have been for something important…” Karl’s gaze turns to the guy in question as he half-asks, half-states his thought. 

     Wesker answers for him. “I’m sure he told himself it was to get stronger to protect others, but was that really the reason, Chris?” Wesker’s shades reflect a beam of sunlight briefly on his turn to face his former-nemesis. ”Who were you planning to fight with that body of yours, I wonder.” Wesker looks to the other two. “I hope the answer isn’t too obvious,” he adds sarcastically. 

     The answer hits Ethan and Karl quickly. So this rivalry has really consumed that much of Chris’s life, time and effort. It’s clear from Chris’s bitter expression alone that Wesker is striking a chord.

     Chris punches the back of the couch. “You’re really going to go there?” He folds his arms. “Besides, it worked, didn’t it?” He points out. Say what they will about the whole punching-a-fucking-Boulder thing, but he probably wouldn’t have survived that final showdown with Wesker if he hadn’t trained so hard. 

     “Plus, it helps. Certainly makes my job a lot easier. And I still kicked your ass, didn’t I?” He shoots back. Ethan exchanges another look with Karl. If it was Wesker he was training to fight…that kind of makes sense, given what Chris told them about his viruses. He probably wouldn’t have stood a chance otherwise. But still…it is kind of funny to imagine Chris getting his shit rocked so hard he decided to get absolutely ripped just to beat up the guy who kicked his ass in the first place. Ethan ends up having to suppress another chuckle.

     Wesker never falters once, maintaining his nerve far easier than Chris could ever hope to do. “Yes, Chris, you were a very formidable opponent,” he talks as though he’s speaking to a child throwing a tantrum. “But alas, I live. If you’re still all that, I’d be willing to nullify our agreement and see if you’re really up to the challenge.” His hand drifts in a gesture to the front door. They’ll take it outside, at least. He has his reputation as a pleasant houseguest to uphold. “Ah, but you were so quick to erase our little rivalry last night. Could it be that you’ve been dreading our long-awaited battle?” He exhales a laugh. “Poor, sad, scared little Chris…”

     Chris scoffs and rounds the couch to stand in front of Wesker. There’s fury in his eyes, intense and burning. He hates how Wesker can read him like a book, hates how well he knows what’s going on in his head. First pointing out that he knows all too well that the reason Chris started trying to get stronger was to fight him—but now knowing that everything he says is getting to him? Wesker has him all figured out, and it’s infuriating.

     And then there’s the matter of the potential fight. Chris has never been one to back down from a challenge—usually only backing off if he’s forced to. Or knocked unconscious, whichever comes first. Chris knows he still doesn’t have it in him to kill Wesker. And he has a feeling Wesker knows that too. But he’d be more than willing to knock his former Captain flat on his ass and prove him wrong. 

     “Fine. You’re on. But the agreement stands. No killing. This is just a spar. Whoever hits the ground first loses,” he answers, cracking his knuckles. Chris is fuming —so much so that Ethan half expects to see steam rising off of him. He would like nothing more than to knock that smug look right off Wesker’s face.

     Wesker stands and rolls up his sleeves. “I’ll see that it happens promptly.”

     As part of the spar, Chris orders Ethan to oversee and call foul should Wesker pull any funny business. This is going to be a fair hand-to-hand combat fight, no weaponry, no viral bullshit. If Wesker breaks these rules, he’s forced to forfeit. Karl follows the party energetically, more than ready to play referee. They all head outside into the cold with various feelings on the matter, some good, some bad.

     It’s shortly after their usual breakfast time that Ethan and Karl find themselves standing on their front porch to watch the apparent battle of a lifetime. The snow hasn’t melted since it fell a few days ago, still blanketing the ground at a few inches thick. Chris and Wesker step out onto the front yard, a snow-covered opening surrounded by trees which will act as their arena. 

     They begin a few paces away from one another, and Chris is readying his stance at the same time that Wesker does his. Ethan begins a countdown from five for them to begin, and as the numbers tick down, all Chris can see is that smug look on Wesker’s face that he hates so much.

     Chris rushes forward the moment the countdown hits zero. All he needs is to knock Wesker down. That’s it. He’s done it plenty of times before in their previous fights—it should be no problem for him now. 

     As Chris goes in for a hit, Wesker seamlessly side-steps out of the way. Chris pivots and tries to hit Wesker from the side, hooking his fist around, but Wesker parries the attack with an arm immediately. He doesn’t even hit back, the bastard . The fight’s only just begun and Chris is already seething. He goes in for hit after hit, fists stopping just inches shy of their targets by Wesker’s limbs blocking his attacks. 

     Chris growls in frustration. He jumps back, snow kicking up the air around him. He watches Wesker closely, trying to assess his movements, look for an opening. Wesker simply smirks at him. 

     Enraged, Chris tucks his head in, leads with his elbow, and tries to go for a full-body charge to slam his shoulder into Wesker. However, a split second before he makes contact, Wesker steps easily out of his path. Chris shifts his weight and tries to swing a hook around to get Wesker from behind, but Wesker ducks under his punch before jumping away from Chris. Damnit.

     Confusion starts to battle anger for dominance over Chris’s expression. Wesker’s not even using his enhanced speed, and he’s still avoiding every attack effortlessly. It’s simultaneously aggravating, humiliating, and baffling. Surely he should have been able to land at least one hit by now, right?

           Trying his best to shake off whatever funk he seems to be in, Chris decides on a different approach. When he rushes this time, he feigns ducking down to go low, and when he sees Wesker move in anticipation, he pushes off and jumps, raising his fist back and trying to slam down into Wesker from above. The blonde gives only an unimpressed exhale before turning his body at the last moment, sending Chris’s fist down into the snow instead of into Wesker, himself.

     Using the new position as leverage, Chris kicks out at Wesker’s knees, but he simply leaps out of the way again. There’s a vicious shout of anger from Chris as he yet again meets with air rather than clothing or flesh. Why is this happening? Has he really gotten that rusty?  

     Chris practically flings himself back upright and goes in for a series of rapid punches. Thud. Thud. Thud. Each one meets one of Wesker’s arms, deflecting it. He can see the mastermind’s eyes gleaming behind his sunglasses, clear amusement at his former pointman’s attempts. 

      He’s not even using the virus…Why the fuck can’t I just hit him?! Chris wonders in his head. I know I can beat him, so why is this happening? He grits his teeth. Wesker steps back from him, adjusting his sunglasses as though mildly inconvenienced. 

     And there it is again—that damn smirk . That look from Wesker that makes Chris’s blood boil like nothing else ever has. Chris’s focus briefly narrows to just the man standing before him, his posture, that stupid fucking smug look on his face …and then he sees an opening. 

      I have to prove him wrong . Taking the chance, Chris propels himself forward again, as fast as he can. He closes the small distance between them quickly. At first, it looks like he’s going for another flurry of quick punches, but just as Wesker raises his arm to block, Chris launches his fist towards the man’s stomach. Wesker manages to bring his arms down only just in time to absorb the hit—but the force of it still sends the taller man sliding back across the snow quite a distance. Chris is panting, breath coming out in quick clouds that drift into the cool winter air, and despite the cold temperature outside, he’s visibly sweating. Chris stares at Wesker as he adjusts his footing after being forced back so far, and he gets the raise of an eyebrow in response—along with Wesker’s piercing scarlet eyes meeting his own over the rims of his sunglasses.

     There’s a brief moment of reprieve, and just as Chris is about to go in for another round, Wesker moves. He’s a dark blur against the bright snow, but startlingly fast even at normal human speeds. Before Chris can react, a palm strike meets his chest, knocking all the breath from his lungs. Another hit as Wesker’s opposite hand meets his shoulder, forcibly turning Chris with his back to the man. Chris tries to pivot on his heels, but he’s too slow—he almost slips on the snow, and as he does, Wesker delivers a kick into his back that knocks him face-first into the powdery white ground. Chris grunts in pain from the impact, and coughs, trying to catch his breath. Just like that…it’s over. Chris props himself up on his arms, stunned. How…how could I have lost so badly? How did I only manage to land ONE hit on a man who I used to exchange blows with constantly? A man I once killed ? He feels ashamed, humiliated…how could he have fallen so far from his prime?

     Wesker stares down at Chris’s large body laid flat against the trampled snow. As soon as he’s caught a couple breaths on his elbows, Wesker lifts his foot and kicks him over onto his back. This is the second time Chris has seen this point of view of Wesker, and he doesn’t like it anymore than the first. He can’t do a thing but watch while Wesker takes a knee beside him. “Breathe it in, Chris. That’s the chilling scent of defeat you thought you left in your past. It seems besting me in that volcano made you arrogant.” Wesker’s head tilts knowingly. “With time, arrogance made you careless.”

     He rises to his feet. “My criticisms stand, Chris. You need discipline.” His words are just as cold as the snow. “Perhaps you’ve been training on your own for far too long.” As he says that, he outstretches a hand for Chris to take.

     Chris stares at the hand, then at Wesker’s face, then looks down and aside at the snow beneath him. He’s…not sure what to think, frankly. This situation is embarrassing, but it’s also achingly familiar to some degree. 

     Memories fly by in what feels like an eternity but must only be a few seconds. He thinks of the incident in his apartment bathroom, of being pinned and helpless against Wesker—briefly fearing for his life on top of it all only for Wesker to suddenly back off. His feelings on that situation are still complicated—and he’s not entirely sure what to think about what was effectively almost a murder attempt other than that he hopes there won’t be a repeat of that. 

      Memories of his further past haunt him in the moment, too. Of his first few confrontations with Wesker back in Africa, of being treated almost like a plaything . But that time is very different from now…in many ways.

     The most painful of these memories that resurfaces is that of a particular showdown with Wesker. The raid he and Jill did on the Spencer Estate—the one where he thought he’d lost one of his closest friends forever in an act of self-sacrifice. Despite the snow under him, he can almost feel the sensation of a table beneath his back, being dragged violently across it by one gloved hand. 

      And it brings him back to the now. Now, staring up at Wesker like he’s done so many times before, only this time…everything is different. This time, Wesker is reaching a hand down in a gesture that says more than his words do. Chris briefly considers smacking Wesker’s hand away and saving himself some pride. But what good would that even do him? He can detect the unspoken offer tucked away in Wesker’s words, his stance, and the way he waits for Chris’s answer. Chris briefly wonders if there’s anyone else out there who can read the mastermind that is Albert Wesker like he can. He highly doubts it.

     The offer, too, is a heavy thing. The invitation to train, to learn, from someone who had once been a staple in his life (whether good or bad). From someone who had taught him so much when he was young. He remembers long nights back in Raccoon City, remembers hours spent doing drills and exercises. Remembers practicing moves with the sharp, analytical eyes of his captain on his back—pointing out even the tiniest of mistakes and advising him on how to improve. Chris is lying in the snow, forty-nine years old and with his life feeling so empty, and yet he's also that same twenty-three year old Air Force kid, staring up at his captain with a desire to prove his worth. 

     His decision is made in that instant.

     Slowly, on account of his stiff muscles, Chris reaches out and takes the offered hand, and he lets it pull him to his feet.

     As the group departs back into the dining room, Chris tries not to let his eyes linger on Wesker in front of him.

    Chris’s mind is made up. One way or another, one of these days, he will prove himself. He will manage to prove that he could still take Wesker down.

Chapter Text

     As days begin to pass with Wesker and Chris as a part of the household, routines begin to form rather quickly. Ethan likes routines—it adds structure to a messy and complicated world. Unfortunately for him, Wesker tends to enjoy pressing Chris’s buttons whenever given the chance, and that hardly ends well. The only grace their constant feuding affords Ethan is that Wesker remains aware of his surroundings, unlike Chris, who heats up like a spark to a box of matches. His white hot rage has nearly broken valuables or shelves on more than one occasion. Ethan once witnessed Wesker catch a floral vase with one hand whilst subduing the massive, battle-hungry soldier with his other. Ethan almost wants to call what Wesker has ‘patience,’ but he knows that isn’t quite the case. It’s obvious from the outside that Wesker takes great pleasure in putting Chris in his place on repeated occasions, so what exactly does that make him? Really entertaining is what Karl thinks, but Ethan remains weary. 

     Aside from his momentary slip-ups, Chris has been working hard to keep his emotions in check—and to sort them all out while he’s at it. Days stretch into weeks, and the level of prodding Wesker must employ to get a rise out of Chris becomes greater and greater, until he ceases entirely. 

     Wesker began his retirement rather promisingly, but with pet projects forbidden and Chris growing rapidly less irritable, his brilliant mind has reached an impasse. Oppressive boredom looms over his every waking moment, turning his already formidable air even darker. He becomes strikingly quick to anger, and spends most of his time with his nose in a book from Ethan’s personal library or from his office. Even this is hardly satisfying. He’s through the entire stock in a week, and after that, he shuts himself in the guest bedroom and doesn’t leave except for necessities.

    Chris doesn’t like it much, but he can be sure Wesker won’t make a move both from their agreement and Chris’s barring of those windows. 

     Karl progresses about as normally as he always has, spending most of his time in the living room with Ethan and Rose or in the workshop with his machines. Wesker appears on occasion to stare pointedly at the chemicals he can’t use, or at Heisenberg and the metal he can use, but he never spends any large quantities of time down with Karl on account of his yapping.

     The house has grown quiet with time. Chris even begins to feel stakes lowering enough to sleep on the couch at night, not that chair outside Wesker’s room. He hasn’t left the house much since the day they took Wesker to the lab. He’s done his typical duties, along with some extra ones given to him by Wesker and his grocery list. Going high-end fashion shopping on his own dollar is not something he could be convinced to do alone, so he let Wesker use some of the clothes he brought in a duffel bag over from his place. That is to say, he let Wesker use all of the clothes he brought from his place. He didn’t even ask, Chris just walked in on Wesker mulling through the dark outfits in the bag, as though they were always his. That bag disappeared into the guest bedroom that Wesker keeps shut so tightly just a couple days ago, and Chris hasn’t seen it since. He’s been forced to ask Ethan for some of his clothes, and that’s how he’s standing in front of the mirror wearing a shade of green he hasn’t worn in… he doesn’t even know. Too long. 

     It’s… different. Nostalgic. Feels like him. It feels like he’s been wearing black for so long that seeing himself in green makes him feel like a different person. He tries on a smile, the one he saw in the mirror last time he wore green like this. It drops rather quickly. If only it were that easy.  

     Chris walks out of the bathroom to start the day with the couple guys who actually care to show up for breakfast, when he gets a series of notifications from his phone. It’s a group chat with some of his closest friends, everyone he considers family. 

[CLAIRE:] We still on for tonight?

[JILL:] I sure hope so, I just got off an overnight flight. 

[SHEVA:] Same here.

[CLAIRE:] CHRIS! Wake up and tell us Thanksgiving’s still on. 

[SHEVA:] If he doesn’t respond, maybe we could have a girl’s night?

[LEON:] What about me? :•(

[CLAIRE:] Leon, you already know you’re one of the girls.

     They’re going to plan an entire evening without him if he doesn’t answer quickly. Chris begins typing a response once he reaches the dining room table.

[CHRIS]: Sorry, I just got up. We should be still on for tonight.

     He’s been planning this for the last week or so. He’s not usually one to plan these kinds of get-togethers. The last few Thanksgivings he’s had have mostly been hosted by Claire. But the circumstances today are different. For one thing, he didn’t have the world’s most dangerous bioweapon living in the same building back then. 

     Chris sighs. As much as he knows this is probably not the best idea, they deserve to know. Especially Jill, Sheva, and Rebecca—all of them have personal history with Wesker. His sister less so, but she deserves to know, too. 

     His phone buzzing snaps him out of his thoughts. 

[CLAIRE]: He lives!

[LEON]: Morning, Sleeping Beauty.

[JILL]: We were starting to think you forgot about us.

     Chris shakes his head. 

[CHRIS]: Anyone heard from Rebecca?

[CLAIRE]: Oh, yeah, her flight got delayed. But she’ll be there.

     Speaking of the reason he’s getting all his friends together in one place…Chris’s eyes drift towards the stairs. Wesker hasn’t been seen all morning, which means he’s holed up in his room again. Ugh.

     Chris stands, pocketing his phone as he heads up to the door to Wesker’s room. It’s not like he couldn’t get in if he tried, but he figures he might as well make an effort to be polite. Chris listens to silence on the other side of the door before he finally raises a hand and knocks .

     Chris can hear the sound of movement from the bed on the other side of the door, but responses from his phone come before Wesker’s. 

[CLAIRE:] Okay, Chris. Sounds like we’ll all be there in a few. 

[SHEVA:] Yes. I am in a cab already. 

[JILL:] Race you, Sheva?

[SHEVA:] Haha, you’re on!

[LEON:] A race? I’ll try hard not to speed. 

[CLAIRE:] Oh no. Someone track Leon and make sure he doesn’t run himself off the road.

     With a grin, Chris shakes his head and puts away his phone for good. Wesker opens the door for him by the time he is done. Hand sliding down the side of his hair to smooth it back, the blonde man greets him simply. “Chris.” Wesker puts on his shades, continuing. “Seems you’re in a good mood today on this,” Wesker pauses momentarily, checking a watch he had Chris purchase for him. “Holiday. Have you big plans, I presume?” The conversation they’re having comes down to casual small talk, but through Wesker’s tone, it feels more like an investigation.

     "You...could say that," Chris rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck. Wesker's stare is piercing, analytical, like he's trying to pry open Chris's brain and get a look at his thoughts with his eyes alone. Chris almost wouldn't put it past him to be able to do it, too. "Look, I know that you're probably going to say it's a bad idea, but...I think you should show up to Thanksgiving. The others deserve to know. I'm going to have to tell the DSO eventually anyways," he points out. 

     If anyone deserves to know, it's them. The matter is just going to be talking the rest of them down like he managed to with Leon. He nearly gets a headache at the thought alone. Not to mention, he already knows Wesker isn't going to like it. He already finds most of Chris's friends uninteresting at best and unbearable at worst.

     “The others?” Wesker inquires over his shoulder as he steps back into the room. Chris must have gotten ahead of himself, speaking as though Wesker already knows his plans. He would if he tapped Chris’s phone, but he hasn’t the resources. Either way, Wesker connects the dots rather quickly, adding “I take it you’ve invited quite the party of old friends, then. Congratulations.” He turns and walks away from Chris, sounding far from genuine. “Leave my plate to Karl, would you?”

     Chris huffs and steps into the room beyond after him. In the last few weeks, Wesker's made a number of changes to the room–mostly involving sending Chris out to get various things to place around the space. He's swapped the sheets out for much darker ones, all in shades of black or extremely dark reds and blues. The small collection of books he's "borrowed" from Ethan or had Chris go retrieve sits on a nearby table. Most of the decorations Ethan and Heisenberg originally put in this room have since been located to other rooms in the house. 

     "Are you just being a dick, or do you not realize how serious this is?" He asks. It's rhetorical, he knows the answer is that Wesker simply doesn't care. "Everyone who's coming are people who were either personally screwed over by your actions or personally involved in taking you down. I think they have a right to know that the world's number one pain-in-the-ass is still alive," he huffs. Wesker's disinterest in almost everything that goes on in the house as of late has been both a reprieve and a problem all in one. It seems that it continues to be one today. 

     Chris steps up to Wesker. "Leon, obviously, although he already knows," Chris begins, "Jill and Rebecca, two of the few surviving members of S.T.A.R.S., one of whom you shot and another of whom you brainwashed ." Chris gives a firm point at Wesker as he recounts those particular incidents. "Claire, who you took hostage in Antarctica just so you could fight me," which, really, if he wanted Chris to fight him, he didn't have to resort to kidnapping his sister. Chris probably would have done it on principle. "And Sheva, who helped me take you down in Africa ." He folds his arms. "This isn't just some normal Thanksgiving get-together, Wesker."

     Wesker snarks Chris with the same cold, unmoving expression he’s worn all morning. “It’s cute, Chris, just how deeply you’re obsessed with me. You want me to meet Jill again? Why, so I can dye her hair? Not to mention the others.” He rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses, then suddenly snaps, pointing a finger back at Chris. “Sheva, that was it. The name completely escaped me. Augh. It’s been on the tip of my tongue all week…”

     Chris scoffs and steps closer. "I'm not obsessed with you. I'm just doing my fucking job. And are you saying you seriously forgot Sheva?" He shakes his head. "Look, they're going to find out eventually either way. And I'm the one who's going to have to talk them down when they inevitably draw weapons at the news." He looks aside, half-muttering to himself but still audible, " This is going to be a fucking shit-show... "

      "I'll be lucky if they don't immediately assume I've lost my mind." Chris walks over to the wall and leans back against it. "Ethan's probably going to regret letting me do this, frankly. Because there's no way this goes smoothly,” He says that with a sigh. “But it needs to happen. God knows what Jill's going to say about this." He can think of a few things. Mostly stuff she might call him , specifically.

     Wesker notices Chris’s nervousness and gets an idea. Chris is worried about this entire escapade going awry, so perhaps it should. That would be far more entertaining than the alternative. Sitting in his room away from the camaraderie downstairs sounds boring, as does introducing himself and begging for understanding. The idea crosses his mind to erase these thorns in his side from the face of the earth, once and for all. Jill, Claire, Rebecca, Leon, Sheva, even Chris could see his comeuppance. But Wesker decides not to occupy his thoughts with the matter any longer. Vengeance is sweet, but not as sweet as watching Chris crumple worthlessly. The choice he settles on is to agree, but only with plans to handle things himself. “Fine,” he answers Chris after a short while of thinking. “I’ll be there, but I won’t stay all night. Call for me once you require my presence.”

     Chris stands from the wall with a huff. It’s better than nothing, he guesses. But he can’t help the small shiver of dread that goes down his spine. There’s something in Wesker’s posture that says far more than his words—and Chris can tell he’s planning something. Whatever he’s planning can’t be good, either. At least, not for Chris’s sanity. 

     Chris pushes down the shudder that wants to run through him. Instead, he levels a knowing ‘Don’t you try it’ look at Wesker. “Alright. But at least try not to be too much of an asshole,” he says, although he knows that’s almost impossible for Wesker even on a good day. Turning, he walks back out to go check on the preparations downstairs.

     Ethan has been in the kitchen more or less all morning. Last year, Chris had celebrated Thanksgiving at Claire’s, and Ethan’s household had Thanksgiving with just the three of them—although Chris did stop by the next day. This year he has to make enough food for nearly triple the amount of people, and he’s been hard at work for several hours now. Before the Village, Mia had done most of the cooking in their house. Afterwards, with Heisenberg as not exactly a…culinary expert, Ethan had to pick it up. Despite this, he has to admit he’s found himself with quite a knack for cooking, so he doesn’t usually mind. 

     What he does mind, though, is Chris not helping him, when he’s the one who invited over all the extra people. It’s not like Ethan doesn’t know why Chris is inviting everyone over. It’s not just for the holiday. Ethan already told Chris he thinks telling them about Wesker is a bad idea, but the agent was unshakable. Heisenberg, on the other hand, seems all too delighted at the chaos that’s inevitably going to ensue later, openly declaring that he couldn’t wait to see the utter shit-show this would be.

     When Chris appears at the bottom of the stairs, Ethan’s head snaps up to level a firm look at the larger man. “Chris. If you want this to be done by the time your posse gets here, you better get your ass in here and help out,” he calls out, using what Karl refers to teasingly as his ‘Dad voice’. It’s apparently quite effective, because after an initial pause of hesitance, Chris concedes and walks over to help with the meal prep.

     Ethan’s got a pretty traditional Thanksgiving meal planned: turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, pumpkin pie, and so on. He’s turning on a stove eye when he points over to a recipe noted on paper and affixed to a nearby cork board. Taking a glance, Chris finds its printed instructions of how to make the pie. Ethan tells him to go ahead and start it on his own and secretly hopes he won’t regret giving this sacred task to such a meathead.

     While the two of them cook, Ethan hears the sound of muffled speech upstairs. Since there's not a whole lot he can really do to help with the preparations, Karl had slept in until just a short while ago. Now, Ethan can hear him playing with Rose, and the sound of the occasional footsteps or high-pitched laughter drifts through the fairly quiet morning air. Ethan smiles. Despite whatever hang-ups or doubts he may have had before, Karl has done a phenomenal job of helping parent his daughter. It warms his heart to see his partner care so much for the little girl, and to take such an active role in caring for her. Turning his attention back to the task at hand, he continues smiling fondly to himself while he works. Might as well enjoy the peace while it lasts .

     Meanwhile, Chris takes special care in trying his best to follow the recipe to the letter. Even if that means his actual process is rather slow. Chris rarely cooks for himself…or really at all. The last thing he wants is to get this wrong simply due to lack of experience. He's methodical as he works, treating the task with the same level of importance that he would one of his work duties. He tries to draw on memory of his sister's one or two attempts to teach him how to cook years ago. So far so good. Thankfully, even he can't fuck up mixing ingredients together. The difficult part is going to be the pie crust...and the actual baking part.

     Wesker might as well have appeared out of thin air behind them. Chris’s mind is so laser focused on baking, that the gaze over his shoulder hardly registers as a threat until he spares a second to check. It makes him flinch. The only time he sees Wesker this close is after he launches himself at him at full speed, and… hey, what brings him downstairs? Wesker just told him he wouldn’t show his face until long after guests arrive. Chris can’t help but sigh. What gives?

     Wesker answers an unspoken question: “I suppose I should lend a hand, as well. As I will be joining the ceremony, it appears.” Ah, that’s what gives. Chris hardly expects anything much, though. 

     Wesker’s eyes easily land on Chris and his struggling. Worthless bastard. Can’t do a thing without a little push from him. “Careful, Chris, or you’ll wind up feeding us something poisonous. Ethan, might I suggest a simpler job for our operative? Such as…” He glances across the countertops briefly, “using the can opener. Complex tasks are not his forte,” He smirks. “You must forgive him for that.”

     Chris scoffs and slams a hand onto the counter in a mostly-pointless gesture of irritation. "Came all the way down here just to be an asshole, huh?" Oh good , it's going to be one of those days. Wesker is more bearable some times than others, and it seems today he's decided this is not one of those times. Then again, with how much apparent enjoyment he gets out of riling Chris up, it's not much of a surprise. "I'm not helpless, Wesker." In fact, an idea strikes him. Wesker thinks he can't do it? He's going to prove him wrong. Unlike their spar a few weeks ago, this is a battle he can prove that he's able to win. He's gonna bake the hell out of this pie. 

     "Try me," he snarks, before turning back to the task before him. Like the flip of a switch, Chris is suddenly in motion. He moves fast, almost as fast as he would on a mission out in the field, except instead of fighting bioweapons, his only enemies here are proper ingredient portions. Surprisingly, all his uncertainty in his abilities has been forgotten in favor of spiting Wesker . He moves with surety, following the recipe with ease–he always works best with good instructions, anyways. It's no different than executing mission orders. 

     Ethan is briefly astounded at Chris's sudden change in pace. At first he considers suggesting that Chris slow down, but he seems to be doing fine despite the sudden change in attitude. Ethan decides not to say anything. The dynamic between his two recent housemates seems to fluctuate between semi-friendly and outright hostile rivalry at random, and it's almost become a staple of the environment in his house.

     Even with Wesker's goading, Chris manages to finish preparing the pie, and after a while of baking, during which Chris mostly just stares down Wesker with a rebellious, determined look, the dessert is finished. Even with Chris's limited cooking skills, the pie comes out pretty good by Ethan's assessment. Chris gives a chuckle and a smug look in Wesker's direction. "And for dessert: you can eat your words, Wesker," he quips.

     Wesker, who has been paging through a magazine and snarling at the tabloids, doesn’t even spare Chris a glance. These things have hardly taught him a thing about the modern world, neither socially nor politically, but the melodrama is… addicting. He licks his finger, then turns the page. “Ah, you’ve finished,” his tone is a flat one. Wesker finishes scanning his page before giving the other man the light of day. Once he does, he steps around the dining room table to Chris and his pumpkin flavored dessert on the counter. “It looks edible. I suppose that will have to suffice.”

     Wesker raises a gloved hand and pats Chris on the back. “Good work, Chris.” Wesker’s next words are for Ethan, “You’re welcome.” His purpose fulfilled, Wesker folds the magazine closed and slides it under his arm. He watches Chris’s smug expression with disinterest, then grows a smirk of his own. Wesker shakes his head and turns on his heels, leaving yet again.

     Ethan gives a baffled "Huh?" as Wesker walks away. What just happened? 'You're welcome'? He knew that would happen? Ethan looks between Chris, and the bioweapon currently disappearing elsewhere in the house–his room, probably. Ethan throws his arms up in defeat upon finding no discernible answer to whatever the hell he just witnessed. His life is already weird as it is. For now, he takes the pie and sets it aside with the rest of the finished food. 

     Chris is momentarily frozen at the pat on the back. A sensation rushes through him at Wesker's praise–one that he hasn't felt in years . It's like a rush of positive emotion, all at once. Chris nearly stumbles from the sheer force of it. Back in S.T.A.R.S., he used to light up at his captain's praise, and suddenly feeling that same sensation all these years later is whiplash. He doesn't even initially notice that he's smiling to himself all self-satisfied and genuinely pleased. When he does, he suddenly shakes his head, confused. What the hell just happened?

     Ethan gives Chris an extremely dubious look. In the few years or so he's known the man, he's always been almost staggeringly serious. Usually he only really lightens up when Rose is around or when he's been drinking, and that's only when he doesn't end up Sad Drunk instead. It would probably be a good look on him if not for how unusual it feels to Ethan. Something about seeing Chris like that, and in that green outfit, too…it suits him. 

     Chris takes stock of himself. What the fuck? Why the hell did he have such an intense reaction? Why did he suddenly feel so great? And why was it from Wesker praising him, of all things? It's been years– years of torment and betrayal and fighting. Why now? Why is he reacting like this?

     His emotions are at war in his brain. On one hand, Chris finds himself pissed off. The fact that Wesker clearly riled him up just to make him perform better–and the fact that it worked –is irritating as all get out. Wesker can read him like a fucking book. He knows how he works, and it's constantly a source of annoyance. On another hand, that sensation from before lingers with a warmth that Chris hasn't felt in who knows how long. It's strange, how something as little as that can send him catapulting decades back into the past. 

     All of this leaves Chris deeply confused, and he stands mostly aimlessly in the kitchen in shock and indecision about what to feel. That is, until Ethan nudges him out of the way with an elbow and he abruptly snaps back to reality. He grits his teeth in a snarl at the thought of Wesker's smirk as he left. Damn that bastard... Why does Wesker always have to make Chris's life so complicated? 

     "I'm fine," he answers a very concerned-looking Ethan's unspoken question, before walking off to the living room. He'll just be in the way standing here having a crisis in the kitchen, so for now, he'll wait for the others to arrive. God, what has he gotten himself into?

     The beating of a helicopter’s propeller knocks Chris out of his dissolution. A chopper now? And all the way out here? He steps around to the window beside the front door to see what it is. Right on cue, Leon slides down a swinging rope ladder that hangs limp out of the chopper’s side door. He watches Leon wave to the pilot, then trot up to the door through the snow. He waves at Chris through the window, and Chris pivots slightly to let him inside. 

     “Hey, Chris. How’s it going?” Leon takes the door as soon as Chris lets him in so he can close it himself. “Man, it’s cold out there…I’m not trying to turn into a popsicle on my time off—get me something, could you?” Leon’s shivering, but Chris easily sees his problem. He left the top few buttons on his shirt unbuttoned. That, and the lack of heavy winter gear will certainly get you shivering. He begins to suggest closing his shirt all the way, but Leon forbids it. Apparently he just has to show off his collarbones. Fashion, and all that. Chris wouldn’t understand. 

     “Did I make it here first?” Leon asks, glancing over Chris’s shoulder. “I tried to, since… well, you know. I wanted to know if I could lend a hand.”

     Chris nods. “Yeah, you got here first. And I appreciate it, really.” Chris chances a look over his shoulder—Wesker is nowhere to be seen. “Anyways, make yourself at home. I’ll get you something so you don’t die of frostbite, Mr. Fashion Victim,” he says with a smile, walking off to go find a blanket or something. 

     Ethan extends a small greeting to Leon from the kitchen before returning to his work. Since the incident a few weeks ago, it’s been nice having someone they can rely on for things who also knows about Wesker. He’s been a huge help, especially with Rose. 

     Chris comes back carrying a blanket in his arms, and he unceremoniously dumps it onto Leon’s lap. “Here. Next time, try dressing for the weather.”

     “Yeah, thanks, Chris.” This blanket is way bigger than a throw, it’s like he got a king-sized comforter out of storage just for him. Well… Leon won’t complain, he is cold after all. He lays the thick blanket across his lap after taking a seat in the middle of the living room sofa. “So you’re going to break it to them all at once, then?”

     Chris sticks his hands in his pockets and nods. “Yeah. I’d rather not have to explain it more times than I have to.” He walks off again, but comes back shortly after with a jacket that he also tosses over Leon.

     Leon gives a short nod. That makes sense. As their chat continues, Leon spots a pair of little, grey eyes peeking out between two stokes of the railing, just halfway down the stairs. He wiggles his fingers in a small wave to little Rosemary, who must have been spying on their chat since Leon arrived. Once her cover is blown, she begins excitedly moving down the staircase—slowly, though. She’s learned as many toddlers do not to move too quickly down stairs. Leon chuckles a bit and points Chris over. “Look who’s decided to join us. You’ve been teaching her a little bit of espionage, Chris?”

     Chris laughs and shakes his head. “She’s a smart girl.” He walks over to Rose and waits for her to get to the bottom of the stairs before he picks her up and takes her over to the couch. Chris sets Rose down next to Leon on the couch. She giggles happily, scooting her way over and wiggling her way under the blanket. 

     “Gonna put Leon out of a job one of these days at this rate, Rose,” Chris jokes, before walking off again. He returns with a blanket that’s probably from Rose’s room. If Leon hasn’t caught on yet that Chris is messing with him, he will soon. Rose reaches her hands up towards the blanket, and Chris grins, dumping it right over Leon’s head. Rose bursts out laughing at the sight. 

     Once Leon wrangles the blanket off his face, Chris continues. “Wesker said he’s willing to show, at least. If I had to guess, he’s probably planning to make this whole mess into a train wreck.”

Leon drapes the baby blanket over the thick comforter that already covers Rose’s lap, nearly swallowing her whole. Her personal blanket doesn’t look like it’s going to do much… It's just for show. “Hah, I bet.” Leon responds, ruffling Rose’s thin blonde hair. 

     His gaze returns to Chris. “In your messages, you said he’s not been up to anything.” Leon spares a sideways glance to the stairs just to see Heisenberg trotting down with a collection of metal floating behind him. With a wave of his hand, the basement door opens and the ball of scraps is shot down the stairs. Leon looks back to Chris. “I’m sure you and the others would know better, but…that just doesn’t sound like him. In fact, I probably know his son better than I know him, since he’s so close with Sherry. Careful, Chris, or this one will grow up before you know it.” He points a thumb sideways at Rosemary, who mimics him by doing the same right back at him. “They shoot up like weeds, I’m telling you.”

     Chris sighs. "Yeah, I was surprised when she started walking so early." He shakes his head. "It's weird as hell, but Wesker mostly just holes up in his room. Probably ‘cause he's not allowed in the workshop." Chris disappears into another room again, then comes back with another jacket. This also gets dumped onto Leon's lap. "I've been in his room a few times and there's nothing out of the ordinary, either. So I don't get it. It's creepy, to think of him just. Sitting in there doing nothing all day."

     Rose briefly disappears under the blankets, re-appearing with just her head poking out, and grins up at Leon. "Boo!" She declares, holding up her hands.

     Chris pauses then. A thought hits him. "Oh shit , you're right. Jake. " How did he forget about that ? Wesker's own son...should he have invited him to this, too? He looks towards the stairs. "I don't even think Wesker knows ." He presses a hand to his forehead. " Ugh. We'll have to tell him–both of them, eventually." That's going to be another whole can of worms to tackle–especially given Jake's opinion of his long-absent father.

     Ethan whips his head around to call from the kitchen. "Language, Rose is right there.” It takes about the same amount of time as it did Chris for Ethan to process the Jake thing. “And what do you mean his son . Wesker has a kid ?" He sounds dumbfounded, like he couldn't possibly conceive of the idea of Wesker as a father–let alone reproducing at all . Eugh . Nevermind, he doesn't want to think about that concept ever again. Still, he seems surprised.

     Chris gives Ethan an unimpressed look at being told off for swearing. "Her co-parent is Karl Heisenberg ." 

     Ethan points his spoon at Chris warningly. " Still ."

     “What is—? What is that supposed to mean…” Heisenberg, who’s been in the living room doing some final scrap clearing, thumbs his nose at Chris’s words. Although, he frowns a bit more at Ethan’s admittance of it. “Guys…”

      Like Leon’s entrance earlier, the rumble of a motorcycle rides up to the house and breaks just outside, interrupting the chatter. Looking to the door, they can hear the popping of the engine on rest, then the knocks of footsteps running up the porch. “Hey,” calls a muffled female voice from outside. “Someone open the garage, would you?”

     With an ever-present showiness about him, Heisenberg forgets his previous dilemma and makes his way across the room to the door to the garage. He gives a bow before he leaves. “Farewell all! My talents are actually required elsewhere…” He shouts to the guest just before ducking into the garage. “Got it!”

     Ethan shakes his head, calling after his partner, "You know I don't mean it!" 

     Chris looks towards the garage. He'd recognize that sound anywhere. Seems Claire beat Jill here, although that's not surprising considering she was closer. "Looks like Claire's made it," he points out to the others. 

     Ethan turns back to the conversation at hand. "That's your sister, right?"

     Chris nods. "Yep. Works for TerraSave. Don't let her fool you into thinking she's cooler than me," he jokes. 

     Ethan chances a glance towards the garage door. Probably best not to ask about Wesker's son if Chris's sister could come marching in at any second. Deciding that the bombshell that is the idea of Wesker having a son will have to wait for now, he returns to putting the final touches on the food. Why does this situation get weirder every time I learn something new about it?

     Clad in her usual red leather jacket, Claire Redfield steps out of the garage alongside Heisenberg. The first person her eyes meet with is her brother, and she wastes no time crossing the room to give him a hug. “Agh, Chris! C’mere…!” She squeezes him tight around the torso. “Man, you just keep getting wider!” She notices the first guest while her chin is over Chris’s shoulder. “Leon? How’d you beat me here?”

     Leon shrugs slyly, bringing his hands up over the pile he’s buried under. “Oh, you know.”

     Pulling out of the hug, Claire crosses her arms at Leon. “Oh, do I now?” She looks over to Chris for the real answer.

     Chris chuckles. "Government helicopter." He wishes he was joking. "Nearly froze himself half to death because he won't button his shirt up. I think his partner's a bad influence on his fashion choices." He gestures with his thumb to the mound of fabric Leon is slowly being consumed by. Speaking of which...Chris disappears again and comes back with yet another blanket to throw over the man. He's starting to run out at this point. Rose seems to find it just as funny as he does, though.

     Chris smiles at his sister once he's added to the pile. "Seriously, though. It's good to see you." With Claire usually busy with work for TerraSave, and Chris on indefinite assignment here in the middle of nowhere, they don't get to see each other in person as much as they used to. Sure, they talk over the phone often, but it's nice to see his younger sister face-to-face.

     “Oh really?” Claire says, turning her gaze back onto Leon. 

     “Hey, give me a break. My car was out of gas.”

     “Yeah, likely story, blondie. Give me that—“ Claire grabs the third blanket Chris gathered to torment Leon, then curls it around her shoulders and joins in on the pile. The others can’t see it, but after she pulls the comforter swallowing Leon over herself, she swings her legs over Leon’s lap. The agent looks over at her, betrayed. The Redfields are ganging up on him…

     Claire leaves Leon to bake under the additional weight of the next blanket. “I missed you, Chris. You been doing any better?”

     Chris pauses for a second. In all honesty, he's felt a lot better the past few weeks. His truce with Wesker took a substantial weight off his shoulders. Though he's still somewhat wary that the man is planning something devious . Nevertheless, it's made staying at Ethan and Heisenberg's safehouse honestly a nice change of pace now that he no longer has to worry about potentially getting strangled in his sleep. As much. The fact that Wesker was the one to suggest the truce helped.

     Living with Ethan and Heisenberg full-time has been quite the adventure. It's a lot more interesting with other people around, living a relatively peaceful domestic life. Having little Rose in the picture has definitely made it all the more entertaining. It's nice to have friends around all the time, especially friends like Ethan, who genuinely seem to care about his well being. Not that his other friends don't, but they're not exactly living with him full-time. Even the Hound Wolf Squad have their own apartments in his complex. And they still often get sent out on missions without him ever since the DSO decided he needed a "lower-stress" assignment. 

     Now that he's processing it, even having Wesker around the house all the time has helped, shockingly. Having Wesker around has certainly helped get his energy up–if nothing else because it gives him a newfound motivation. Maybe because he just has to stay more alert, but also butting heads with and verbally battling Wesker has been a source of very interesting stimulation. Not to mention he enjoys any opportunity he can get to spite the man or prove him wrong. Chris also finds himself actually feeling motivated to take better care of himself again, if only so he's in better condition to deal with Wesker if he has to. Or to beat him.  

      "Yeah," he finally answers his sister, with a small nod. "It's been better, lately." He doesn't elaborate. After all, he's not breaking the news yet. "How about you? Things alright with work and everything?"

     “That’s…great, Chris,” Claire responds, genuinely. “It’s the little things, right? It must be hard, but you’ve got us. This guy might as well just be our extended family, right?” She sets her hand on Leon’s shoulder and shakes it. 

     Smiling, Leon nods. “Couldn’t have put it any better myself.”

     “The others too.” Claire adds. Even if the other guests haven’t arrived yet, she’s sure they’d agree. Chris is sure too. “We’ve all got each other.” Claire brushes a wayward strand of hair back into her ponytail. “Oh, as for me, well… you know I’ve been on the frontlines in the protests against the BSAA. More so the investigations, since you’re my personal stake in it.”

     “Right, the bioweapons,” Leon mentions, recalling Chris’s unwitting hand in his doppelgängers’ creation. Sounds like someone else he knows… “How’s that going?”

     “It’s a slow process,” Claire answers with a shake of her head. “An organization like the BSAA won’t be easy to bring to its knees.” She exhales, the stress of her job showing through in her gaze. “I just want to get the truth out.”

"Yeah, I hope some of the information I was able to get to you guys is helping, at least. I'm lucky that they put as much trust in me as they did," Chris agrees with a nod. Clearly they didn't trust him enough to tell him that they were using his genetic material to make bioweapons, but that's beside the point. His clearance level right before he left was a valuable asset to his sister's work, that's for sure. The sooner the BSAA is dealt with, the better.

      Chris retrieves another blanket, tossing it over Claire's legs and adding more still to the growing mound of fabric on Leon's lap. "It's good that you're out there fighting the good fight, though. TerraSave's lucky to have you," Chris tells her. His sister's always been an amazing person, and he can't help but be proud of how far she's come, and all the good work she's done.

     “Okay, I can’t take it anymore…” Leon tries to stand or lose all the blankets, but Claire’s legs are holding him down. “Chris… Claire… why…?” He asks that with such desperation. Claire can’t help herself from laughing a little.

     Chris chuckles and shrugs. He’s not sorry. “Wear a jacket next time, Leon,” is the only answer he gives. Rose giggles at Leon’s plight. 

     The group is interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up outside, followed by a series of footsteps and a knock on the door. Seems like everybody’s starting to show. 

     When Chris opens the door, he’s almost immediately pulled into a hug by none other than Jill Valentine. “Chris! Glad to see you. Did I win?” She asks, glancing around him to see Claire and Leon already settled. “Darn. Well, I wasn’t last, at least.” 

     Chris smiles and closes the door behind Jill once she releases him from the hug. “Good to see you too, Jill.”

     Jill beams at Chris and gives him a friendly nudge in the arm before walking over to where Leon is still trapped on the couch by the Redfield siblings’ combined antics. Leon tries to plead with Jill to rescue him from his fabric-based prison. Thankfully, she seems to take mercy on him, and frees him from the pile. “Why were you buried, anyways?”

     Chris rolls his eyes. “He arrived by helicopter. Wasn’t wearing a jacket, so he nearly became a popsicle outside. He asked me to get him something to warm him up, so…” he gestures to the pile with a glint of mischief in his eyes. 

     Jill raises her eyebrows and  pivots to look at Leon, poking him in the chest with an index finger pointedly. “A helicopter? No wonder you got here first, you cheater. You know what?” She drops the bundle of blankets and jackets back down upon the sitting blonde. “I’ve changed my mind.” Jill shrugs unsympathetically. When he tries to get back up before she can bombard him, Claire throws her legs across his lap again, rendering him trapped once more.

     While Leon is trying to plead his case to the girls, another door slams shut outside, and soon enough, there’s another knock on the door.

     Following procedure, Chris steps aside to open the door, and there stands Sheva, bundled up much tighter than Leon or any of the others, really. At least one of them checked the weather conditions for this part of the country. Sheva meets Chris’s smile with a matching expression, and greets him simply, quietly. “Chris.” Since he’s already expecting another one, Chris opens his arms to accept another hug, and Sheva obliges happily. She gives him a couple pats. “You don’t invite me to gatherings like these often. It’s an honor.”

     Chris doesn’t mention that he also doesn’t really have gatherings like this often. “I’m glad you could make it.” He helps Sheva get out of her extra layers, hanging them by the door. 

     Jill waves at Sheva as she enters. “It’s nice to see you again,” she greets. “Don’t mind him,” she gestures to Leon. “He’s being punished.” 

     Chris checks the time. Almost everyone is here, right on schedule, except for one. “Has anyone heard when Rebecca’s going to get here?” 

     Almost on cue, his phone buzzes, and judging by the rest of the group’s reactions, so does everyone else’s. Well, everyone’s except Heisenberg’s and Ethan’s. Leon makes a futile attempt to free his arms in order to pull his phone out, but Claire keeps him pinned. 

     Chris opens his own phone to a new message in the group chat. 

[REBECCA]: Sorry! I’m running way behind. I was so exhausted from that flight I accidentally slept in, and now I’m stuck in traffic. Just start without me! I’ll get there as soon as I can!

     Well, that answers that question then. There’s no way of knowing how long Rebecca’s going to be delayed, so…they might as well start now. Chris would really rather have her be here when he initially breaks the news, but he can probably manage having to catch her up to speed if she doesn’t make it in time. Hopefully he’ll have talked everyone else down by then. Sighing, he turns to Ethan. “Rebecca’s going to be late, but she said we’re clear to start without her,” he calls into the kitchen. 

     Ethan looks up from where he’s currently washing his hands off in the sink. “Good timing. Food’s ready, anyways.” He gestures to the dining room table, where the full spread has been laid out: Turkey, Mashed Potatoes, all the classics. 

     Chris’s pumpkin pie sits in the center of the far end of the table. He still feels pretty proud of it, all things considered. Take that, Wesker.

     Ethan retrieves Rose from the depths of Leon’s blanket prison, and Chris waits for everyone else to get seated before he takes a seat of his own. Jill walks with Sheva to the table, talking idly. Finally freeing Leon, Claire stands and gives him a hand out of his predicament. They join up at the table last. 

     The dining table has never seen this many people. The table’s only meant for six, so Ethan and Heisenberg had to scrounge up more chairs from around the house to place around the table. This leaves the long side of the tables with a squished four on either side, and one person on each side of the short ends. The extra seat that brings the number of chairs to ten goes unoccupied, but none of the guests seem to notice since another chair belonging to Rebecca goes unfilled too. Everyone begins filing their plates without mercy. Once everyone’s had a go at each dish, the real chat begins. 

     “So, you’re Ethan Winters, then?” Sheva asks across the table from beside Jill. “I don’t believe we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

     Claire speaks up, as well. “Yeah, neither have I.” The biker stands real quick to lean over the table and offer a handshake to Ethan, then to Heisenberg. “I’m Claire. Chris is my big brother.” She points a thumb sideways at the man, who sits beside her at one of the ends of the table. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Apparently, you’ve got quite the story.”

     Leon exhales and playfully shakes his head. “Don’t we all?”

     Sheva offers a handshake next. “Sheva Alomar. I met Chris on a brief but important mission in West Africa.” She looks over at Jill knowingly. “He’s a hero. You’re lucky to have him watching over you.”

     Chris shakes his head. "Come on, I'm not a hero, Sheva. I just do my job," he protests. 

     Ethan rolls his eyes. "Bold words for someone who's saved the world more than once ." He points a fork at Chris. "You could stand to be less of a hardass, though." He sets his fork down as he turns his head to the girls. "But yeah, I'm Ethan, this is my partner Karl, and over there is my daughter Rose." He looks aside; it's been a long time since he had this many people in his house, let alone introduce himself to anyone. 

     Chris blinks as Ethan points at him, as though snapping to awareness all of a sudden. Right. There’s people here. Socialization. Things that aren’t Wesker. He’s not sure how he managed to zone out in the few seconds that Ethan was talking, but his thoughts had instinctively drifted back to the blonde still waiting upstairs somewhere. Namely, about the instinctive knowledge that he’s in the house, and only a few of them know… Ugh. The whole thing leaves a lingering feeling of dread in his gut. He needs to pay attention to the others—or else they’re going to start getting worried. It’s a holiday. He can be social. Surely. Chris tries to focus on the conversation and not on the looming threat of having to eventually break the news…and the peaceful air. "I'm still sorry about how all of that happened," he says to Ethan. 

     Ethan gives a hand wave. "Just work on your communication skills next time. Sure, it was living hell, but I got a partner out of it," he jokes. "Although he did start our relationship by trying to kill me, so I don't really know what that says." Heisenberg gives Ethan a faux-offended shove, and Ethan just shrugs. Heisenberg knows he doesn't mean anything by it.

      Don't they all, Chris initially thinks. Then pauses. Wait, what? Why the hell did I think that?

     “That’s nice,” Claire says, nodding understandingly. “Love finds you in the strangest of places. Or the most dangerous of places…” By the way she talks, Ethan gathers she’s had a similar experience. “You’re lucky to have both made it out.” She nods and then stuffs a forkful of mashed potatoes and turkey into her mouth. “This communication thing, though?” She says through a swallow. “That’s news to me. What did Chris do this time?”

     "Oh. When the whole Miranda thing happened, Chris raided my house. Shot Miranda right in front of me. It’s complicated, but I thought she was my wife at the time. After that, he nabbed me and Rose and knocked me out," he states plainly, giving Chris a pointed look. "All without telling me what the hell was going on.” Ethan huffs at the memory. “In hindsight, he was trying to help me, but he could have explained that first before making me think he killed my wife and kidnapped my daughter." Ethan feels a little bit guilty for calling Chris out on this, but...no. No, he doesn't. It's deserved. 

      "He did what?!" Jill exclaims, leaning forward. She brings a hand to her head. "Chris, you're going to get yourself in serious trouble one of these days."

     Chris holds his hands up defensively. "I didn't want him to get involved! I was planning to tell him once I got them both to safety. We got ambushed, so I didn't get the chance."

      Ethan swallows. "I was 'involved' the second Mia decided to get a job playing babysitter to a bioweapon," he shoots back. The sass is strong with the blondes, today. As usual. "You could have just told me."

     Chris sighs. Unfortunately, he has a point. He really should have told him. Guess that's what he gets for acting before thinking too hard about it. He chances a glance at his sister. Knowing everyone at this table, there's no way he's living this down. "I brought him up to speed later, for the record. And I apologized. And like I said, I still feel bad about it."

     Ethan shrugs. "I'm still going to give you shit for it."

     Chris gives a resigned sigh.

     “I’ve known a lot of soldiers who run right into battle, headfirst,” Sheva says, laughing quietly. “But Chris is one of the most steadfast ones I’ve ever known.”

     “Yeah, sounds like Chris,” adds Leon. “Once he’s got his mind on something, well…” He leaves the rest unsaid.

     Ethan shrugs. "At this point, I'm used to the weirdness. More or less." He takes a sip of his drink before continuing. "Although I'm still kind of getting used to the whole 'basically a walking mushroom' thing." 

     Jill nods. "At least you're taking it in stride, though." She turns to Heisenberg. "Oh, speaking of which, I meant to ask. Your file says you can control magnetic fields. I was wondering what you can do with that sort of ability. Oh. Sorry if that's rude or intrusive,” she adds, trying to be polite. “I was just curious about it."

     “Right, more importantly—you’re a mechanic, right?” Claire asks, suddenly way more invested than she was previously. 

     “You’re interested in me now? There’s an uncommon feeling.” Karl says that and nudges Ethan knowingly, referring to their permanent house guests. “Well, I like to do a little bit of everything, but engineering is where my talents lie. Got an old beaut’ in the garage; been fixing her up for how long now?” Ethan tosses back a guesstimate. “Too long now,” Heisenberg concurs. “I like building, fixing, tinkering. I make toys for little Rose, here.” He points past Ethan to his daughter, who holds up an appropriate toy she had been holding onto since before they sat down. It’s a little bronze horse welded together out of metal and cogs. The craftsmanship on something so small and light is impressive enough alone, but it also looks smooth on edges that could otherwise hurt the kid. Heisenberg reaches around Ethan’s back and raises his left hand by its wrist. “Made this guy his prosthetic. Look at that, say hello!” Karl waves his hand and Ethan’s prosthetic half-waves in unison. It must be made of metal, as well. 

     “Now you’re speaking my language. I’ve been looking for a good mechanic.” Claire smirks to herself as she considers the possibilities. 

     “And… as for the magnetic fields, Miss Valentine…” Karl covers his mouth with a gloved hand, dramatically, disgracefully. “I’m afraid it’s all rumors… such a magnificent power, I could only dream of it…” He says this, but metal scraps from his pockets, from around the room, and from the bodies of those sitting at the table begin to grow weightless around them. Little pieces of metal glint orange rays from the setting sun around the room, and Rose’s metal horse gallops across the sky. A proud grin is visible just behind Heisenberg’s hand. It’s been a while since his last showtime.

     Ethan just looks at his partner with eyes full of amusement and affection. Karl loves a good chance to show off, whether that's his powers, his inventions, anything really. That hidden smile behind his hand is infectious, and Ethan finds himself smiling right along with him. It's not every day Karl gets to play party tricks with his powers. Ethan can let him have some fun.

     Rose giggles and reaches up towards the horse happily. She's always been fascinated by Heisenberg's abilities. At this point, it's an almost guaranteed way to cheer her up. 

     Jill looks up and admires the sight of the floating metal around her. "Wow. That's amazing," she admits. She tilts her head and gives a little quirk of her lips upwards as she meets Heisenberg's eyes again. "A shame about the whole 'only dream of it' thing, though," she returns, enjoying the banter. Ethan's partner certainly makes for entertaining conversation, that's for sure.

     Chris gives a small huff and stands to grab his spoon out of the air, which is being slowly inched away from him. It dodges his initial swipe, then another, and Chris shoots a glare towards the man responsible, who looks all too entertained by his struggle. On the third grab, he finally catches it and huffs, settling back in his seat and using his newly-rescued silverware to continue eating.

     Leon smirks across the table at Chris’s battle in midair. “Sort of makes you jealous, right?” He asks to Jill. “It’s like he’s a real-life comic book character.”

     The real-life Magneto waves a hand and all of the metal that wasn’t from the table or the room stuffs itself back into his pockets. His fork hovers idly as he pats himself down searching for its whereabouts. The rounded end of the handle taps him twice on the shoulder, and he plays up his surprise in finding it where it isn’t supposed to be.

     Jill covers a laugh with her hand before returning to her meal, and Rose giggles openly. The rest of the afternoon continues in relative calm. The party chats, catches up on what everyone's been working on, and talks about personal projects and hobbies. Claire jokingly asks Leon if the reason he arrived by helicopter was really because he crashed his car or something, which gets a snarky quip back in response about how for an occasion this special, style is warranted. 

      The group exchanges pleasantries and jokes all throughout the meal. The food's good, too. Ethan's clearly shown quite the talent in the recent year that he's started cooking regularly. Chris's pie turns out to be tastier than he expected, too. When Jill discovers that Chris was the one who made it, she points out that she didn't know he could cook, let alone something this good. Neither did he, frankly. 

     When dinner is finished, Ethan stands and gathers everyone's dishes while they continue to sit around the dining table and socialize. Any decent Thanksgiving dinner is followed up by a few hours of random conversation, everyone knows that. Ethan ends up dragging Heisenberg away from tooting his own horn some more to help him with putting the dishes away, but the two return to the table and to the socializing some time later.

     Chris looks around. It's nice to have a get-together like this with everyone. He hadn't realized how badly he'd missed this kind of socialization, getting to just enjoy the time he has with his friends and comrades. No world-ending threat, no mission to focus on, no constantly looking over his shoulder in case a B.O.W. got the jump on him. He should have done this sooner. It's different. It's relaxing. 

      It only makes him more nervous for the inevitable. Dread shoots down his spine like ice water, and it takes all of his will to suppress his shudder and keep his face neutral. Leon shoots him a brief glance during the downtime, knowingly, and gives a small nod of reassurance. Some time later, he gets a similar gesture from Ethan–albeit one more hesitant. Chris takes a deep breath, swallowing down his anxieties about this. It needs to be done. He needs to tell them. Now is the time.

     "Hey," he interjects, getting the group's attention. Leon gives a small, almost imperceptible shift in his expression. He knows what's about to happen. Chris steels himself, resting his elbows on his knees. "There's something you guys should know." Well, here goes nothing.

     “Hm?” The others turn over to Chris after Jill and Sheva wrap a brief bit of chatter. Claire responds to her brother for the table. “Yeah, Chris? What’s up?” There’s still a pleasant mood all around, despite Chris’s serious expression. Each pair of eyes on him feels like a new weight on his shoulders. A carefree environment like this is so rare for them; he knows that. He doesn’t want to take that from them, but the time is now. Time for them to learn the little secret holed up upstairs.

     Chris stands, trying to shake off the pressure that suddenly feels like it’s keeping him weighed down in his seat. There’s no world in which this doesn’t go badly. But what choice does he have? 

     Each of the people around him, they each have a history with his former captain. And every one of them has been a victim of his machinations before. Some of them time and time again. Some of them more personal than others. Some who personally helped put him back in the ground. They have a right to know.

     “I wanted to tell you all sooner. Really, I did.” He takes another deep breath. It’s probably the last chance he’s going to get for one before everything goes to shit. 

     Chris’s face is grim as he finally says it. As he finally lets out the secret—and with it, potentially ruins everything. 

     “Albert Wesker is alive,” Chris admits. 

      There’s silence for a moment. Stunned. Disbelieving, perhaps. 

     Then all at once, the table erupts into chaos. Questions and exclamations and a fair bit of swearing, all overlapping each other in a cacophony. 

     Jill’s voice manages to speak over the others, eventually. “Chris, tell me you’re not being serious. We saw him burn. You and Sheva did it yourselves!” He can see the emotions on her face, gathering in her eyes like a storm. 

     Chris looks at the floor. “I almost wish I wasn’t being serious.” Jill is taken aback. As is everyone else. 

     “Really?! How?! Where is he?!” Jill asks. The others echo similar questions. 

     Chris grimaces. “About that…this is the part you’re really not going to like.” 

     Chris’s hands clench into fists at his sides. The tension in his shoulders is tight enough to snap like a rubber band. Here goes nothing. With the same decisiveness with which he might pull a trigger, voice wavering slightly as it betrays how much he hates being in this situation, he raises his head and calls out. 

     “Alright, Wesker, come on out.”

     Chris’s gaze is pointed to the stairs, so everyone else looks that way too. For a moment, the house is as silent as death. They’re all watching the stairs, waiting for something horrible to show itself from the shadows, but that moment never comes. 

     Claire, hand on her sidearm, turns to her brother, frustration in her furrowed brow. “Chris, this isn’t some sort of sick joke, is it?”

     The party watches Chris get up and jog across the living room to look up the stairs. Nothing; there’s nobody standing up there. 

     Chris hesitates momentarily, caught between launching himself upstairs and addressing his house guests. With a worried expression hidden behind a reassuring facade, Chris tells the others to hold tight, then darts up the stairs.

     The guest bedroom is empty, and furthermore, it looks as though a bitter bioweapon hasn’t been spending day-in and day-out in here. The bed neatly made, books, notes, and whatever else has been put away—probably into the bookshelves already built into the room. The duffle bag full of Chris’s dark clothes—Wesker’s clothes—lay atop the bed, open. The S.T.A.R.S. photograph sits just beside it. Chris glances around the room, parts dumbfounded and parts annoyed. He doesn’t want to get angry, nor lose his cool. He needs to stay calm and search the room. You’re a man on a mission, Chris. That mission is locate Wesker.

     It’s only after he’s given himself his orders that he notices Sheva following close behind. She’s got his back, her handgun equipped and pointed toward the ground. She nods at him, and they both enter the bedroom proper.

     Chris makes his way around the perimeter of the room. Everything in the space looks nearly untouched . Chris can't help but wonder how he managed to get the room in this state in such a short time. Then again, this is Wesker he's looking for. Chris stops when he reaches the closet, back against the wall. He exchanges a quick glance with Sheva, and a few moments later, he throws open the closet. Sheva levels her gun straight ahead, through the door, but lowers it almost immediately. Chris turns to look inside. 

      Nothing .

     He huffs in frustration. Of course Wesker couldn't let this go smoothly. Of course he had to turn this into a manhunt, just for the sake of making Chris's life harder. Chris moves to the window. It's still shut, but…it’s not sealed anymore. In a frenzied panic, he opens the window, shoves his head outside, and looks around, but finds nothing. Damn it . He storms over to the bed and crouches to look under it. Still nothing . Chris searches the room high and low, and finds nothing. No Wesker, not even a sign of where he might have disappeared to. Chris slams a fist into the wall in frustration. The longer Wesker is missing, the more dangerous this situation becomes. He should have known something like this would happen. Damn it all.

     Sheva points her gun around the room only briefly. Should an enemy be hiding in here, a long-range weapon like a firearm would only hinder them should it get snatched. And anyways, close-range against Wesker is a no-go. She’s learned that first-hand. Sheva pockets her weapon. 

     She uses both hands to pull Chris’s massive self out from under the bed. Oh Chris… dedicated as always. “Chris, this room is empty. We should look elsewhere.” She says this, but before heading to the door, her eyes come across the display in the middle of the room. The clothes in the bag are black, just like Wesker’s. Could it be that they truly just missed him? Upon closer examination, Sheva finds Chris’s last name etched into a tag. These shirts… are custom made, and they’re Chris’s. 

     Examining the photograph nearby doesn’t make her feel any better. It’s a photograph of a group of people posing in front of a helicopter. Sheva notices a younger Chris quickly, and a younger Wesker standing behind one of his shoulders. “Chris…” Sheva shakes her head, unsure of what exactly she should be coming to terms with here. “What is all this?”

     Chris sighs and grabs the photo. "Stuff I brought over from my apartment. Wesker's been the one wearing these, actually. I've had to start borrowing Ethan's clothes." He gestures to himself. "Look, I'm telling you, he has to be here somewhere." Every nerve in his body is sparking right now from stress alone. Why is this happening? Why now?

     Putting the photo in his pocket for now, Chris marches out the guest bedroom door. "If he's had the upstairs to himself all afternoon, he might have hidden somewhere else. Come on." Chris moves down the hall, eyes darting around, watching for movement, clues, anything. Eventually, they reach the bathroom, and Chris shoulders open the door. Once again, there's no one inside, but Chris searches the room anyways for even a scrap of evidence that Wesker was here.

    Sheva stands in the doorway as Chris mulls around the restroom. When the man halts to examine a shampoo bottle, Sheva raises an eyebrow at him. “I…don’t think you’ll find him in there.”

     Finding nothing, Chris takes them across the hall to the master bedroom.

     As she did with the guest bedroom, Sheva aims her firearm in front of her as she completes her one-around. Chris is busy puzzling in the middle of the room with a hand over his mouth when she looks back to him, sympathy in her eyes. “Chris…”

     An awkwardly-placed chunk of scrap metal thunks from the top of the dresser and onto the floor with a slick sliding sound accompanying it. Rolled-up blueprints meet the ground and bounce a few times, but it’s no hidden intruder. Sheva turns back to Chris, who has quickly grown tense, shocked merely by a sound they must have caused from moving around this room so much. Chris’s posture is squared, like he’s ready to fight. Sheva can’t be sure if he’s even seeing what he’s looking at, or if he’s just reacting in full autopilot in his delusion. “Chris, listen to me…” She steps up to him, but his attention doesn’t falter from the metal on the floor. “Chris?”

     Chris groans and runs his hands down his face. This can't be happening right now. How could Wesker just...vanish? It doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. Some small part of him wonders if maybe he is really losing his mind. But then, there's no way the last three weeks could have just been his imagination, right? That can't be possible. It just can't . He's not that far gone yet...is he?

     Shaking his head Chris finally looks up. "I just don't get it," he finally says. Was he really that lonely? That sad? That he just...imagined the whole thing? The product of another night spent slumped over his apartment couch, an empty bottle in one hand and a dozen more by his feet, somehow missing his greatest enemy despite everything he'd been through because of him? Has he just finally cracked?

     Ethan, Heisenberg, and Leon all can back up what he saw. Can back up the fact that for the past three months, Wesker has been living in this house, freshly back from the dead and just as insufferable as before. The only explanation for the idea of it all just being a hallucination or something is if they were all hallucinating. That couldn't be the case, surely. Unless the DSO did something, maybe. Or the Connections. Was that what this was? Some kind of experiment meant to make him question his sanity? 

     No, that can't be it. It has to have been real. Even now, he can almost imagine Wesker's smug face, watching him with that same unbearable smirk as always from some unseen shadow. He feels like he's being watched. He knows it. This is all on purpose. As always, Wesker has found another way to get under his skin, and Chris's blood boils at the thought of the mastermind laughing at his misery.

     Chris marches to the door. "He's fucking with me. The bastard is trying to fuck with my head. Again." He's just about sick of this. Storming out of the room, and down the stairs, he bypasses the dining room where the rest of the group is still gathered in confusion and shock, eyeing him doubtfully. Chris makes his way without pause down into the basement. If nothing else, he's sure to find something down that proves Wesker was here. Surely. After all, that's where the man first got his body back, anyways.

     Sheva is right behind Chris again, but all she does is stand at the bottom of the stairs, watching Chris with her eyebrows furrowed. She watches as he rips open drawers and rummages through pages upon pages of messy files. Chris is teetering on the edge of his composure, although he might have already slipped. Sheva isn’t sure what to do. There isn’t a place in this room where a grown man could hide without being seen. Chris is searching for nothing. 

     “Chris,” Sheva reaches a hand around to her old partner. He feels shaky and uneven, like his entire world is falling apart. She wants to trust him; she wants to put her faith in him, but… should that man really be alive… she doubts that Chris would be here right now to tell the tale. In fact, she’s sure this house would have been reduced to rubble long ago. She plants her grasp on each of his shoulders to straighten him out. “Chris, we defeated him that day. And assured he wouldn’t make it out of that volcano. You need to take a breath.” Releasing him, she glances around the area. “I don’t know what you believe you’ve seen, but… Chris, could such a thing even be possible…?”

     For a moment, Chris simply stops. And stares at his feet. Could it all have been his imagination...? He was so certain it wasn't before, but now...now he isn't sure what to think. Could this really have all been just another drunken fever dream? Another day spent longing for a past that was forever gone, for the memory of a man who had long since shown his true nature and paid the ultimate price?

     Chris remembers one night in particular, one that had been worse than all the rest. Getting a drink after being deployed on a grueling mission abroad for almost a month, sitting alone on the edge of his bed and remembering a life that was now long gone. He remembers taking a long sip of god-knows-what-number bottle, and the thought of his younger days. He thinks about staring up at his Captain, a man so enigmatic and with such a commanding, powerful energy, that Chris couldn't help but admire him. Couldn't help but watch him with awe and respect, and follow whatever orders the man gave with the certainty that he knew what he was doing. That blind admiration had led him to the worst night of his life, to the night his entire world was flipped on its head with Wesker's betrayal and the hell that was the mansion incident. The day the light of joy in his life was crushed, and replaced by a burning ember, a blazing fury of the need to get even to set everything right.

     He'd downed the rest of the bottle at that thought. That night had been spent lying awake staring at the ceiling, the image of crimson red eyes haunting the edges of his vision and finding himself turning over expecting them to be there, standing over the bed staring at him. He had spent so long chasing Wesker, trying to put him in the grave, that once he finally was dead...what then? So much of his life had been defined by him, so...without him, what was left? His desire to save people, sure, but the deeply personal reasons for his motivation were gone. His personal stake was gone, save for maybe his life and the lives of the people around him. 

     Chris remembers deliriously reaching out, calling the name of a man who would never hear him, before punching the headboard of his bed hard enough to leave a dent. The impact in his thoughts brings him back to now, to Sheva standing before him in a basement filled with scrap metal and tools, staring at the floor and contemplating everything he's experienced. Is...is it possible it had all been his imagination? Was it like that torturous, unsleeping night all over again?

     And if it was, what does that mean for him? For everything he's been grappling with since his greatest enemy's apparent revival? What does that make the complicated emotions tormenting his mind every time he was flashed that fucking smirk he hates so much, or every time he was criticized with that always-sharp tongue? What does that make the sudden rush of endorphins that had flooded his system this morning at being seemingly praised by his former Captain, after so long without? 

      What does that make the sight of staring down the sights of his gun, aim trained right between those eyes–burning red and yet as cold as the snow crunching around his feet? What does that make his finger resting on the trigger, unmoving, and the silent knowledge between the two that it would never be pulled, that he couldn't bring himself to fire at the man he'd once sworn to bring to an end?

     Did he really... miss Wesker? Enough to make him fully hallucinate the idea of the man coming back to life? What the hell is happening in his head, if all this wasn't real? What the hell is wrong with him? And what the hell has he been feeling all this time?

     It all seems to snap back in an instant, like a rubber band pulled too taut, too far. Like the explosion of a rocket against a body, like the eruption of flame and sound and light in the middle of a glowing volcano. No . Chris isn't crazy. He knows that. He can't have imagined it, no matter how much these fucking mind games may make him doubt himself. Wesker's playing with him. Chris finally looks up, eyes full of renewed conviction. He won't let Wesker toy with his psyche like this. He's spent too much time contemplating his sanity rather than logically thinking this out. The scraps and papers scattered around the room remind him. He snatches a sheet up from the table and looks over the words. There, halfway down the page, he finds it. Mention of performing a minor surgery, or more specifically, removing a part of the Cadou in order to use its regenerative properties to create an entire body . He knew it. Chris knew he wasn’t crazy. He knew it had all happened.

     Chris clutches the paper in his hands with returned vigor. Heisenberg . Heisenberg had been the one to bring Wesker back in the first place. A project which had taken no small amount of effort over a substantial period of time. Ethan . A man who had stared down a deranged, godlike woman in an isolated mountain village, and who had subsequently stared down the world’s most dangerous bioweapon, newly revived in his basement, as stubbornly as he had Miranda. Ethan, who after watching Chris drag Wesker in from the snow with the silence of a gun never fired, had asked, unimpressed, if the two were done trying to kill each other in his house. Leon . The agent who had held a two-year-old girl in one hand and a gun in the other, demanding an explanation at seeing one of the world’s biggest threats walk through the garage door. The man who had arrived early on a government-issued helicopter, just to support Chris before he announced the news that would turn a peaceful holiday gathering into utter chaos. All three of them are witnesses. They all saw him, spoke with him, some even threatened him. Not only does the paper prove it, they’re living proof that it was all real. It’s the thought of these three that reminds him of a certain object: of a small notepad tucked away in a jacket. That very same notebook had been used to document multiple events of Wesker’s recent stay at the house. 

     “I swear, what I saw was real,” he tells Sheva as he meets her eyes. “And I think I know how I can prove it.” Chris walks back up towards the stairs. He’s done with these games. He’s done questioning his sanity because of Wesker’s insane machinations. He’s proving his sanity, and then, he’s finding the bastard. With Sheva close behind, Chris charges back into the dining room.

     Chris walks up to Heisenberg without a word and stuffs his hand into the former lord’s jacket pocket. Heisenberg, surprised, starts to protest, but Chris already has his hand around what he’s looking for: the notebook. He pulls it out and presents it to the group. “This,” he explains, “documents some of the early stages of his revival.” Chris stands firm as he gets a few uncertain looks from the group. He casts his eyes over to Ethan, then Leon. “I’m not joking about this. And I’m not losing it. Albert Wesker is alive .”

     Glances bounce around the table, some from Chris’s frazzled state, and some from the inanity of this Wesker business. Jill takes the notebook Chris raises to her, Claire, and Sheva, and examines the writing seriously. Like Chris, she’d know that formal, practiced handwriting anywhere. She’d seen it many times in S.T.A.R.S., just like Chris. Concern turns to fear within her as she reads the writing aloud. “ ‘The condition of the body improves by the day. Soon enough, I may find enough pride in it to consider it my own, although that day is still far off.’ What?” She shakes her head, but keeps reading. “ ‘Understanding the Cadou is difficult without a visual on the subject, but I never back down from a challenge.’ ” There’s more, but Claire cuts her off.

     “That sure sounds like the jerk,” Claire mentions, hardly covering her annoyance. 

     “It is the jerk,” Leon says from his chair. The ladies’ glares ask a question Leon is quick to answer. “I’m serious! I met him here just a few weeks back.”

     “A few weeks ago!?” Sheva exclaims, turning to the man beside her. “Chris, is this true?”

     Jill places the notebook open, face down on the table as she stands and unholsters her firearm. “Chris, if Wesker is alive, then everyone here is—no, the world is in danger.”

     Chris is about to answer when Ethan speaks up, standing and rounding the table. "I'm sorry, the world ?" He levels a look at Chris that he's seen before–it’s the same one he gave the agent when he was lying on his back in his entryway while Chris loomed over him with Rose in his hands, the look he had given Chris immediately after he had seemingly shot his wife dead in their dining room. "Chris, what the hell does that mean?" Mold creeps down his arms and in from the edges of his face as he glares, but he can't find it in himself to care. Not when he's just had it dropped on him that his houseguest for the last month or so has been a potentially world-ending threat. All Ethan can think about right now is the last time he had to deal with a threat that serious. The nightmare that was Dulvey and then the village plays behind his eyes. 

     Chris is normally unflinching in the face of most bioweapons, but the realization that he'd never told Ethan the true degree of a danger that Wesker could be hits him suddenly, causing him to falter. Right. He didn't know. Fuck. How did I never tell him? "You remember how I told you that one time, Sheva and I stopped a potentially catastrophic viral outbreak in Africa?" He tries to explain. Ethan gives a tentative nod, still eyeing Chris like he half expects to have a weapon pulled on him any second. "Well, Wesker was the mastermind behind it. He was trying to wipe out the human race–most of it, anyways."

     Ethan grabs a fistful of Chris's shirt. More mold creeps in across his face, in inky patches and dark veins. His hands are going dark at the fingers as he holds the agent with a stubborn fury. "And you never told me?!"

     Chris groans and shoves Ethan off of him. The blonde looks offended, both at being pushed away and at not having been informed sooner, but he doesn't have the raw strength Chris does, so he relinquishes his grip. "I was a bit preoccupied with trying to keep him from repeating history. And the shock of it all. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, I swear I meant to," Chris elaborates, in an effort to try and pacify Ethan somewhat. It seems to work, at least somewhat, as Ethan sighs and steps back, choosing not to argue further. For now, at least. Guilt gnaws at Chris's insides. This is the second time now that he's made Ethan's life harder by simply not keeping him on the same page. He'll have to make up for it later.

      For now, they have bigger problems. Chris turns back to Jill. "I know. There's—a lot happened, when I found out. Tried to kill him." He doesn't mention that he chose not to kill Wesker. He takes a deep breath. "A lot of things happened since then. I'll explain later, but first, we need to find him." Grabbing his jacket from beside the door and pulling it on, he throws the door open and gestures for the others to follow. "Come on," he calls over his shoulder. With an extra rush to his pace, Chris leads the group outside to search for the missing bioweapon.

     Two soldiers, a motorcyclist, an American agent, and two concerned parents and their child follow Chris outside into the cold. Everyone with a firearm is locked and loaded as they search the perimeter. The only two without guns are Ethan, who shivers from the cold and the stress while holding his daughter tightly to his chest, and Karl, who keeps one arm around Ethan, and the other raised, hovering some scraps. 

     They both stand on the porch, watching the others, watching the forest, watching one another. It isn’t immediate, but Karl eventually speaks up with an uncharacteristic stammer, shaking his head. “I-I didn’t know…”

     Ethan lets out a breath, watching as it forms a cloud in front of him. "I believe you," he responds softly. "Would have been nice if he had said something about it before, though." He gestures with his head towards Chris, who instructs the group to fan out. Ethan adjusts his grip on Rose to hold her in one arm, giving him a hand free to reach up to brush against Karl's forearm around him. "If this gets settled, I'm going to beat the shit out of him later." He looks towards his partner. "We'll have to figure out what to do if this all gets worked out somehow."

     Frankly, Ethan isn't sure what to think. On one hand, Chris hasn't seemed particularly concerned about the idea of Wesker trying to attempt another doomsday plot. At least, not since their truce. It certainly explains why Chris had imposed so many restrictions on Wesker's stay in their home, however. Ethan finds himself at least a little grateful for that much. On the other hand, seeing all these highly skilled, specially trained operatives searching his lawn with weapons drawn has him so on edge he feels like he might be sick. The idea that they've been potentially in such extreme danger this whole time, with such a huge threat right under their roof, is anxiety-inducing to a whole new degree. 

     Then again, Wesker's shown no sign of posing any sort of threat to their lives so far. The most he's done is butt heads with Chris roughly every three hours, but that's hardly anything life-threatening. This sudden disappearance is the only irregularity, the only time he's seemed to actually make Chris think their truce has a risk of not holding. Regardless of how this pans out, Ethan's going to have to be a lot more careful. If Wesker turns out to still be 'in retirement' as he had originally claimed, what then? Do they just proceed as usual, despite the looming threat that he is? Or do they get rid of him, and remove the danger from their home entirely? Ethan's not sure what to do.

     Annoyingly, the group's search has turned up empty. There's not even any footsteps in the snow aside from their own, any sign that anyone could have left the house. Chris growls in frustration. He's had just about enough of this. Well, there's no use staying out here in the cold if Wesker's not out here. If he did leave, he's long gone by now–especially knowing how fast he can move. There's no use continuing a pointless search of their immediate surroundings. 

     Chris holds up an arm to get everyone's attention. "Alright, let's head back inside. If he's not here, we'll have to make a game plan, and there's no use doing that out here and freezing ourselves half to death in the process." He turns and walks back towards the house in a rage. He's frustrated, confused, cold, and at this point, defeated. If Wesker really is gone...he should have known better. He should have known that 'truce' they made wouldn't hold, that Wesker would inevitably betray him again just as he'd done years ago. At this point, Chris just wants to be done with this bullshit. If he's gone, so be it. Chris will organize the mission to hunt him down himself . He leads the rest of the group back into the living room.

     The inside of the house is eerily quiet, spared from complete silence only by the creak of the floorboards beneath Wesker’s shoes. The room feels empty, the table abandoned and the kitchen untidy. The scare of Wesker’s escape turned everything upside-down in an instant, hence the disorder blatant in the dreadful look of the place. It would be a pity if Wesker really cared, but he doesn’t. The fun will all be over soon enough anyway. 

     The first to step back into the house is Chris with his tail between his legs, the sorry bastard. Wesker loves that humiliated look on his face—the dread in his eyes, the way his nostrils flare uncomfortably. It’s satisfying in a way this pie could never be, although he supposes it’s amusing enough because of its creation.

     Wesker is standing idly against the kitchen counter when Chris finally lays eyes on him again. In his hand is a small plate adorned with a half-eaten slice of pumpkin pie, in his other hand is a fork. Even across two rooms, Chris can tell he looks satisfied. Wesker sets the plate aside in preparation for Chris’s outburst.

     Chris is a blur as he rushes to the counter, moving like a force of nature. His eyes are wide when he reaches it, and there's an anger in them that hasn't been this intense since their confrontation in his apartment bathroom weeks ago. "Oh, now you decide to fucking show yourself!" He shouts, slamming a fist into the countertop. Of course it was all just a game. Of course Wesker had just been fucking with him. Where had he even been hiding? It doesn't matter. The point is that he's here now, and he's been playing with Chris's head this whole time. Probably to humiliate him. Chris is livid .

     Behind him, four guns are trained on Wesker in an instant. Ethan's fingers have gone all-black with mold, and he stands with his body turned so that Rose is turned away from the conflict. His free hand grips Heisenberg's tightly, and he looks almost as pissed off as Chris does. The other agents look ready to fire–except for the fact that Chris is now standing in the way in his rush to confront Wesker up close and personal. The front door hangs open, forgotten, and a cold wind blows into the room from behind them, but Jill has the wherewithal to at least take up position beside it. Just in case. 

     Chris gets right up in Wesker's face to yell at him. "Bet you're real fucking proud of yourself for that shit, huh?" He gestures to the pie Wesker had been eating. "You like how that tastes, huh, asshole?" Between what had happened last time the two of them were in this kitchen together and now, he's angered beyond belief. All Wesker's done all day is mess with Chris's mind, his emotions, everything. As expected, he seems all too self-satisfied about it. Chris has had enough.

     Wesker just hums a quiet laugh, looking past Chris and then back again. “Indeed.” His voice lowers just for Chris to hear, “It tastes like obedience.”

     Commotion rattles the room behind Chris as the others’ speechlessness is broken. “My god,” Sheva says to herself, eyes trained down her pistol. “He is alive…”

     “Son of a bitch had us running around like idiots…” Claire says, taking a step toward her brother. 

     “Chris, move!” Jill orders from across the room. Her eyes are frozen on Wesker with a deadly glare. All the torment he’s caused weighs the heaviest on her, just behind Chris. There’s probably no one who knows the gravity of Wesker’s return better than Jill and Chris. She’s lost in the nightmare all over again. All Chris needs to do is step out of the way so they can wake up. 

     All three of them are ready to fire. Even Leon stands at the ready, shaken by this unforeseen turn of events. Wesker, unfazed, watches them squirm and looks to Chris. He’s about as red as a tomato. The humor only Wesker could find in a situation like this strikes him yet again, and he smirks. “Want to see them try, Chris?”

     Chris stares him down, unflinchingly, “Cut the shit, Wesker.” He sighs and looks over his shoulder at the others. “It won’t work,” he explains, referring to their guns. “You all know that.”

     He turns back to Wesker. “You were watching me that whole time, weren’t you? Asshole.” He shakes his head. Turning somewhat, his eyes look back towards the others, but he still keeps an eye on Wesker as he addresses the crowd. 

     “If you guys didn’t think I’m crazy from that bullshit, you’re definitely about to,” Chris huffs. “But I can explain. This situation is a lot more complicated than you might think.”

     Leon slowly raises his gun over his shoulder, unsure. He knows the low-down they’re about to receive. “Chris… After all this, can you really trust him?”

     “Trust him?” Claire repeats, dubiously. 

     “You’d be out of your mind if you think Chris trusts this man.” Sheva shakes her head as she says that. 

     Karl places his hat on the coffee table, unsure of what to think. “You’d better believe he does,” he tosses back, palming his forehead. “They even made a pact…”

     Jill narrows her eyes down her sight post. “A pact?”

     “A truce is more accurate,” Wesker asserts, pressing on the rim of his sunglasses. 

     “You formed a truce…?” Jill returns, even more disbelieving than before. “Chris, he’s clearly deceiving you.”

     Chris sighs. “When I first found out he was back, I pretty much had the same reaction.” He doesn’t mention the details. “He claims he’s in ‘retirement’—apparently we kicked his plans into the dirt so hard it would take him nearly another whole lifetime to get them back off the ground.” 

    He braces himself with a hand on the counter. “He’s not done anything until now.” He levels a glare at Wesker. “Fucker just likes humiliating me.” 

     Chris turns back to the others. His mind is still a storm of conflicting emotions—and he half wants to jump the counter and punch Wesker right in his face—but there’s a genuine concern in his eyes. “Plus, what about Ethan? His family?” He gestures with one hand. “If the DSO suspects they’re involved, what happens to them?” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “Anyways. This shit today was just to piss me off, which, con-fucking-gratulations by the way, it worked,” he says with a pointed leer. “Besides, if he wanted to, he could have used the virus to overpower me a long time ago. He hasn’t. He’s been following the agreement we set.” 

    Chris meets the others’ eyes again. “I’m not asking you to trust him. What I am asking you to do is to trust me .” His point that nobody is better equipped to handle Wesker goes unsaid. If Wesker really did try anything, Chris could always make sure history repeated itself. He and Sheva took down years of work almost entirely on their own. He could easily do it again if he had to.

     The ladies look amongst each other, unsure of what to think. What sort of ploy would lead to this situation? Is it Wesker’s or Chris’s? Are they both playing each other, or are they serious? Chris very well could be telling the truth, although Wesker is nowhere as trustworthy. He’s hardly said a word and they still have reason to doubt him, but Chris…

     Claire is the first to lower her weapon. Keeping it trained so close to her brother is reason enough to abandon firing. “Chris, are…are you sure?”

     Sheva and Jill remain ready to fire, although Sheva seems ready to unarm herself as well. Jill is the only person still eyeing Wesker down her pistol’s sight. “You might be ready to, Chris, but I won’t back down.” There’s a weary anger to her words, a weight that only Chris knows. “With all of us here, I know we can take him down together.” Jill nods to the others, and they raise their weapons again, even Leon does upon her command. “Stand aside.”

     Amused, Wesker steps around the counter on his own accord. “Oh Jill, always the passionate type…”

     “Can it, Wesker!” She retorts, finger on the trigger.

     Chris groans. "Look, for as long as he's cooperating, which he's agreed to do ," Chris says that last part through gritted teeth towards Wesker, "he's a valuable asset. Especially with everything the BSAA's been doing, and the Connections still out there. Unfortunately, there's no better expert on this shit." It's not the entire truth of why he's trying to keep Wesker alive, but it's certainly a valid point. He's going to have to finally tell the DSO anyways, and Wesker has already agreed to cooperate with the organization in their truce. 

     The subject of Wesker actually helping the DSO has been loosely floating around in Chris's head since their truce. Wesker actually working alongside the right people, towards the right cause, could make a monumental difference in everything they're fighting for. It could save so many lives. As long as he's behaving, he's valuable. 

     Chris's gut twists a bit as he thinks about the other reasons he's keeping Wesker alive, the reason he'd had his entire crisis in the basement earlier. His feelings towards his former enemy are... complicated , to say the least. He should want this man dead. He kind of still does, really, and yet here he still stands in the line of fire, unmoving. He's not about to admit any of the confusing emotions he's been dealing with towards this man, so a mostly true point will have to do. The rest is for him to have another crisis about later. 

     "If he's cooperating, why give him a reason not to?" Chris reasons. He knows Wesker can probably read from his posture alone that he's not telling the whole story on why he's keeping the man alive, but that's not important right now.

     Chris makes a point, although the others dislike having to stand down against Wesker. They look to Jill, who wears an uncomfortable expression. After a moment of watching Chris’s pleading gaze, she exhales, putting away her weapon. The others follow suit after her. “Chris,” she says, eyeing him seriously. “Okay. I trust you.” Jill’s gaze drifts briefly upon Wesker before it returns. “You just…call me if anything goes wrong. No waiting next time, please.”

     Chris lets out a breath, then nods. His eyes are genuine, serious, as he meets Jill's. "I will. Promise." He shrugs. "And if I don't, you can come here and kick my ass personally." He offers a small smile as reassurance. 

     Ethan speaks up, some mold still faintly showing, but it’s starting to recede now that most of the tension has dissipated from the situation. "If she doesn't, I will." He's still a little pissed off about Chris not keeping him informed, but he's tabling it for now. Instead, he glances at Rose resting her head on his shoulder, who has spent most of the afternoon's excitement watching in confusion. She'd been fairly quiet during the dinner, mostly because the sheer amount of people was making her shy, but she seems to have since tired herself out from being around the commotion. Ethan wishes she hadn't had to see any of that. 

     Finally satisfied that everyone's on the same page, Chris steps aside and meets Wesker's eyes. There's still a simmering rage, there, at being forced to race around looking for him and being publicly humiliated in front of the people he cares about. Chris's eyes convey a silent message of warning, to not make more of a scene than they already have, as he passes the man to grab a drink from the fridge. He needs one, after dealing with all of this.

     BANG!

     Just as Chris sets the bottle down on the table, a loud sound resonates through the air. Everyone's heads turn towards the still-open door. In the doorway, silhouetted against the snow, is none other than Rebecca Chambers, with a still-smoking gun in hand. "What the hell ? !” She exclaims, her voice hollow with terror. “How is he alive?!" She says, gesturing with her gun towards Wesker.

     As Chris looks over, Wesker reaches a hand down to touch his shirt, finding that his hand comes back stained with blood. He seems surprised, at least mildly so, but fairly unphased. He examines the blood like one would a particularly interesting painting...or perhaps it would be more fitting to say he examines it like a scientist would an unusual sample. That seems far more appropriate for Wesker. 

      Right. Rebecca was running late. Shit. "Rebecca, stop!" He urges, trying to get her to stand down. Confused, she turns her gun briefly on Chris, before thinking better of it and turning it back on Wesker. He's going to have to explain this all over again... 

     Ethan interjects by slamming an abruptly fully-dark hand down on the table. "Can we STOP whipping out guns around the toddler?!" He shouts, dark stains on either side of his face creeping across to meet the edges of his eyes. Rose seems confused, but otherwise fine, although her hands have reached up to cover her ears at the noise.

     From the wriggling of a sudden sensation, Wesker cups a hand upon his wound. Once the light pain subsides, he looks at his hand again, the shrapnel of the bullet pushed out through his already-healed wound. His sharp gaze across the room, Wesker tosses the used bullet aside and steps around the kitchen counter to wash his hand in the sink. 

     In the commotion, Heisenberg lifts a finger and whips the pistol out of Rebecca’s hands as she’s focused on everyone else. It drifts across the room, and Karl grabs it by the barrel. Her protests are met by Chris’s insistent words, repeating the spiel he gave just moments prior. Rebecca looks on, worried and frightened.

     When Chris is finished explaining himself again, Rebecca looks uncertainly to the others. Observing that everyone else seems to already be up to speed on this frankly unnerving information, she reluctantly stands down. "Not exactly how I expected to be greeted at the door," she half-jokingly remarks. She then points at Wesker. "That's for shooting me ." Mostly pacified, she turns to Chris. "Am I really that late? How long has everyone else known?"

     Chris gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Not long. I had just finished explaining when you got here, actually. Well, Leon knew," he says with a vague gesture towards the agent in question. 

     Rebecca takes stock of the situation around her. Everyone seems at least a few degrees of on edge, so that certainly tracks. She offers a brief half-smile to Ethan. "Sorry about that," she admits awkwardly. 

     Frankly, it's hard to blame her for reacting that way. If a man who had once shot you point-blank in the chest was in a room when you walked in, it's pretty reasonable to shoot him back, in Chris's opinion. 

     Ethan gives an extremely exasperated sigh. "It's fine," he answers. "I'm going to take Rose upstairs before anyone else decides to start shooting each other." With that, he disappears briefly up the stairs, and returns soon after without his daughter in tow, coming to stand beside his partner again.

     Rebecca hesitantly approaches, holding out a hand. "Can I...have my gun back?"

     Hesienberg looks up over his shades. “Ah, right,” he says, and hands the pistol back to its owner. As order returns, the room falls dreadfully silent, the joy plucked clean from the room by Wesker’s presence. He expected as much, as did Chris. 

     Jill’s gaze has remained unbroken upon Wesker since Rebecca shot him. She pays close attention to every movement, hand hovering over her sidearm. “So how did it happen?” She asks through clenched teeth. “You crawled out of that volcano and tracked Chris down, is that it?”

     Wesker is willing to play along, although only with the intention to amuse himself. Looking aside while his arms are folded across his chest, he replies, “Not exactly.”

     “What was it then?” Claire shakes her head, impatient already from all of his games. 

     “He was this black worm thing,” Heisenberg says, still feeling bad. “Told me we’d experiment together if I helped him get a new body…”

     “And, of course, not just any body would suffice,” Wesker adds, recalling the scheme. 

     Sheva narrows her eyes at him from across the room. The leech-like pustules of virus she battled on her mission with Chris could perhaps pass for a worm, if thin enough. “Because Uroboros was only attuned to you?” She returns, brows knitted seriously. 

     “Precisely. So quick to catch on, unlike some.” Chris can sense Wesker looking at him, although the man doesn’t move. He continues, “My fortunate circumstances landed me in the hands of quite the overachiever. The rest, I’m afraid, is history.” 

     Heisenberg looks away as Wesker speaks directly at him. Karl might not know what he’s feeling, but the others stare at him knowingly—some understanding, some begrudged. He was used, plain and simple. Jill seriously doubts that Wesker ever had any intention of keeping his promise with the man. Even if he did, it wouldn’t have gone in anyone’s favor but his own. “And when did you both meet?”

     “Not very long ago, I suppose,” Wesker replies, tilting his head. “Although perhaps I am not the best judge of that— was not the best judge of that.” He corrects himself.

     Chris raises an eyebrow at Wesker. "What do you mean?" He knew Wesker's time as a worm had been strange, and he was definitely aware for some of it, but...how much? He definitely saw some shit, but did he see all of it? How aware was he? Is that why Wesker phrased that statement the way he did?

     Ethan's focus shifts away from the conversation, losing interest in favor of focusing on his partner. He takes Heisenberg's hand in his own and gives it a squeeze, trying to be comforting. While the others are preoccupied, he mouths a 'you okay?' to Karl, worry evident in his eyes.

     Karl nods, adjusting his sunglasses. He’ll be fine. He has to be. What’s beginning to trouble him more is this memory debacle. He raises a hand to Chris’s question and returns one of his own. “Hold on, you…” Heisenberg’s head shakes, his guilt smothered by his disbelief. “How long do you think we’ve known each other?” 

     Wesker watches him take a few steps toward him, the first out of the bunch brave enough to leave their side of the room. He supposes his fortitude is reason enough to supply an answer. “I only recall segments, so an assured answer, I couldn’t tell you.”

     “Then… guess,” Heisenberg returns. 

     Wesker shrugs, shaking his head as he offers an unsure estimate. “Perhaps…a few weeks at most before my rebirth.”

     “A few weeks…?” Karl repeats, still disbelieving what he’s hearing. It…can’t be, but…it explains his dormancy. He wouldn’t hear from him for days or weeks—was that all time he wasn’t conscious?

     Chris stares, dumbfounded. Wesker really lost that much time? Maybe he didn't observe as much as he thought, then. Wesker had to have met Heisenberg during the Village incident, so...that would have been over a year ago at this point. If he really wasn't conscious for most of that, there's no guaranteed way of knowing how much he remembers from that time. 

     Chris cuts back into the conversation. "Wesker, the Village incident was almost two years ago," he explains. If he barely had a sense of time for the past two years, what's his sense of time for the past decade or so that he's apparently been hiding out at Chris's apartment?

     “As I expected.” Wesker runs a hand through his hair casually, still unfazed despite everything. If he had time to waste fretting over time past, he’d have no time left for anything else. There’s no point in using the energy. 

     “And…What about the DSO?” Jill asks Chris, frowning from the worry.

     Chris folds his arms. "Let me worry about the DSO. I've already got a meeting scheduled tomorrow, and I'm not going alone," he says with a wave of his hand in Leon's general direction. "I'll just have to phrase it carefully. It's just a matter of what they decide to do afterwards." If he's lucky, things won't change very much. After all, nobody's more experienced in dealing with Wesker than he is. 

     "You're sure that's a good idea?" Rebecca inquires.

     "Nope. But it's going to have to happen eventually," Chris points out.

     He’s right. It’s only a matter of time before Wesker is on the DSO’s radar again. The same goes for other organizations, as well. Jill and the others will just have to trust that Chris can keep this all together…and defend himself should things go awry. 

     Upon a gesture from his sister, Chris approaches the far side of the living room where everyone else stands. Forming a pseudo-huddle around him, they quietly discuss plans of action, quickest routes here, possible means Wesker could use as escape—and so on. They make Chris promise to keep his phone on him at all times, along with his firearm, which he has no need to argue with. He does that already. Once they’re reassured enough by Chris’s words, the guests begin to leave one by one. Chris saves an extra apology for Rebecca, as her night began too late to enjoy even the joyous part of the dinner. He promises that he’ll make it up to her, and she leaves too. 

     Turning back to the inside, Ethan and Karl are gone—disappeared once the others began to leave, as well. Now, only Wesker remains, finishing his slice of pie.

     Chris approaches Wesker slowly. All the tension from his posture is gone. Now, it's been replaced by a heavy exhaustion that seems to permeate his entire body. "Well, you successfully made everyone think I've fully lost it for a while there. Are you proud of yourself?" he asks. "Actually, don't answer that." Chris shakes his head. He already knows the answer.

     Why is Wesker hanging back? Now that everyone's gone, he could just go back up to his room if he wanted. Is he...waiting for Chris? Does he have something to say? Rather than ask any of these questions, he glances down at the pie. Wesker's words from before echo in his head. Nope. Not thinking about how that makes him feel. Maybe he just wanted to finish it off before heading back. 

      Then again, he could have just taken it with him. So, what is this? It has to be something, Wesker rarely does anything without a reason. Could...he be trying to convey something with this? It certainly feels deliberate, somehow. They stand there in silence for several long moments. Wesker makes no comment, no move to do anything. Maybe he really is waiting for Chris, somehow. Is this him trying to show that he's still honoring our truce?

     Chris's eyes meet Wesker's. He doesn't break the silence, but gives a simple gesture of his head towards the stairs. Wesker gives him a nod, and the two head up to the guest bedroom. Once the blonde has reached his room, Chris gives a small, vague hand wave as he heads back down to his recent resting place: the couch. Chris lays back, pulling the lone comforter he's been using over himself. As he stares up at the ceiling, he tries to process everything that's happened. He's just announced the return of his greatest enemy. He's about to do it again tomorrow. And there's something strange growing between them, a sensation that feels both foreign and familiar all at the same time. As though it was a feeling he had experienced once, and then long forgotten. Ugh. That bastard. Always messing with my head.  

    Turning on his side, Chris shuts his eyes, and despite his racing thoughts, he eventually drifts off into sleep as the exhaustion of the day's events catches up to him.

Chapter Text

     A crack of lighting illuminates the hallway just outside of where Chris is sleeping. The rain accompanying it patters loudly against the glass nearby. The weather is furious, like the god of lighting himself is showering the city with his wrath. The building is afforded only a few moments of security before being shaken by the booming thunder of the raging storm. It’s enough to shake the groggy young man from his slumber. Shit, when did he fall asleep? He can’t remember a thing, not even the dream he just awoke from. Only an impression remains in his mind: something frightening, something arduous. The only evidence he has for how long he’s been out is a small stain of drool that pooled in the center of his desk where his head just laid. With a sheepish glance left and right, he wipes it away with his sleeve and stands up. 

     The office is empty. A single glance around the room confirms that. It’s dark outside, too, so the police department must be closed. Christ, they didn’t lock him in here, did they? The door into the hallway is open, but that doesn’t mean the front entrance will be the same. Chris can feel himself frowning. The thought of being here after hours gives him the heebie-jeebies, like something’s gonna pop out at him from the darkness. No…maybe the feeling’s something a little different, one harder to put his finger on. The feeling that he knows he shouldn’t be here, and of everything so empty where it’s usually busy? Is there a word for that? Chris thinks there probably is, but…he doesn’t have the time right now to search a thesaurus. He should get home. 

     A familiar voice stops him before he exits the office. “Leaving so soon?” Chris turns quickly toward the voice, caught red handed trying to escape. The door closest to his desk walks him just past Wesker’s office—he didn’t expect his captain to still be in, as well.

     Chris steps through the door into the captain’s office with only a slight hesitancy. Every time he sees the man it feels a little unreal. There’s something about him that just commands respect wherever he goes, and Chris can help but admire that. 

     When he steps inside, Chris finds Wesker seated behind his desk. Chris gives a small, sheepish smile. “Sorry, Captain. I must have dozed off near the end of my shift today,” he admits. It’s a little embarrassing, but he’ll live. He’s a capable member of this team—with the record to prove it—surely he’ll be forgiven for an accidental nap at the end of a long day. “I’m surprised to see you’re still here too, actually.” 

     As he stands in his captain’s office, that strange feeling doesn’t seem to fade. In fact, even with another person around, the feeling seems to only intensify. Something feels increasingly weird about all of this, but he’s not sure why he’s feeling that way. It’s just a late night at the office, it’s not that strange. So why does he feel a shiver down his spine as he wonders what might be throwing him off?

     “It’s no problem at all, Chris. I was just finishing up, myself.” He puts the finishing touches on a page of complicated-looking notes while he’s talking. Chris hasn’t really thought about it before, but maybe Wesker’s cutting him some slack for a reason. There’s some gossip around the office that he wears those sunglasses to hide his snoozing on the job. Maybe there’s some weight to that…he’s given a report to a nearly unresponsive Captain Wesker before…wait, he wasn’t asleep then, was he?

     Wesker packs his notes into a briefcase he lugs onto the table and locks. “Shall we?”

     Chris blinks in surprise. The captain...wants to walk out with him? Sounds interesting, that's for sure. He nods, still smiling. "Yeah, I think I'm ready to get out of here for the night." 

      Chris's eyes drift briefly to the briefcase. Wesker does a huge amount of paperwork all the time. It's part of his job, obviously, but it seems like he's always writing notes about something Chris doesn't fully understand. A spike of dread runs through him at the moment, the thought that there might be something sinister to those notes, but…why would there be? Why would he feel that way? Weird. Being in this place after hours must really be getting to him.

     Chris steps out of Wesker's office and waits for his captain to exit before falling into step beside him. Having him along is a slight reassurance in this bizarre situation. At least he doesn't have to navigate the empty RPD building by himself.

     Wesker’s eyes keep ahead as they descend the stairs, one hand on the handrail, the other holding the handle of his briefcase. Lightning strikes again outside, and after a few steps, they hear the thunder. It’s startling enough to freeze Chris in his place on the stairs, but his captain keeps walking. He only halts once he reaches the stairway’s platform to look up at him. Those serious blue eyes find Chris’s quickly, and it grounds him again, allowing him to quickly follow as he did before. They begin down the next staircase. 

     “So, you haven’t been getting enough sleep, then?” Wesker begins. Chris thinks it’s likely on account of his absentmindedness…he feels some nagging coming on. “Have I been working you too hard?”

    Chris shakes his head. "No sir," he insists. "I think maybe I just slept weird." Frankly, Chris isn't entirely sure why he actually ended up falling asleep at his desk. He just kind of dozed off. Maybe he has been pushing himself too hard? Hopefully his excuse suffices, though. He doesn't want to let Wesker down. 

     "I did wake up kind of sore, so that might have something to do with it," Chris suggests with a shrug.

     “I see,” his captain responds, watching him as they both reach the bottom of the stairs. “The human body must maintain a healthy balance for us to reach our fullest potential. Precious time may be wasted sleeping, but as long as exhaustion remains an obstacle, we must address it.” He sounds begrudged, as though he’s talking about an enemy, not a fact of life. Chris can’t imagine why; it isn’t as though he can do much about it besides caffeinate himself, he supposes. Wesker’s additional words snaps him back to attention. “See to it that you correct that.” He says, continuing down the narrow hallway in front of them. “I can’t have my pointman lagging behind, now can I?”

     Chris picks up the pace a little to keep up with Wesker. "Uh, no sir. Sorry. I'll work on it," he answers quickly. Shit. He got scolded after all. He'll just have to do better. Wesker's right, he's got an important job, and it could be disastrous if he wasn't performing up to par. 

     "By the way, why were you staying so late?" he asks, curious. As far as he knew, most of their work for the week was fairly minimal, so there shouldn't have been anything Wesker needed to stay late to complete. Then again, Wesker's job tended to be a lot more complicated than his. He can't help but wonder, though, what exactly it is his captain gets up to during those extra hours. Something in his gut twists at the thought, but he can't place why. More of the weirdness he's been feeling?

     Wesker rounds the corner into the security deposit room with Chris right behind him. “What, would you have preferred that I locked you in that office?” He tosses back, pressing his locker code into the numpad that manages the automated locks. “Then you really wouldn’t get any worthwhile sleep.”

     Chris chuckles a little. "Yeah, good point. Thanks for not just leaving me in there," he replies, walking over to his own locker. He extracts his car keys from his locker, then turns to Wesker. "I never would have heard the end of it from Jill if she had come in tomorrow to find me out cold on my desk," he remarks, shaking his head. His superior saved both his pride and his sleep schedule, it seems.

     Just as Chris closes his locker, another crack of thunder sounds outside. Chris pauses. The lights briefly flicker overhead, and Chris's head snaps up. In that moment, the shadows of the room had been accentuated around the two of them in a way that looked...very sinister. Did falling asleep at his desk mess with his head, or something? Is that why he feels so unnerved, despite the comfort that is his captain beside him? "Hell of a storm out there," he comments, gesturing towards the window.

     Wesker’s cold stare meets the malfunctioning tube lights above them as Chris comments upon it. “Yes…” he replies, attention back in his locker. Try as Chris might, his captain is hardly the type for small talk. He knows this, of course, but maybe it’s because his nerves are frazzled that he’s starting inconsequential conversations to fill the silence. Wesker pays it no mind as he clicks the latches to his case closed a second time and allows it to hang down by his thigh yet again. With a tilt of his head, they leave, walking silently through the west office and into the main hall.

     As they’re walking through the hall, Chris feels that strange sensation return again. That sense that something is profoundly, deeply wrong , with no discernible source. He tries to put the pieces together as they proceed. Wesker’s not keen on the conversation, so Chris uses the silence to think, instead. 

     At first, he’d believed it was just the emptiness of the RPD at this time of night. And while it’s certainly a little weird, not being alone has more or less eliminated that sensation. So it’s not that. After all, how could he feel like he was alone in here when Wesker is with him?

     The storm could be it, maybe. Having to confront a thunderstorm this fierce just to get home is certainly a challenge, but until he actually gets outside, it’s not much of a problem. While there is some sense of impending dread there, it’s more so just Chris dreading the inconvenience that the storm brings. Plus, Wesker seems fine about it. Maybe he’ll lend him a hand in getting to his car.

     Could it be the dark? Between the darkness of night and the storm clouds, combined with the darkness of a building after hours, shadows creep along every surface. Chris has never had a fear of the dark—it would be a bit of an occupational hazard if he did—but there’s still that underlying fear of the unknown, the idea that something could be lurking nearby, right under his nose, and he’d never know until it was too late. Yet at the same time, Wesker didn’t even spare the shadowed corners a moment’s glance, focusing on reaching and unlocking the front door, instead. There’s no real danger lurking here, and even if there was, he and Wesker could certainly handle it. 

     Out of nowhere, a thought drifts through Chris's head. Easing itself gently into his train of thought, but yet just as loud and powerful as the wind howling outside. Wesker. The only constant throughout all of it. 

     All at once, something clicks inside Chris’s brain. Wesker . It all comes back to him, in the end. The one constant in all of it. Could… he be the source of this feeling? This intense, persistent anxiety that seems to permeate the air around them. The feeling had only increased when he had stepped through the door to Wesker’s office. Chris almost can’t believe it, but the sensation he’s experiencing is almost certainly because of Wesker . 

     Chris hears the door open with a creak that’s almost immediately drowned out by the pouring rain outside. As the realization strikes— It’s Wesker, Wesker’s where I’m getting this feeling from, Wesker is what feels off— the feeling grows until it becomes borderline suffocating. 

     Chris finally looks up to see his captain as the realization properly settles into place. 

     Something about Wesker is wrong.

     The moment Chris’s eyes reach the man, he visibly tenses—flinching as if struck by a bullet. Wesker drops his briefcase in an uneven ker-thunk. The rain is all Chris can hear now, that pleasant pitter-patter bolstered into a fluttering cacophony. It takes all his focus to listen for the sounds that aren’t rain—the growls and grunts of irritation and agony. As the rain falls outside, so does his captain. He’s on his knees now, facing him, shivering and shaking as his hands run under his sunglasses. 

     Despite his apprehension, Chris looks on, frightened. He’s worried for the man he calls his captain, and about the torture he’s suddenly been granted, but more so the growing feeling in his gut telling him to get out while he still can. His mind is in pieces, torn between helping Wesker up and staying far away while he’s so unstable. He can’t bring himself to move.

     Chris feels his body at war with itself. When his legs fail, he tries to move his arm and reach towards Wesker. Yet even those limbs remain stubbornly paralyzed with the same overwhelming fear that seems to seize control of the rest of him. 

     The feeling from before is overpowering now. Some part of Chris that feels distant and unfamiliar is somehow louder than the drumming rain outside as it screams at him to move, yet his body won’t comply. Instead, he’s rooted to the spot and forced to watch on in horror at his captain’s agony, desperately wanting to help, while the rest of his body longs to flee for his life. 

     Eventually, the shaking starts to subside. Chris finds himself able to move, but only enough to take a single uneasy step forward. Wesker pants hard and hangs his head low as he kneels on the ground, a position that seems deeply unfitting for a man so commanding. 

     An instinct Chris didn’t know he had makes him momentarily curl his hands into fists, before he catches himself. I should run, he thinks. I should help him, he thinks at the same time. I need to make distance. I need to go. NOW, he thinks again, and the words sound so much gruffer than Chris ever has in his life. I can’t leave the captain like this, his thoughts contradict themselves again. Chris stares, at a loss, for a long moment. Then, shakily, he finally speaks.

     “Captain…?”

     Wesker goes still for an instant. He starts to lift his head, glacially slow. His sunglasses clatter to the floor, and somehow that sound drowns out all the others as it echoes around the hall.

     His head snaps up as a crack of lightning splits the sky behind him. For an instant, Chris doesn’t see his captain in that shadowed figure. Standing out against the silhouette is Wesker’s eyes. Once icy blue, they now glow bright with a blazing, consuming red that almost overtakes all of Chris’s vision for a moment. The shadows shift around Wesker like a dozen writhing, twisting shapes of darkness, growing and moving as though controlled by some unseen force. But his eyes . There’s something inhuman in them, and it’s not just the color. Something unnatural. Something terrifying. Just looking at them feels petrifying, like Chris is in danger just by being in line of sight. Wesker’s eyes meet Chris’s own, and Chris can’t look away, frozen in fear and shock.

     In that instant, Chris’s stomach drops. In that instant, he is no longer staring eye to eye with the captain he admires so much. Those eyes bore into his, and they feel both alien and intimately familiar all at once. Chris stares at this figure, and he sees both the Wesker that has served as his leader…and a monster unlike any he’s ever faced or ever will.

      Yet the monster feels just as familiar as the man.

     Fear and confusion give way to a third, more familiar emotion: anger. It’s another feeling unlike any other he’s had—all-encompassing, yet still inexplicable. It swallows up every other emotion in its wake, and lands Chris looking down the sight of his Samurai Edge and straight to a shot between his captain’s eyes. He could make that point-blank shot, and he knows it, but the second he processes what he’s doing, he points his gun away. No… was he really about to shoot his captain? Pangs of dread promptly hit him as he listens to Wesker’s groans. He can’t believe himself…for everything; for doubting his captain; for that sudden urge to flee the scene; for fearing him where he should be helping him. Above all else, he can’t believe just how right it felt staring at Wesker down the barrel of his gun. 

    His captain’s arm begins to blacken in patches below his rolled sleeve; it’s like a thick decay is running its course against his skin in the matter of seconds. In the splotches, Chris can see the stringy texture of muscle poking through, but even that is stained a pitch black. He couldn’t figure out what was happening with his eyes, but this… Chris can’t understand what he’s watching. 

     Wesker watches it mute, but not unflinching. His body throws itself to the ground as it forgoes the strength to keep itself up. Landing on his arm triggers his mutation. 

     His forearm cracks beneath him, not once, but thrice as the flesh of his hand tears down the middle. From between his middle and his ring fingers, his arm splits in two. The moment blood is borne, long, thick tendrils of shining black erupt from the wound on his body. Only a few at first, but a few turn into some, and some into many. It becomes unceasing. Most of the tentacles turn upon Wesker, wrapping and constricting his body as though trying to swallow him whole—first upon his arm and then his chest. Chris watches helplessly as the scene unfolds before him and as his view of his captain is obstructed.

     Only once he can’t see his face anymore can he hear his gravelly voice calling out his name. It brings back so many flashes of memories—of times Wesker called him out in training to times he spoke to him calmly while tending to his wounds. He’s reminded of a dog attack and Wesker’s callout leading him to safety, but that memory… he can’t recall when it happened. More shoot through his mind one by one. A time he called his name across a wall of flames; another with his hand around Chris’s throat; a third roared at him from several yards below him, Wesker half-submerged in bubbling lava. 

     While he’s distracted, the tendrils spiral into thick columns of viscous ooze, encircling him and further veiling Chris’s view of his captain, or what was once his captain. Without a moment of warning, Chris is startled from his thoughts by an intense pressure to his ankle. The tentacles have got him; they’re wrapped up around his leg like a boa constricting its prey and inching ever higher. Chris’s knife is upon it in an instant, but as soon as he kneels down, more tendrils attack him from his opposite side. His dominant arm restricted, he switches to his non-dominant. He isn’t as strong with that arm, but he took a lesson from his captain about that to heart: never let your body be what holds you back. it’s the boost he needs to slice through the thick pustules entangling him. Cut free, the disconnected portion wriggles upon the ground, discordant in its movement. Chris stomps a foot down upon it, causing it to fizzle weakly under his boot. Take that, he thinks in a moment of reprieve.

     The doctrine of massive retaliation crosses Chris’s mind in his final moments before the tendrils overpower him—of a much greater force being returned for a simple slight. The all-encompassing mass is so much worse than the few. Pain seizes him across every inch of his body, restricting his movement by stretching his limbs to their limits. He can’t manage to do anything but struggle, thinking if I were stronger, if I were tougher, then I wouldn’t feel so helpless. 

     He can’t hear the rain anymore, nor his own thoughts. His mind is blank while he struggles against the unending black, the wall of slimy, twisting danger. He’s never afforded the chance to escape Uroboros’s grasp. Instead, he soon wheezes his final breath.

.   .   .

     Chris startles awake with a gasp so hard that he tumbles off the couch and right onto the floor with a thud . He groans, rubbing at the back of his head. Fuck.

     Brief flashes from his dream play in his head. What the hell was that about? He’s had dreams of his S.T.A.R.S. days before, memories of a time in his life he still misses, but nothing quite like that. The image of Uroboros lashing out at him still lingers in his mind, and he shudders. Why am I dreaming about that, of all things?  

     The strangest thing about it all was the sense of cognitive dissonance. It was almost as though he was perceiving everything two ways at once—through the eyes of both his past and present self. The whole scene leaves him with a nasty taste in his mouth and a tremor in his hands. When he was younger, he had such a profound trust in his opinion of Wesker, along with an admiration that even to this day he can’t say entirely went away. There was even some sense of…care back then. It’s what made his past self reach out despite his mind’s every attempt to force the young man to flee. Why is his subconscious thinking about this now? Why is it making him re-experience the complicated and varied array of emotions he’s held towards Wesker over the years all in one terrifying moment?

     Chris hauls himself to his feet. He’s sore, and there’s almost a phantom sensation of the tendrils slithering around him that makes him cringe. Eugh. He can’t do this right now. Not today. He needs to clear his head. Especially with such an important meeting ahead of him today. Paying no mind to the other members of the household, Chris silently makes his way to the bathroom to go take a shower—and hopefully get his racing mind in order.

Wesker descends the stairs, passing around Chris, who doesn’t seem to notice him nor dodge around him. Only once he’s at the bottom does he stare up at a dazed Chris rounding the corner. He must not have slept well at all. He looks horrible. Wesker can only laugh. 

     He approaches the living room sofa and gazes upon its uneven state—the pillowcase half-undone, the blanket hanging haphazardly off of the couch. Detestable. Wesker works quickly to tidy everything up.

     Ethan watches as his housemates pass in opposite directions. He’s spent most of his morning in the kitchen making coffee, but Chris’s rude awakening drew his attention out to the living room, where he now stands leaning against the wall. Whatever’s bugging Chris this morning, Ethan just hopes it doesn’t screw him over at that meeting later. If this goes wrong, it could destroy the life they’ve managed to build here. The last thing he needs is experiencing something like that again. 

     Ethan’s still reeling a bit from yesterday. He’s still angry that Chris didn’t tell him and Karl about just how dangerous the other bioweapon really was, but there’s nothing he can really do about it now. At least he’s on the same page now, more or less. At some point he’s going to wrangle Chris into telling him the full story, but today is not that day. 

     Instead, he looks to his partner. Karl has been moody all morning, and Ethan certainly can’t blame him for that. Wesker had used him, and now they have a potentially catastrophically dangerous bioweapon living in their house. He was sulking about it last night, and it seems he’s still just as upset about it today. Ethan walks to where his partner is currently seated in one of the chairs, and sits down beside him on the arm. 

     Ethan meets his partner’s eyes with an intent, focused look, and reaches out with his mind. He finds Karl’s presence almost immediately. 

      How are you holding up? He asks mentally, resting a hand on Karl’s shoulder.

     Karl shakes his head, fingers running under his glasses to rub the sleep from his eyes. Could be better. He thinks back and looks to Ethan, checking that he got the message. He sighs. What have I done? It’s as if I’ve created another Miranda… He looks across the room to Wesker. Both blonde, both scientists, both former-Umbrella, both evil, both potentially world ending… Karl hates himself for what he’s created. It’s my fault that you and Rose are in danger, Ethan. I hate myself for it… seems I’m no better than Mia after all.

     Ethan takes Karl’s hand in his own. Hey, don’t blame yourself. You had no way of knowing. As far as the both of them had known, Wesker had just been any other B.O.W. they’d encountered. There was know way they could have known what a substantial threat he was. They didn’t even know really who he was until Chris provided the context for that. 

     Ethan shakes his head and rests a hand on his partner’s cheek, tilting the other’s head up to look at him. And don’t compare yourself to Mia. She fully knew what she was getting into, and did it anyways. He gives Karl’s hand a squeeze. If anything, I should smack the shit out of Chris, really. He still kind of wants to. He also thinks Chris might let him, given that his friend does at least seem to feel guilty for not telling Ethan the full story. Twice. But at the same time, Chris’s guilt is also why Ethan hasn’t actually smacked him yet. Chris is his friend, after all. Even if he’s a jackass.

     Heisenberg pats Ethan’s hand with his own. Thanks, he responds, his eyes shut as he removes his sunglasses. Still, should worst come to worst, I must take responsibility. Be it from their mental connection or merely their familiarity, Ethan quickly grasps precisely what Karl means when he says that. He’s willing to pay the ultimate price if he has to. If his actions put Ethan and his kid into danger, then he’ll do what he must to get them to safety. It’s all he can do beyond ridding the world of that danger, himself. But…taking down Wesker is easier said than done. He exhales again, growing more disappointed in himself by the minute. All he can do is hope his sacrifice won’t be in vain.

     Ethan’s hand squeezes Karl’s own, tighter this time. I appreciate that. I really do. But if the worst case scenario happens, we face it together. We’re a team. Like hell am I letting you just go it alone and potentially throw your life away. His eyes have that familiar look in them—the same stubborn determination they’d held back in the Village. Ethan cares too much about his family and his partner to just resign himself to whatever may come. 

     Sighing, Ethan adjusts his position on the arm of the chair. If you die, I’m kicking your ass, he threatens with a point of his finger. He means it, too. He doesn’t have a great grasp on how it works, but if he has to go into the Megamycete’s weird mold-archive-space to track Karl down, he will.

     What Ethan says is…sweet, mostly. Tracking down your beloved savior in mold hell is hardly a good way to repay his kindness, isn’t it? Karl pouts rather obviously, framing his face with a hand. Remind me not to get on your bad side. He throws his hands up into the air in defeat.

    Ethan nudges him. What, and you expect me to just leave you in limbo to have to deal with your dead asshole family? Not happening. He offers a small smile. Anyways. What do you think is up with Chris? He seemed really rattled this morning. Nightmares, maybe? He shrugs. Or maybe whatever’s going on between him and Wesker has finally made him lose it, Ethan suggests jokingly.

     Heisenberg turns over to him, barely shaking his head at the thought. If that were possible, I think he would have lost it a long time ago. No… the way they fight is certainly something, though… That’s one way to put it.

     Karl glances across the room at Wesker, who looks up from his magazine with a cock of his eyebrow from the staring. Heisenberg looks back across the dining room table at his partner. Albert always comes downstairs when Chris is around; it’s like he’s waiting for him to show. And…when they fight, they’re back to normal so quickly. I get they have a past, but… Karl narrows his eyes. Do you think they’re…y’know…

     Wesker clears his throat loudly across the room at them. When they both take a look, they can tell he’s glaring at them. 

     Heisenberg looks back to Ethan, shaking his head. No, they’d probably do it loud enough to hear across the forest…

     Wesker crumples the magazine between his fingers, soon tossing it aside before marching over to Ethan and Karl. He plants his hands sternly upon his hips, then growls his words through clenched teeth. “Don’t you two know that it’s rude to gossip while the subject is in the room? What are we, schoolchildren? I’m second-handedly embarrassed just listening to you go on.”

     Ethan does a double take. He looks to Heisenberg, then back to Wesker, stunned. “Wait—were you listening in ?” He stands from the chair abruptly, eyeing the former mastermind with eyebrows raised. Ethan didn’t even know Wesker could do that, but he supposes it makes sense—if he’s got the Cadou, it means he’s connected to the mutamycete’s network now. 

      Ethan’s focus turns back internally as he reaches out, further than he normally would, searching. There, just on the edge, he feels another presence, distant and fuzzy, like it’s being purposefully obscured. That would explain the slight twinge he had felt when Wesker walked downstairs, a sensation he had originally played off as being just the standard amount of unease Wesker stirs in him whenever he enters a room. Ethan supposes it’s possible Wesker was deliberately trying to hide his presence. In which case, he’s adapting to the mutamycete alarmingly quickly. 

     Ethan looks over at his partner. Didn’t realize he could do it too, he projects, before turning back to Wesker with eyes narrowed. Wesker’s presence is further, harder to reach, but with enough focus, he can do it. It’s also rude to eavesdrop, he shoots back at Wesker. Sending his thoughts to the other blonde’s much more distant presence takes more effort, but Ethan is nothing if not stubborn.

     Wesker scowls and projects back. You two brought this upon yourselves. Perhaps if you wanted to keep your little conversation a secret, you shouldn’t have stared so obviously at your target. He side-eyes Heisenberg, the one to blame. Do you know nothing of espionage? How have you managed to stay hidden in this worthless town if you make yourselves so obvious that even the blind could find you?

     Wesker’s presence through the Mutamycete is intense, even more so than his usual severity. Perhaps it’s because they’re sharing a link directly to his mind that it feels like more of his intentions seep through. Ethan always felt a pleasant sensation when communicating directly with Heisenberg like this, but with Wesker, it’s… too much. It reminds him of the instance where he spoke to Eveline in the mold. She wasn’t exactly real, but her presence in his mind still felt so rattling, so taxing. Wesker’s presence is worse; it’s like that cold glare he hides under his glasses is striking Ethan directly. He can feel all of his intentions in it—the annoyance, the disgust, and the hatred. It’s so smothering that the moment he wishes it away, the mold severs their connection and it’s gone. 

     Wesker appears a little bewildered, as if their conversation was just cut short by a car door slamming shut into his face. Karl looks surprised as well. 

     Intensifying his resolve, Wesker rips that car door off its hinges and returns to their minds, invited or not. That wasn’t very nice, now was it?

     Karl swoops in before Wesker has the chance to deepen his rage. He’d hate to see what this guy could do with the Cadou if he really set his mind to it. Heisenberg clears his throat, then points Wesker’s attention back toward the stairs, where their muscly houseguest descends, a bath towel still around his neck.

     In an instant, that crushing feeling from across the table dissipates as Wesker’s full attention turns upon the soldier. They might be tempted to think he’s pulled himself completely from the mental connection, until they sense thought from him again. Chris… he thinks, you’re sopping wet… ugh, like a dog.  

     Chris reaches the bottom of the stairs, and from perhaps…impeccable timing, or…perhaps a secret mental connection none of them know about, he shakes out all the water droplets bothering him just like a big, wet dog would. Wesker shakes his head, still staring at him. I know him painfully well…

     Ethan looks between Wesker and Chris dubiously. Surely he can't actually read Chris's mind too, can he? Maybe it's just a coincidence because of how well they know each other. Ethan side eyes his partner. Now that he's seeing it, Karl definitely had a point about those two. Karl returns his look with a matching one of his own–even without using the mental connection, they're still on the same page here. It's certainly one way to explain the way all of Wesker's fury simply faded away the moment he noticed Chris. 

      If you're trying to use this on him, it's not going to work...it's a mold thing. Ethan projects to Wesker. It is kind of crazy how he immediately did that, though. Maybe I'm wrong and you can read his mind, he remarks half-sarcastically. On one level, he doesn't think this whole mold-mental-connection thing works on uninfected people. He's tried with Chris, in fact, but Wesker and Chris's relationship sure sometimes makes it seem like he can pull it off. Yeah.. .there's definitely something besides a rivalry between those two. Ethan gives a small, imperceptible nod to his partner.

     Chris Redfield, the dog who drenched the living room with his shower, approaches everybody else at the table, looking refreshed. Wesker stares at him, expression neutral. While Ethan and Karl sit there, unwilling as they are, they must listen as Wesker’s inner monologue on Chris seeps into their thoughts. He still doesn’t think for a moment before he moves. If I could bend this pooch to my will perhaps we’d all be happier.  

     Ethan and Karl exchange a brief, awkward look at Wesker’s comment. It’s a look that says ‘I…I don’t wanna hear this,’ in lieu of actually thinking it to one another. Karl fiddles with the edge of his hat, watching Wesker and Chris. Wesker, who stares silently at Chris, and Chris, who stares hesitantly back at him and the rest of them. He must be confused. Shame he can’t hear us. He projects. 

     Wesker glares over his shoulder, thinking back: Communicating is as easy as opening your big mouth.

     Karl wipes a fake tear at the jab. Oh, wow… even you can’t break this communication barrier…I expected…I guess I expected more from you.

     Speechless at the nerve of this machinist, Wesker’s at a loss. He even lets out a baffled little gasp, but it’s the only sound he lets escape him. Chris isn’t infected with the mold. That isn’t how this works. Wesker shoots back, his words returning. 

      Not so big of a genius now, Karl tosses back, rolling his eyes. I bet Ethan could do it! He’s bluffing. 

     Wesker growls quietly, then removes his shades and slams them down onto the table. He points an aggressive finger toward Ethan. You’re on.

     Ethan gives a half-exasperated shrug. When did he sign up for this? Then again, it could be fun...and let him blow off some steam. He was still considering slapping Chris, but this is a much funnier idea. Fine. Let's do this. Ethan gives a quick wink to Karl, just to be a little bit showy, before turning back towards Chris. 

     Game on.

     Ethan rests his elbows on the table and brings his hands up to rest his head against. He levels his gaze on Chris, focusing hard. Even though he knows Chris can't hear him, Ethan shifts his focus on their mental conversation towards Chris's general direction. His expression is dead serious as he stares. It almost looks as though at any second he's gearing up to start sassing the man. Which would be deserved, but that's not the goal right now.

     With both blondes now staring intently at him, Chris shifts his weight awkwardly. The hell is going on with these guys? He feels uncomfortable, like there's some sort of sinister intent behind the stares– or, more than usual from Wesker . He glances between the two, as though expecting one of them to speak up, but they never do. Karl just watches on with an amused, knowing look, and Chris only blinks in further confusion. 

     After a second or two, he looks back to Wesker. Chris has no idea what the actions he witnessed earlier were about, but he's certainly got some theories. If he assumes that Ethan and Heisenberg were having one of their silent mold conversation things, it's probably safe to say that Wesker was able to get in on it. That would track, since he has the Cadou. The thought of Wesker having a new ability, and one that Chris can't really monitor aside from listening out for extensive silence between the three bioweapons, sends a small chill down his spine. Ugh. Great.

     As the staring persists, Chris's eyes dart between the two again. Ethan has lowered his hands and inclined his head slightly, but still hasn't broken the eye contact. It's definitely strange, coming from his friend, and there's almost an uncanny feeling to it. Were the shadows of his face always that dark, or is it the mold? He's not sure.

     Chris's gaze on Ethan doesn't last long though, as his eyes begin to naturally drift back towards Wesker almost subconsciously. His burning red eyes are on full display, and Chris had almost forgotten how intense of a sight it is–to have the full attention of those eyes on him. It almost feels like Wesker is trying to burrow his gaze straight into Chris's head, to pierce his skull with a look alone. Chris takes a single step back, uncertain. Being caught in Wesker's gaze always feels like he’s being hunted, targeted, like he's prey to be toyed with. In a way, he supposes that to Wesker, he is. That thought only makes the persistent stare more intimidating. A shiver runs down the full length of his spine.

     "What...why are you doing that?" Chris asks, suspicious. "What are you doing?" He gets no answer. Only continued staring from the both of them. He looks to Heisenberg for an answer and receives none. He's not sure what he was expecting, really. His attention is caught once again by the gleaming red of Wesker's eyes– did he lean forward? Chris meets that gaze again, now increasingly wary. It really does feel like Wesker's trying to see right through him, or more specifically, right through his head. If anyone could do it, it's probably Wesker. He already knows Chris well enough to be able to predict what's going on in his mind most of the time, unfortunately for Chris. He shudders at the thought. There really isn't anyone else who knows him quite so well. It's terrifying.

     As unnerved as he might be, Chris finds it physically difficult to look away from Wesker. He ends up having to wrench his eyes shut just for a moment of reprieve, forcing his gaze back to Ethan the moment he finds the strength to do so. His friend still hasn't broken eye contact, although his expression has shifted somewhat. It's that same determined look he gets sometimes–the stubborn one that usually means he's either trying to accomplish a difficult task, or spite someone . Chris knows that look well. He'd seen it plenty of times in the years he's known Ethan, and he'd had it almost consistently throughout the Village. 

     Chris's attention waves from Wesker for too long, though, and just as he's about to look back at his former enemy and try to ask again what's going on, Wesker is suddenly right in front of him, taking up his full vision. His former captain grabs either side of his head, forcing their eyes to meet. There’s nowhere for him to look that’s not at Wesker. He’s trapped. That overwhelming, powerful stare makes Chris falter, almost making his legs give out– what the hell –but he manages to catch himself. Wesker’s gaze is almost consuming in its ferocity. Unblinking. Entirely unblinking. All of Wesker's focus is on him, and it's almost more than he can bear.

     Chris eventually manages to find his words again. “What the hell? What are you doing? What is this? Stop,” he protests, trying to look away. Wesker won’t allow him to. There’s a spark in his gaze–a knowing one, and Chris feels himself trying to shy away. It is almost as if Wesker really is trying to stare right into his head–into his thoughts. He wonders just how much Wesker is actually able to read from just his expression alone right now. He doesn’t doubt that it’s a lot more than he’d like the man to know. “Stop. Cut it the hell out. Get out of my head,” he feels like he should push Wesker off, maybe into the wall for good measure, but he’s still frozen by that stare.

     The others are so focused on each other, but Karl has been holding back an uproarious laugh ever since the staring contest began. He’s crying, wheezing behind a hand that’s keeping him silent. Ethan must be too focused to realize, but Wesker’s just been repeating one line in his head while staring at Chris this entire time. He never called out Chris’s name, as Ethan did for a bit. Wesker has just been perpetually repeating the order ‘Bark for me, Chris,’ ‘Bark for me, Chris,’ ‘Bark for me, Chris,’ over and over for the last five minutes. 

     Tears are streaming down his face—Karl can’t take it anymore and bursts out laughing, shaking everyone from their deep focus.

     Finally, Ethan breaks. His partner’s laugh snaps him out of it. Ethan breaks into a laugh of his own—poor Chris doesn’t even have the context, and that only makes the whole situation funnier. He ends up having to blink hard a few times to clear his head after everything that just happened. Trying to reach out so hard with the mold to a literally inaccessible mind, combined with Wesker’s non-stop order, has given him a mild headache, but Ethan laughs through it nonetheless. Chris’s reaction is hilarious combined with the knowledge of what Wesker has been trying to wordlessly tell him this whole time.

     It isn’t often that this happens, but the others’ laughter is contagious enough to cause even Wesker to hum a small laugh. He must admit, the situation is quite humorous. Replacing his sunglasses, he looks back to Chris, whose disbelief is as palpable as his own amusement. His befuddlement is reason enough for Wesker’s hum to develop into a chuckle, so it does. He knows he’ll only enjoy watching that confusion grow more and more.

     Chris is fully dumbfounded now, looking back and forth between the three of them. What in the actual hell just happened? 

      Wesker is laughing. Wesker is fucking laughing at him. 

     On top of his confusion, now Wesker is laughing? Genuinely ? Chris can’t think of the last time he saw that happen. Probably not since his S.T.A.R.S. days, although even then it’s hard to say what mannerisms on Wesker’s part were ever genuine during all of that. It’s almost kind of refreshing to see him laugh without the cold, cruel amusement his chuckles usually carry, or the fully mocking ones. This…this is something truly rare. And it makes him all the more astounded at whatever the hell just happened. 

      Chris glares at all three of them. “What is this?” He points an accusatory finger at Ethan and Heisenberg. “What did you do?” he interrogates from across the room over their laughter. “What. The hell . Did you do?” 

     Ethan manages to catch his breath long enough to exchange a mischievous look with his partner, before grinning at Chris. “Sorry, it’s a secret. Can’t tell you,” he snarks, looking all too satisfied with the results of their collective efforts to mess with the agent. Now Chris knows how it feels to be the only one not on the same page. Grudge settled. Mostly.

     “Come now, chin up, Chris.” As Wesker says this, he spares a glance at his watch. “We have a big day ahead of us. No time for distractions.”

     Karl, who also just came down from his high, butts in with a quick question. “Oh right. When is the meeting happening? We don’t…need to be on standby, do we?”

     Chris sighs. Guess he's not finding out what all that was about. Unfortunately, Wesker's right. Today is important, and Chris is going to have to really focus to pull this off without too many issues. Or at least, without any issues that involve someone dying. "I was going to head out there now. Leon's supposed to meet us there. I doubt I'll need you guys to head over, but you maybe oughta keep your phones on," he explains. 

     Chris sticks his hands in his pockets. This is going to be miserable . Meetings generally are nowadays, given that it's usually either his higher-ups expressing concern for his current state or being given mission briefings. Now, he has to not only endure dealing with his superiors, but dealing with Wesker as well. Having Leon there is certainly going to be a reassurance. It also might be just the edge he needs. Leon's the DSO's favorite. Everyone knows that. Leon's not just coming for emotional support, he's also a bribe. Hopefully that should help at least somewhat, but even Chris isn't sure how effective all of his efforts will be. Especially when the "report" he's about to give is bringing Albert Wesker in the flesh so that he can report the former bioterrorist's return to the land of the living. He's already tired just thinking about it.

     Where they’re headed is DSO’s local base of operations—the place where Chris reports to, gets briefings, and takes problems to if ever they should arise. And lucky him, Wesker’s one hell of a problem. He’s at least happy that this is still a secret for now; he wouldn’t want to imagine what the helicopter ride over to headquarters would be like with just him, Wesker, and Leon. He’d truly just be at their mercy…

     Prepared since before Chris reappeared, Wesker joins him in his van and they set off to the dreaded local DSO branch headquarters.

     When they pull up to the gate, Chris carefully angles himself to obscure Wesker from the guard that approaches the window. Thankfully, the guard takes one look at Chris's face and gives a nod, signaling to another guard nearby to open the gate and let them through. Early reveal avoided, Chris drives them up to the front of the DSO local headquarters without further incident.

     Chris steps out of the van and steps around to Wesker on the other side. The blonde already agreed to cooperate in the terms of their truce, but just in case, Chris gives him a meaningful, serious look. "Just...try not to cause as much of a scene this time. Please," he requests. 

     Just as he's about to approach the building though, he pauses. They can't just walk in like this. Wesker is arguably the most recognizable bioweapon on the planet. Actually, not even arguably. He just is . Chris doesn't want to instill mass panic on their way to the meeting room, so they'll have to think of something. The memory of their disguise for Wesker's lab visit crosses his mind. They just need to get him through the halls. Nobody's likely to be looking at either of them for very long since they'll be in motion, meaning they won't need as thorough of a disguise this time. Chris ends up shedding the hooded winter jacket he'd been wearing on the way over, and hands it to Wesker. "Here. Put this on and keep the hood up. We don't want them to send the place into lockdown the second we go through the doors."

     Wesker stares at the jacket in his hands for a moment, then sheds his own and passes it back to Chris. Costumes changed, the last action he takes is to reel Chris’s scarf from his neck and rewind it onto his own. Before they head in, Wesker raises the hood and pulls the scarf up over his nose. Both men exchange a quiet glance and then a nod. Time to head inside.

     Chris leads the way as they enter the building. A few people mill about with purpose–agents, scientists, and supervisors alike. Some offer small waves to Chris as he passes, which he generally returns with a very brief nod. He keeps an eye out for Leon as he makes his way past the front desk. 

     Chris doesn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that Wesker is following close behind—his presence alone is palpable enough to tell. They find Leon waiting for them in one of the hallways leading to the meeting room, and when Chris gives a small gesture of his head, the other agent falls into step with them. At least he won’t have to do this alone. 

     Reaching the meeting room, Chris takes a deep breath. This is the moment. This is what could decide not only his future, but his friends’, his family’s, maybe even the world’s.

      Here goes nothing.

     Chris shoulders open the door. Seated at a desk in the room is one man—one about a decade or so older than Chris, but still lively and alert. The director of the DSO’s local branch—Director Phillip Reyes. The man smiles as Chris enters and stands to shake his hand. 

     “Director Reyes. Sorry for asking to meet on such short notice, Chris greets while his cohorts wait in the doorway. Chris tries not to let his nerves show in his expression. 

     “Not at all,” the director answers. “I’m eager to hear whatever you have to share with us.” Director Reyes looks towards Leon then. “And it’s a pleasure to see you again as well, Mr. Kennedy.”

    The office is surrounded by bookshelves stuffed with knowledge and personal effects. Reyes’s desk is planted in the center of the room, lit by the morning sun that seeps in between open blinds. Upon the corner of the desk sits a framed photo of his family at a barbecue, although only its owner can see it. 

     Leon steps forward when addressed, much more casual in his interaction than Chris. “The pleasure’s all mine, sir. How’s the wife?”

    Director Reyes smiles and gives Leon a handshake. "She's doing great, as always." He sits back down. "And who's your friend, here?" He asks, gesturing to Wesker standing in the doorframe. 

     Chris interjects, taking a seat across from the director. "That's...actually what I'm here to report about, Director."

     Director Reyes inclines his head. "Really?" He leans back in his seat. "Well considering your assignment for the last year or so it must be important, if you needed to meet with me this urgently. 

     Chris swallows and takes a breath. "Sir, you're really not going to like this. And I promise, I can explain." Chris shifts a bit, bringing his elbows forward to rest on his knees. "But Albert Wesker is still alive."

     Reyes is frozen in shock for a moment. "That's...Chris, you can't be serious."

     Chris nods grimly. "I wouldn't lie about this." Well, that's not entirely true. Lying, carefully not mentioning that the most infamous bioterrorist to ever walk the planet was still alive and living in the Winters' house...it's a little different. "And...well." He turns in his seat to look at Wesker, a prompting look in his eyes.

     The director is shocked into silence. So much so that the sound of the man on the far side of the room undoing his clothes drowns out everything else in the office building. Albert Wesker, alive? Surely, it couldn’t be. Surely, the man behind that disguise is about to be some squeaky little newbie one of these guys made follow along, and they’re all about to have a big laugh. It would be nice if that were the case. 

     No, Wesker’s uncovered face is unmistakable. He needn’t remove his glasses, but he does so with poise, revealing the glow from his eyes to the shadows of the room. Without a moment wasted, he steps up into the light the conversation encompasses, placing a hand upon the back of Chris’s chair. He looks down pointedly upon the astounded man behind the desk just before he replaces his sunglasses with one quick motion. Wesker’s expression is ever cold and unflinching, but he extends his belated greetings. Just a simple and slow “Hello, Director.” is all he spares him. His voice alone seals the deal.

     The director stands abruptly. "This–How?! How is this possible?!"

     Just as Director Reyes starts to reach for a radio, presumably to call for guards, but Chris interjects. "Wait–like I said, I can explain."

     Director Reyes looks between the three men before him in silence for a long moment. When he looks at Leon, he gets a small half-nod, which finally encourages the director to sit back down. "Chris, what the hell?" He asks, still astonished, professionality be damned. "How is he back? Why do you seem so unphased by this?"

     Chris sighs. "Believe me, I wasn't at first. But...we made a truce. And so far, he's cooperated." Chris shakes his head. "Apparently he survived the volcano. He only recently just got back to full strength, but...he still hasn't done anything. Aside from complain ," he says with a pointed glare at the B.O.W. in question.

     "So you come here to suggest we put him under watch, then?" Reyes deduces. Chris nods in response. The older man looks down at his desk. "Why? Didn't you…?" He trails off, leaving the implication in the air as he tosses a brief glance at the mastermind uncertainly. 

     Chris looks aside. "I did. And I have my reasons for thinking we should keep him alive. I'm sure you realize how valuable having him around could be. Even if it's an extreme risk."

     The director runs a hand down his face, silent for another long moment. He paces back and forth behind his desk, muttering to himself. He glances briefly at Leon again, who seems about as unphased as Chris does, and that seems to make the director genuinely consider the prospect. "I'm willing to hear you out on this, Redfield, but first..." he picks the radio up. "We'll need to interrogate him, and run a few tests. And I'll need to hear your explanation for how all of this happened. I'm willing to trust you, Chris, but to do so, we need to know everything."

     The director turns to Leon. "Leon, escort Wesker to room B42, downstairs. I'll let them know what to expect," he orders, picking the radio up to call ahead.

     “Of course, sir,” Leon replies, his gaze turning upon Wesker. He appears so nonchalant about all of this…although, perhaps that’s boredom instead. Hearing this explanation so many times must be exhausting. Wait a minute, is he sympathizing with Wesker? Leon would like to mentally note that he isn’t sympathizing, he’s just…observing. Wesker notices the other blonde’s shifty eyes as he throws over his shoulder the jacket he wore as his disguise into this place. With a silent exchange, they head out the door. 

     Director Reyes stands from his leather chair and follows the other two to the exit, closing it behind them. There’s a click Chris hears behind him before his superior steps back to his side. 

     The man’s voice is gruff and weathered with age, but cold it is not. He’s been around long enough and fought his fair share to become a DSO director and Chris’s supervisor. His burden is a heavy one, and Chris hears it clearly in the weight he carries in his voice right now. 

     “Mr. Redfield, you’re a competent soldier. Hell, perhaps one of our best. Trained from a young age. Been through the police force. Survived Raccoon City and did it with gumption.” Director Reyes steps up to his window as he continues. He stares out of it solemnly. “The T-virus, the C-virus, E-type, Uroboros. Son, what I’m trying to say is… you know a threat when you see one. Part of what we train our soldiers to do here is to learn and to deal with danger when they see it. You understand.” Reyes turns around, approaching the side of his desk where Chris sits. “For the sake of us all I hope you’ve done just that. If you’ve brought a doomsday to our doorstep, Chris…” The director’s eyes turn away. His head shakes, mouth agape, wordless.

     Chris steps up beside Director Reyes. "He's been under my watch, and like I said before, he's not done anything." Chris looks aside. "He was the one who proposed the truce, actually. Claims he's in 'retirement' now." Chris steps back around to his seat. "I wouldn't have brought him here if I didn't think the benefits outweighed the potential risks. Nobody knows Wesker better than me, unfortunately, and I haven't seen any sign of intent to continue his prior work."

     Chris sits down, adjusting his coat. The director had said they'd need to know everything, so Chris launches into an explanation that it now feels like he's given dozens of times–even though it's only been about three. He details how Wesker had apparently escaped the volcano as a small pustule of Uroboros and hitchhiked back on Chris. When he gets to the part of the explanation about the village though, he chooses to...omit certain details. Chris doesn't like lying to his superiors, but he can't risk endangering Ethan and his family. It's safer this way, if they assume Wesker regenerated on his own. Instead of recounting how Wesker was able to communicate with Heisenberg and arrange their little deal, Chris claims that Wesker came across a piece of the Cadou while in the village, and soon after bonding to it, he hitched a ride back out on Heisenberg. Later, Wesker was able to fully regenerate himself with the Cadou's help, which is how he came to be where he is now. Chris explains how Wesker had proposed a truce between the two of them–and he carefully doesn't mention the occasional times he's made Chris question his former captain's cooperation. 

     Once his explanation is done, Chris leans back in his seat. It's frankly exhausting having to tell this story over and over. "If he wanted anyone dead, he would have done something already." Chris tries not to think about hands around his throat and a gun to his head. "If he really is willing to cooperate...think of how much that could change."

     Director Reyes is back around to his chair by the time Chris concludes his explanation. “Chris,” Reyes looks across the table at the soldier. “I’m afraid your time away must have done harm to your judgement; your ideals are… much too lofty.” His lips are pursed pensively beneath his bushy mustache. “Wesker cooperating? Hah. Are you out of your mind? Without a gun pointed toward his head and a needle to his neck, I can’t imagine a single reason why that man would listen to a word you or I say.” He brushes that away with a short wave. “Even then, he wouldn’t go down without a fight, and you’re telling me this man bargained with you?” His eyelids are narrowing. “Have you considered yet that all this…could be a farce? This man, an imposter? This story…It's all secondhand. That could easily be a lie, as well, Mr. Redfield.”

     Chris folds his arms and adamantly shakes his head. No. That he can say with certainty cannot be the case. There is not a doubt in Chris's mind–he knows Wesker too well. "I've known Albert Wesker since the 90s, Director. I used to work directly under him. And more than a decade of my life has been spent hunting him down. Between S.T.A.R.S. and now, there's no one else in the world who knows him as well as I do." 

     Chris's eyes are dead serious as he meets the director's, again. "There's no mistaking it. I would know the difference. Wesker is someone who you can't fake. And as for the story, I know it's true. After so long being deceived, I can tell when he's being genuine." He shifts in his chair, leaning against one of the arms. "We're in a situation unlike anything before, sir. Even I don't fully know what goes on in his head all the time. But I know him. And I know something must have made him decide on a truce. He thinks it's his best option, that much I can tell." Chris leans forward again. "An opportunity like this...we can't pass something like that up. It would be best if we could make the most of it. Maybe finally get his skills working towards making a positive difference."

     “Yes, well…” Eyebrows raised, Director Reyes scans the half-finished paperwork he had been working on before Chris appeared this morning. He exhales and stashes it in a drawer. Chris has brought him perhaps the biggest workload he’s seen during his tenure at this branch, but he supposes there isn’t a moment to lose. “Very well. We’ll keep him here until further notice. I want to see a report on his interrogation pronto, and our science division is going to have their hands full for the foreseeable future.” Most of that was spoken to himself, so he clears his throat and speaks up again to address Chris. “Ah, as for you, Chris…continue your current assignment until further notice. Although, I don’t expect we’ll be keeping you stationary much longer...” He reaches for the telephone atop his desk and begins punching a number into the dial pad. “You’re dismissed.”

     Chris stands from the chair and gives a nod before leaving the room. It’s only once he’s on the other side of that closed door that he allows himself a moment to process. God , that was a nightmare. It could have gone worse, sure, but still…

     The way the director was talking carried a lot of implications. Now, those implications weigh heavily on Chris’s shoulders. If he’s not going to be stationary for long…are they planning to reassign him? What will they do about Wesker then? How do they know the truce will hold without Chris there? Surely they don’t plan to reassign him away from his former enemy, do they? Because there’s no world in which that ends well. 

      Ugh. He really could have done this better. Now, his performance in that interrogation might have just cost them everything. He won’t know for sure, so for now, all he can do is wait and ponder whatever the DSO could be doing with Wesker. “Haah…” He sighs heavily. I need a drink.

     Just as the thought crosses his mind, Chris catches a flutter of white out of the corner of his eye. Quiet and as clever as a mouse, the esteemed Dr. Galloway was almost caught staring by Chris, but she ducked away just in time. What a coincidence it is to run into Chris here…twice in the same month! He’s waiting just outside of the director’s office where she needs to drop off some paperwork. The pages bounce loosely in her hands, and nearly fall once she notices a large shadow overtake her from behind. She glances up quickly. 

     A small squeak of surprise escapes her, but she covers it dutifully with an adjustment of her glasses. It’s Chris! Of course, he saw me, she thinks, eyes squeezed shut. “Oh!” Silly her, she nearly forgot why she’s here. Galloway raises a hand to Chris, frantic as she tells him “hold on—! Wait right here,” and rushes off into the director’s office. 

     Chris hardly has a chance to be dumbfounded by the encounter, as she’s back upon him in fifteen seconds flat. “I’m back! Hey, so… I didn’t know you’d be here today.” She says, brushing some hair behind her ear. Dr. Galloway’s hands are free now; Chris wonders what was on those papers she delivered. It doesn’t matter, as her mind seems entirely enveloped in another matter. “So, my supervisor excused most of us from work today. Apparently we’re getting something big down at the lab, but I don’t have the clearance…” She flounders for a moment, scratches her cheek, then works up the nerve to speak her mind. “Do you want to go out? O-On that date, I mean. It’s just…not often that I see you,” she says. “Or that I get a day off…”

     Chris looks aside awkwardly. Right. He'd almost forgotten about Galloway's proposition of a date. He'd been so preoccupied with focusing on the whole situation with Wesker that it had completely slipped his mind. He looks at the woman before him. She seems nice, and she's been nothing but kind to him. Maybe he should take her up on it? It might be able to get his mind off of everything...hopefully. If nothing else, it's probably at least worth a shot. Gives him something to do aside from just go home. 

     "Uh...yeah, sure. What did you have in mind?" He agrees, somewhat uncertainly. If he's lucky, maybe he'll get to just relax for a while.

     “How’s coffee? There’s a cafe I like nearby run by a few nice locals.” She suggests, thumbing toward the hallway behind them. Chris gives her an uneven nod, attention still divided amongst his other thoughts. However, his acceptance is more than enough for her—she’s been waiting for this all month long! She is so excited. “Let’s go! I’ll pay~!”

     Chris nods. "Yeah...works for me." He tries not to think about her earlier remark. It must be about Wesker down in the labs, and he’s probably being tested on. The thought alone makes him grimace–both at the knowledge that Wesker is probably deeply annoyed by it, and at the thought of the scientists having to deal with Wesker being...himself. 

     Trying to focus on the present moment, Chris sticks his hands in his pockets and tries to make his face look less grim. "Lead the way," he offers. Galloway grins and gladly heads off towards the building's entrance–leading them down the road to the nearest coffee shop.

     Chris follows Galloway in her car, and they arrive separately, but rejoin to walk inside the coffee shop. The chipper scientist has a way of trotting when she walks, or otherwise bobbing up and down with the way she carries herself. Chris follows her inside and watches as she chats amiably with the worker behind the counter. Chris gets the impression she must be a regular; the cashier even knows her drink preference. 

     Chris orders a plain, black coffee and Galloway hands the worker her card. They take a seat in the dining room to await their drinks, and she begins to chat with him from across the well-worn table. 

     “I discovered this place a while ago,” she says with a smile, “whenever I was reassigned to this location. It’s nice. Quiet, serves good coffee. Better than what comes out of the coffee maker at work.” She looks aside, a finger scratching a groove of the table. “Although, I drink that stuff anyways. Can’t start the day without a pick-me-up.” She looks up, pressing on the rim of her glasses. “What about you, Chris? I’d love to get to know you better. Do you…have any morning rituals? Routines?”

     Morning rituals, huh? As a soldier, Chris has long had to live with set structures and routines to his life, but...what of his present self? Most of his days for the past month have been spent just keeping an eye on Wesker. His mornings typically start with him going up to Wesker's room to ensure that the mastermind hasn't escaped, unless Wesker's already awake and moving around the house. He typically pokes his head into the room, and he generally finds his former captain asleep in the bed. Which is in and of itself a strange sight: Wesker, completely unguarded and relaxed. The even breathing, the neutral expression devoid of his usual sneer or occasional condescending smirk…it feels unnatural from someone as carefully composed as Albert Wesker. His underlying dangerous aura seems almost dampened by the peaceful sight. Chris has caught himself staring during this particular ritual more than once, taken aback by how strange the image is. 

     However, he can't exactly share that information with Galloway. She doesn't even know about Wesker yet. Besides, this is supposed to help keep his mind off of Wesker, why is he thinking about that bioterrorist now? I need to get him out of my head. Instead, Chris thinks of the rest of his morning. Once he's done his checks on Wesker, his morning proceeds fairly mundanely. He supposes he can recount that much, since Ethan and Heisenberg aren't exactly secret.

     "Well, at my apartment I didn't really do much aside from getting dressed and ready in the mornings," he explains. "But I've been staying with Ethan lately, so usually I eat breakfast with him and his family. It's nice." Chris carefully doesn't mention why he's been staying with Ethan, as the image of the reason behind that arrangement once again flashes in his mind's eye. Stop it. Stop thinking about him. You're on a date. Focus on that.

     Chris steels his focus and points it across the table at his date, consecrating hard on her and nothing else. He notices her clothes now that he’s looking her over—a light blue jacket with a fuzzy grey sweater underneath, perfect for the weather. Chris feels a little ashamed that it took him until just now to notice that she isn’t wearing her lab coat. It makes sense that she isn’t, of course. He’s just never seen her wearing anything else. She looks nice, maybe even cute if Chris could ever get it in him to call her that. He’s never been very good at the lovey-dovey stuff…

     “That sounds nice. It would be nice not to live alone,” Galloway replies, placing her chin into her hand. “Even if it was just with a close friend. My work is my roommate. When I don’t sleep at the lab, it follows me home. Haha, it seems I can’t escape it anywhere...”

     Chris can certainly relate to work ' following him home '. God, how did he end up here? Living with his worst enemy, even sticking up for him. Wesker did follow him home, quite literally. He just won't stay dead. No matter what Chris does, he can't seem to escape the man. And now he's living with him. He's housemates with him. No matter where he goes, there's no avoiding Wesker. If he believed in fate, maybe he'd blame it on that, somehow. Or maybe the universe is just out to get him. 

     He catches himself as he realizes where his train of thought has gone again. Damnit . He needs to get back on track. "It's an improvement over my apartment," he somehow finds the words to say that. Better than sitting alone with my memories and my misery , he thinks. He's not looking forward to going back there. He could, in theory, go crash at Ethan's as usual tonight, but...he's not sure he's ready to face that house right now. Not with what he's had to deal with today. Something in him tells him that he wouldn't be comfortable, anyways. That something would feel off . He doesn't want to admit what he thinks that something is.

      The scientist laughs a bit, tilting her head at Chris. “They have one of their finest living in a home worse than one they house their assets in? For you, I thought they’d waste no expense. All I ever hear is people around work singing your praises...” Galloway lowers her hand and folds her fingers between one another. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. You know that people talk about you a lot, right? Good and bad? A scientist I worked with once told me how they believed you’d never return to your former glory…oh, but I don’t think that! I’ve always admired the DSO’s agents. You’re so cool…” She’s very honest, isn’t she?

     Chris looks down at the table, mostly awkward, partially ashamed. "I just do my job. Probably getting old," he remarks off-hand. That's not the reason he's not quite performing at his peak and he knows it. It still feels kind of weird to be treated like some big-shot hero and simultaneously be relegated to just keeping an eye on two entirely cooperative B.O.W.s. Well, three , now, although one of them isn't nearly as cooperative as the other two. 

     As for his former glory...Chris knows he's not the man he used to be. That man died in a volcano in Africa, was briefly resurrected thanks to a certain subordinate of his, and then died again with said subordinate. And even then he'd never truly been quite the same. The rumors don't phase him nearly as much as his own thoughts and worries do. "I was a lot different back then. I guess I kind of miss it. A little bit," he admits.

     “Chris…” Dr. Galloway stares back at him empathetically. She truly can’t imagine all the hardship he’s faced but… 

     She reaches across the table and sets her hand atop his fist. He didn’t even remember clenching it. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She searches for her words, then continues. “People change. People stay the same. Some grow up and apart, while others stay close to those they know and love. It’s all normal.” Her eyes drift sideways. “I don’t purport to know your entire story, and I don’t expect I’ll ever know, but…you’re still that man, Chris. You’re still the hero I’ve heard so much about from files and from stories told. At least, you are to me. And I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

     Chris sighs. “Thanks, Dr. Galloway,” he replies. It’s not every day that someone tries to understand what’s going on with him, let alone tries to console him. Chris looks at Galloway and sees a woman who clearly thinks the world of him, who is very clearly attracted to him, and he tries, really tries, to at least be kind in return. 

     He shifts a little in his seat. Even despite Galloway’s insistence otherwise, Chris…isn’t a hero. Or at least, he doesn’t see himself as one. Between the things he’s done, the men he’s lost, memories that still haunt the waking hours of his nights, he hardly feels like the title fits him. His S.T.A.R.S. days certainly made him feel like a hero. But that feeling was crushed when Wesker betrayed them all. 

      Sure, Chris defeated Wesker all those years ago, but it cost so much in the end. Not to mention everything that happened with Ethan…so much of which he could have prevented. 

     Regardless, it’s still nice to have someone try and understand him for a change. Usually people look at him and see one of two things: the former golden boy of the BSAA, the man who stopped Albert Wesker, the man who fought virus after virus to save the world, or they see the miserable, aimless shell of the man he used to be, keeping himself going by throwing himself into work, until they had to reassign him just to get him to stop. People have tried before, sure. But it’s so rare. The only person to ever be able to read and understand him more thoroughly than anyone else is… Wesker. Who knows him better, longer, and more intimately than any other human being. 

     Chris flinches a little at the thought. Shit . Why can’t he stop thinking about his former captain?

     The woman across the table reels her hand back and smiles. “Please, call me Elise.” She insists with an earnest look. Chris can’t help but feel bad for her authenticity; he really doesn’t have it in him to love her back, and it makes him feel like an ass. This happens every time. He recalls other instances where women asked for his time, for his heart, but every time he lets them down. He can’t even find himself attracted to others—women or men. The last he ever felt that way must have been all the way back in S.T.A.R.S. with Jill. He was in love with her and was attracted to her; at least, he thought he was. Maybe back then he was too young to understand how he felt, too naive to understand that his feelings were just borne of a strong bond. They broke it off rather short into the relationship’s lifespan, but of course, remained friends even until this day. Their brief romantic relationship hardly amounted to anything beyond a hand held or a peck on the cheek, so it was easy to remain friends. 

     After that, Chris never bothered with romantic relationships and dove headfirst into his work. Intimacy like that… it’s never been as appealing as the intimacy of a good fight, or a friendly hug. God, he feels like more and more of a jackass the longer he thinks about all this. He’s just wandering back around to the reality of this unfortunate date—of the fact that he can’t share his most intimate self with her. If he did, he knows she’d get hurt. 

     With all of these thoughts swirling around his head, he can’t help but realize what must be his most intimate moment in recent memory—one which actually brought some unknown feelings to the surface. Straddled around Chris’s waist, legs pressed tight against his thighs—the weight of an entire man on top of him, and his fist curled tight around his throat. In the context of all of this, it feels so wrong, so unusual and unsettling.

     But why did it come to mind? He can’t admit just how hot those touches made him feel. Every movement seared desire into his skin. Or, is it longing? Or, is it loathing? He’s never understood how he felt about Wesker. Feels about Wesker, but this…? This interpretation of those feelings he had in that bathroom…it must be wrong. It can’t be right. He’s confusing himself all over again. Misunderstanding and misremembering those events. But…

     Chris throws a hand over his mouth and chin, trying to cover his slowly slipping facade of casualty. 

      Why does he feel it again right now? Just the thought of that moment in the backroom alone stirred all those unfamiliar emotions in him again. It’s uncomfortable—no, it’s unmanageable, this desire that’s been building up within him for so long—longer than the days he’s been alive again, for years, decades. Even now, he longs for that touch. He longs for the sensation of being dominated by it alone. He never stood a chance against Wesker in that bathroom. He hates that it took him this long to confront it. He wonders if Wesker knew.

     Chris tries again and again to clear his thoughts, but they keep coming back to his former captain. He briefly brings a hand to the side of his neck, secretly wishing for some sensation of phantom touch–something to recreate that moment. He looks at Galloway– Elise –and finds himself expecting to see someone else on the other side of the table. He finds himself wishing her eyes were an unnatural, inhuman red, hidden behind dark sunglasses. 

      What the hell is wrong with him? He shouldn't be feeling this way–Wesker is his enemy. Had been for years. Why does he feel such an intense desire towards that man? His head feels like it's going to explode from the cognitive dissonance. This is wrong, but he can't help but feel like there's only one person who he could experience such a profound and intimate relationship with. That's the only way it would feel right. There's such an intensity to his dynamic with Wesker that's just...completely impossible to find anywhere else. 

     Wesker is a man who prides himself on his sense of control, on holding the power in a situation. Chris finds his enjoyment in trying to challenge that power, that control, in spiting Wesker just to feel the rush. Yet there's also a strange sense of enjoyment he gets out of Wesker wielding that control, overpowering and expertly, that makes heat spread through him.

     In his S.T.A.R.S. days, that sense of control had brought him comfort. It had given him a kind of structure and stability that he could rely on unfalteringly, trusting Wesker's decision-making and orders because he knew how skilled Wesker is at what he does. Even after the betrayal, Wesker had been such a profound constant in his life, now providing him similar structure through their ongoing conflict. He had been Wesker's best man, it only makes sense for him to be the only one who could take him down. And how satisfying that had been for a moment. To throw all of the mastermind's carefully laid plans out the window, to finally rid himself of his greatest enemy by his own hand, to watch Wesker burn. Yet how miserable it had been afterwards, to have lost the one constant in his life, the one thing that gave him some sense of stability, some direction.

     There's a push-and-pull to their dynamic now that Chris wouldn't be able to find anywhere else. Nobody else knows him so intimately, can understand him or his mind so thoroughly. On one hand, Chris longs to return the favor for that afternoon in the snow, longs to knock Wesker flat onto his face like he had years ago in their fights, longs to exchange blows that bring him a rush of adrenaline unlike any other, and longs to exchange insults and match wits with the strongest enemy he's ever had. On the other hand, Chris longs for the quiet of two people in a space, not having to say a word, yet knowing exactly what the other is thinking. For the small words of praise that once made him light up like a lightbulb during his S.T.A.R.S. days, for the knowing admonishments that would motivate him to do better. For someone to notice the small details, physically and emotionally, that nobody ever seems to be able to for him. Save for one man. 

      Fuck, this can't be happening. I can't be feeling this way about Wesker, can I? And the way Wesker responds, like he knows. The whole thing with the pie–the words he had said to spur Chris into action. The words he had said afterwards that had made endorphins rush through his body, and the look Wesker had given like he knew his words would have that effect. The way he had given Chris that fucking head tilt after their fight in the snow, the silent invitation behind his extended hand. The way he had grabbed the gun the moment Chris tried to push Wesker off of him in the bathroom, like he had known what Chris would try…was the rest of his positioning intentional, as well? Nobody can read him like his former captain. Nobody knows him so well. He has to know, surely. So what does that mean for them? Is this strange feeling he’s experiencing mutual? Is that the reason behind the bioterrorist’s actions the last few weeks?

    Chris blinks, trying to clear his head. For a moment, there’s that strange image again: the sight of the blonde hair and dark attire superimposed over Elise, like one of those double-exposure photos or something. It’s jarring, and he tries to hide how it makes him suck in a small breath as he tries to get his head to stop fucking with him, tries to get some sense back into his brain. 

     After what must have been an uncomfortably long pause, he manages to find his voice again, and offers a weak attempt at a smile towards Galloway. “Thanks…Elise.” He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as weary as it does in his own head.

     “Chris,” the woman says again, but he can’t hear her. The voice he hears speak his name is one that doesn’t belong, one that wormed its way into his ear and never left. He must be out of it. As she looks upon him with concern as palpable as his own, all he can see is Wesker. He knows he isn’t there, and he isn’t sitting across from him, but his vision obscures itself, desperate for what he’s missing. She asks him something:

     “…A-Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

     But the sound of her words is fuzzy, dulled by his perception of the man sitting where she sits. “Hmph, look at you,” he hears Wesker say, “pitiful, as expected.” The thought of Wesker across from him, looking down on him stirs his blood immediately, but it is just a thought. Yeah , Chris has to tell himself. That’s what Wesker would say. He is with him even when they’re apart, drawing his eye even when he’s nowhere to be found. Elise speaks again, although he hardly hears it.

     “I wonder why our coffee isn’t here yet,” she says to fill the idle space, “they don’t usually take this long…”

     Chris hears double once more: “Here you are, wasting my precious time.” All you have is time, Wesker. Chris thinks. He’d like to say that, but he knows he shouldn’t. He speaks again after turning his head in sync with Elise’s. “I could have done this easily, myself.”

     The next action Elise takes is to adjust her posture and fix her hair; Chris imagines Wesker running a hand through his hair to slick it back. “I’m sorry I ruined the mood,” she says, looking bashfully aside. “But I really do like you.”

     Chris nearly stumbles out of his chair. He can see Elise moving, reaching towards him in concern, but he waves a hand in refusal. Elise has no idea of how he just perceived those words, the way his brain is right now. Despite his best efforts to push all of the racing thoughts out of his head that are warping his perception, he saw Wesker overlaying that confession all the same. 

     “You always know just what to do to aggravate me.” Wesker says, looking casually aside. “But I want you all the same.”

     Chris's hand clutches at his head. What the hell is going on with him? He can't stay here. He can't keep this up. He has to get out–he has to go somewhere. He can't be here right now. He needs to leave, right now. Holding up his free hand apologetically, he speaks over his shoulder. "Sorry, I just–I don't think this is going to work. I...I have to go." 

     Chris hears Galloway call something after him as he rushes out of the coffee shop and past the waitress finally bringing their drinks to the table. He feels bad about it, but he just can't go through with this date any longer. Not with the warring feelings inside of him. He runs out to his car and climbs in. It's only when the door is shut and he's sitting in the freezing air of his car that he finally has a chance to breathe, to think clearly. His hands rest on the steering wheel as he tries to get a grip on himself. Is he...seriously feeling things for Wesker? And strongly enough that it's messing with his head? Chris slams said head into the wheel. His car gives a small, defeated honk that sounds just as drained as he does. At least he's out of the situation now. But god does he feel guilty about it. Galloway is nice, caring even, and he had just rushed out on her after making the whole thing awkward. He'll have to apologize later, but right now...he can't face her.

     Instead, Chris puts his car into gear and drives back to his apartment. He needs a drink, something stronger than coffee.

     Chris thunders through the apartment complex like a force of nature—through the front door and right up the steps. Umber Eyes is there on his doorstep nearby when Chris marches past him on his way to his place, but whatever he says is lost to Chris. He’s so exhausted. The only thing keeping him moving is the promise of meeting peace at the bottom of a glass. 

     The inside of his apartment is cold, dreary from the lack of care he’d grown so attuned to living in Ethan’s house. The emptiness chills him to the bone almost immediately, but his palms remain clammy and shivering. They’re desperate for someone to hold—no, something to hold, he tells himself. The fridge, the fridge…

     Chris darts desperately for his refrigerator, shuffling a hand through what little food he has stored away in order to reach a brown bottle topped with a cap at the back of the fridge. He stares down at it hopefully, disdainfully. All the time he’s lost to this vice… his muscle mass, himself even. People always have reasons they tell themselves they won’t drink. Desperate people. Just one drink. Just one. Chris’s jaw clenches the same as his fist around the bottle. Just one, he decides, despite everything. He needs to make it count. He returns the bottle to the lip of the shelf. He needs something stronger.

     Chris grumbles and rummages around some more, until he finds his target: a bottle of whiskey left untouched for the past month or so. That's more like it. Grabbing the bottle, he pulls it out of the fridge and sets it on the counter before closing the fridge with his foot unceremoniously. Chris briefly rummages around in his cabinets for a glass before deciding otherwise and picking the bottle back up to take to the couch with him. He pops the cap and settles back into the long-unused piece of furniture, his head still reeling.

      God, what's become of him? He used to be different. He used to be better . Now he's sitting on the couch in his empty, cold apartment, trying to drown the racing thoughts of his blooming desire for his greatest enemy. Wesker's face flashes in his mind's eye again, and that's all the prompting Chris needs to take a sip from the bottle. The whiskey burns in a way that serves as a pleasant distraction from his brain's best attempts to get him to address his feelings right now. No thanks, brain. Shut up for a while.

     What happens now? The director knows, and soon the word will spread to the rest of the DSO. If they reassign him, then where? Maybe they'll finally give him some actual work to do. It would be better than sitting idle in his own despair and haunting memories. If they assign him away from Wesker...what then? There's probably nobody else out there who could keep a handle on the man. Not to mention he'd be back where he started: alone, sad, frustrated, and longing for the return of the one thing that's been a constant in his life, ripped away from him again.

     Chris's hands tighten around the bottle almost tight enough to threaten to break it. No. He needs to stop thinking about all this. Chris takes another small sip from the bottle. At least for now, he'll get some peace.

     Or so he thinks. The moment Chris is about to go for another sip. His phone starts ringing. A quick glance has him shooting like a bolt upright. Leon. This has to be about Wesker, then. In a blink, Chris answers the phone, alcohol now forgotten beside him.

     Leon’s voice sounds mostly normal. He speaks smoothly, as he typically does when addressing Chris casually. Although, there’s a certain uneasiness to his words that betrays his tone. “Uh, hey Chris! Sorry for the short notice, but,” Chris can hear his voice draw away from the phone, as though Leon is briefly looking away. “We need you down here asap. Ask the receptionist where I am, just get here quickly, okay? Thanks.” The phone call drops.

     Chris sticks his phone in his pocket. The whiskey lays abandoned on the couch as Chris stands and abruptly gathers the rest of his gear back up. Most of it is still at Ethan's house, but he grabs what he has for now. It should be enough, just in case. If Leon's calling him back there, it means something must have gone wrong, and with Wesker, that can only bode poorly for everyone involved. He's out the door faster than he entered, leaving a very confused Umber Eyes watching him with a baffled look. Chris rolls one of his shoulders as he makes his way down the stairs and hops in his car. Looks like he doesn't get to try and forget about his Wesker-related issues today. Soon enough, he's back on the road to the DSO.

     Chris pulls up to the building in a hurry and slams the door to the van closed behind him. He moves like a storm–fast, powerful…and dangerous , as he marches into the building, right up to the front desk where a now very intimidated-looking receptionist stares up at him. Chris doesn't even bother to flash his ID at her. Instead, he simply stares down at her with a deathly-serious look. 

     "Where's Leon?" He asks, voice stern and gruff. He doesn't mean to scare the poor woman, really, but this is urgent. 

     "U-um, he's in sub-basement 3, room S18, sir," the receptionist stammers out.

     Chris gives a small nod before immediately going back on track, thundering his way through the building and down the hallway. He briefly considers taking the elevator, but he disregards that idea almost immediately. No time. I need to move. Chris takes the stairs, practically running down them. When he arrives at the floor he needs, he grabs his ID and just holds it up as he passes each guard and each scanner, all without a word. Finally, he reaches the hallway where he needs to be, steeling himself for whatever nightmare he might be about to face.

     The scene Chris stumbles upon tells him a lot from a look alone. There lies a hand truck the size of a man, discarded. The affixed restraints are broken at the buckles, some reduced to fibers. Thick metal cuffs lie multiple feet away beside a single, heavily armored guard, who wheezes as though he’s had the life knocked out of him. The rest of the guards form a mass around where Chris can only assume Wesker to be. They’re all vying for a chance to knock him to the ground, all riled and ready. Chris can’t even see Wesker, but he knows some massive force within that crowd of muscle and fury sends another man flying against the wall. That guard grunts, hitting the floor with a weak thump. Chris can hardly hear his thoughts over the roaring that stirs up. It looks like a thunderstorm of violence over there…it’s so uproarious it makes Chris feel like a cloud. Okay, he has to tell himself; he came here to calm Wesker down or wipe up the puddles, so to speak. So…where’s the blood? He wonders dubiously. These men are well-trained and armored, but Wesker could knock each and every tooth from their skulls if he really wanted to.

     The more Chris watches, the more he understands what is really going on here. He finally catches a glimpse of the man he’s here for when he sweeps a couple of the soldiers off of their feet and they collide with the ground. A guard tries to grab Wesker and cuff him, but he dodges. Another throws a punch, but he blocks it. Whenever they get too close, Wesker sends them backwards with a palm thrust or knocks them from their footing with a simple maneuver. It’s all defence.

     Leon is there beside Chris–he must have approached him when he wasn’t looking. “Chris! Hah—you’re here!” The other agent is out of breath, doubled over from his run elsewhere. “Chris, Wesker is refusing to cooperate,” he tells him, despite the fact that Chris’s attention is solely elsewhere. “He just kept asking for you. What do we do?”

     Chris steps past Leon with a grimace. "I got this," he reassures him before turning to face the crowd. "All of you, STAND DOWN!" He shouts as he walks up. His voice carries the same tone it does when he addresses his squad–a commanding one rarely used nowadays. He still doesn't think it sounds quite right coming from him. 

     Whatever the hell is going on here, it's clear that the director sending Chris away was a bad idea. He knew that, of course, but it's not like he could argue. Now, he sees it first hand. Thankfully, nobody appears to be dead. Wesker's definitely holding back, then. That's a good sign, if nothing else. "Alright Wesker, I'm here. What the hell is going on?" He says, gesturing to the entire scene before him. Why would Wesker be asking for him, specifically? It makes a chill run down his spine–and at the moment, he's not sure if it's a chill he enjoys or not. Not the time, brain.

     Many of the soldiers stand down when they hear a superior officer call out to them. They step back, but maintain their assigned placement around all sides of their target. As they relax, so does Wesker, stepping out of his defensive posture. A satisfied smile crosses his expression as he watches Chris marching up, stern and commanding. He’s about to address him when he arrives, but a smaller soldier—one with a broken visor—throws one last punch that hits Wesker while his guard is down. His sunglasses fly off of his face when the fist collides with his cheek. 

     Wesker has the young man by the jaw even before the glasses clatter to the ground elsewhere. Chris flinches–he knows first hand how painful that grip can be–and feels his stomach almost drop out from under him. Shit. This might be about to get messy. Chris’s body goes tense as he prepares to intervene.

      Every other soldier trains their guns on Wesker in a second. He cranes his neck up, forcing his eyes to meet his beneath the visor. The soldier’s legs give out beneath him, but Wesker discards him only after speaking to him once. “You’re all really starting to get on my nerves.” The young man falls to the ground in a heap. 

     “Chris…” Wesker coos; his tone is warm, yet disappointed, like a mother scolding her child. It all sounds strange the way his voice fries the tone. “We’re done here.”

     Chris’s heart stutters for a second at the tone. What the fuck? He’s not sure how he feels about hearing his former captain address him like that–it feels both uncomfortable and strangely reassuring at once. 

     Leon approaches alongside Chris, sidearm at the ready. He asks aloud what they’re all thinking. “What?”

     “This,” Wesker responds, tossing a hand aside at his entourage. “I never agreed to solitary confinement. Unless you’d like our agreement to go out the window, I’d suggest you send away these men and house me elsewhere.”

     Chris runs a hand down his face and looks aside to Leon. So this is what the DSO was planning to do with Wesker? Lock him away in a cell? It makes sense, but...it's no wonder they ended up in this situation. Wesker has a point, unfortunately. The only reason he's cooperated thus far is because of their truce. And keeping Wesker in some sort of containment cell certainly wasn't part of the agreement. If Wesker were to discard that agreement...everything would go to hell in a handbasket faster than Chris can blink. He gives a stern look to the men surrounding them and a jerk of his head to indicate to them to back off, so they do. Several back away or look over their shoulders as they disperse.

     "Not a fan, huh?" He remarks sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at the cell. He then turns to Leon, tone becoming serious once more. "Good thing you called me. This could have gone worse real fast." 

     "I was wondering when you'd get here," a voice rings out behind them. Chris turns to see none other than Director Reyes, approaching from the hallway Chris himself just came through. 

     "Director. What happened?" Chris responds, shoulders set firmly. Tension seems to radiate from every muscle in his body as he stands between Wesker and the director. 

     "He's been like this the whole time you were gone," the older man explains. "He has essentially refused to cooperate at all. Except for when he did so with you."

     Chris blinks and looks over his shoulder at Wesker. Unfortunately, that sounds very in character for the blonde, but Chris can't help but be a little surprised. Is that why Wesker kept asking for him? Because Chris being around is the only way he'd cooperate? Why is he the defining factor here? Is it just because he's the one Wesker made the truce with, their history, or something... else?

     “Refused to cooperate?” Wesker repeats, kneeling down to grab his shades. He laughs in the face of the director once stood. “Your men are still alive, aren’t they? I’ve more than cooperated. If you find anything lacking, then pin it with Chris.” Wesker walks past the soldiers, past Chris, and past the director. He only stops once he comes to Leon on the edge of the scene. Wesker takes the dull grey jacket from over his shoulder and tosses it back to Chris without a second thought. “Let’s get out of here.”

     Chris catches the jacket in one hand and turns to the Director. "Sir?" He asks. Best to make sure they're not about to be opened fire on the moment they try to go anywhere. 

     "Well, fortunately for you, Chris, I was just about to call you, anyways. Since this clearly isn't going to work," he gestures to the cell that the DSO guards had been trying to usher Wesker into. "We've come up with another solution. I've decided on your reassignment."

     Chris's stomach drops for a moment. Shit. This could be bad. "Meaning, sir?"

     Director Reyes gestures with one hand towards Wesker. "Him. I'm officially putting him under your charge. He'll be your responsibility, officially, until further notice. You'll be stationed at the safehouse we provided for the Winters family. All of them will be under your charge now. I'll have your squad help you get settled. Is that understood?"

     "Yes, sir," Chris answers, although his face betrays his surprise. The DSO making his prior arrangement official is definitely not where he expected this to go, but he supposes he can't complain too much. It's better than trying to wrangle Wesker into solitary confinement, and it's better than Chris going back to a house that feels like it's missing someone or an apartment that feels too cold and empty. Oddly enough, he feels a sense of relief rush through him at the news. He won't have to be assigned away from Wesker at least. Wait, should he really be happy about that?

     The director offers a small half-smile and pats Chris on the shoulder. "You were right, you know. You really are the only man for the job when it comes to him, Chris," Director Reyes tells him. Chris stares for a moment as the older man walks off, presumably to go file a lot of paperwork. 

     With his living arrangement now government-approved, Chris turns to follow Wesker out, giving a tired glance to Leon as he approaches. God, he's exhausted from dealing with this. "Leon, I owe you one," Chris remarks.

     Leon sighs, but nods. “Big time.” His head turns to follow Chris as he trots down the hallway behind Wesker. Him and the others watch them leave, one of their most dangerous bioweapons and one of their best men leaving together like a boy and his dog.

     Wesker slides into the passenger seat of the van like he belongs there, and Chris finds himself hard pressed to disagree with that thought. Chris settles himself behind the wheel, starts up the car, and pulls them out of the DSO parking lot in silence. There's something unspoken hanging in the air between them, and Chris finds himself almost nervous to try and address it. Maybe it's just his mind playing tricks on him, though. It seems to have been doing that a lot lately. It's only once they're on the road does he address the man sitting beside him. "You want to tell me what the hell that was all about?" Chris finally asks, shooting a glare towards Wesker. "Why'd Director Reyes say you were being uncooperative? You know you could have jeopardized everything, right?" Chris can't help the anger that seeps into his voice; he's so tired and so fed up with dealing with everything today. 

     Chris doesn't mention the date–doesn't dare bring up the thoughts still lurking at the back of his mind, the feelings shoved deep down in his chest, waiting for the opportunity to emerge again. Actually having Wesker around seems to have somewhat pacified his racing heart, but only just barely. Maybe I should have had more whiskey.

     Wesker glances at Chris through the temples of his glasses, irked by the prodding. “For your information, I wasn’t assigning blame to you arbitrarily,” Wesker shoots back. He soon exhales, cooling himself down from the annoyance of the entire situation. “I behaved like a saint,” he insists spitefully, words spoken through his teeth. “The interrogation went sideways on account of the fact that you began lying to the face of your superior while we were in that office.” As he speaks, he strips himself of his gloves, tossing them upon the dash without a care of the driver’s visibility. “You wanted to omit Karl’s involvement, fine. But we never set our stories straight.” Wesker shakes his head, then turns it out the window. “I stomached the lab work as well. Dozens of injections.”

     Chris looks aside at his passenger then sighs. As much as he hates admitting this...Wesker's right. He didn't go over the plan for this meeting nearly as thoroughly as he should have. That would certainly explain why Wesker acted the way he did. "So you avoided answering questions so our stories wouldn't clash," he deduces. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't discuss the plan in advance. Yesterday was rough. Thanks for mostly behaving yourself, I guess," he reluctantly admits. Chris's hands tighten imperceptibly on the wheel. The sooner they're home and he can stop thinking about all of this, the better.

     Wesker exhales, responding to the apology with merely a hum. Chris keeps his eyes on the road, and they drive in silence through the lonely town. Wesker watches as a series of buildings pass them by, then turns his gaze back upon Chris. The driver feels those eyes examining him, and after a good stare, Wesker speaks up again. “You smell like booze,” he says.

     Chris groans. “Yeah, astute observation. Didn’t have a lot. I’m not drunk.” As much as he kind of wants to be right now. His grip goes white-knuckled on the wheel. “Ran by my place while you were in there,” he says in lieu of further explanation. He knows Wesker can figure out the rest. At least he won’t have to go back there.

     Chris can’t see his face very well out of the corner of his eye, but he thinks Wesker must be sneering at him. “Must you always do that alone?” The mastermind returns dryly. 

     “It isn’t exactly like I often have anyone to drink with,” Chris answers bluntly. He’s irritated, even after clearing up their issue from earlier. Wesker can almost hear his true question behind his spoken one: ‘Why exactly do you care?’

     Wesker looks back to the window again, to the passing town, and after some more silence, he says, “Shall we pick up a bottle?”

     Chris raises an eyebrow at the little view of Wesker’s shades he can see through the rearview mirror. “Never took you for the type to drink,” he remarks. “Ethan probably has some at the house.” 

     Chris adjusts the heating in the car, then spares a glance sideways towards Wesker. “Although, after today, I could almost go for another one right about now.”

     “That so?” Wesker replies, turning back. “What have you to despair over?”

     Chris’s face dips into a grimace again as he stares dead ahead. “You know almost my entire life story by this point, I think you can guess a few reasons why I drink,” he answers, tone bitter. 

     Chris and Wesker match gazes to stare daggers into each other. “For today,” Wesker clarifies.

     “For today specifically?” Chris returns, releasing a huff as he asks that. “I’ve had a lot on my mind all day. I’d rather not anymore, for a few hours at least.” 

     Chris can’t bring himself to chance another look at Wesker right now. If he does, he worries about the thoughts that it might bring back, about the feelings that caused him to run out on his date and once again turn his mind into a violent whirlwind that he might risk getting too caught up in. 

     “On second thought, I don’t think Ethan has anything nearly strong enough. We’ll make a stop,” he decides. If Wesker really spent all that time hiding out at his apartment, he’s already seen Chris drink. No use in being ashamed about that.

     “Very well,” Wesker says, glancing over their shoulders. “Turn the car around. I saw a liquor store just a few blocks back.”

     Chris pulls into the nearest driveway and makes a U-turn. Their drive to the store is short, and Wesker directs him the whole way there. Chris swears Wesker hasn’t had access to any maps or the internet, so his memory is impressive. Although, he supposes for a genius, remembering a city layout is nothing. 

     They pull into the mostly empty parking lot and step out into the cold. Chris bundles up in the jacket he’s already wearing, but Wesker stands unfazed by the unrelenting chill of the cold winter breeze. Chris retrieves the extra jacket and makes him wear it. He’s feeling cold just by looking at him. Wesker pulls his black gloves back onto his hands, then gestures toward his chauffeur and escort. “After you.”

     Chris heads into the store with Wesker at his back. Thankfully, the store seems to be mostly empty in this weather. A bored-looking cashier gives a small wave as they enter. 

     Chris navigates the aisles with his hands in his pockets. He can feel Wesker’s eyes on him at his back. Like always, the man’s attention is almost a physical sensation. Chris ponders his options as they proceed. He’s not really sure what sort of alcohol to get. If Wesker does end up joining him, he probably should get something the blonde will like. But what would he even drink? Chris would almost take him for a wine guy, but he knows better than to make random assumptions when it comes to this man. 

     Chris picks up a bottle of vodka and inspects it. “Do you…have a preference?” He asks over his shoulder.

     “Oh, no. I don’t drink,” Wesker tosses back rather flippantly. “Just pick whatever you desire.”

     Wesker turns his attention to a shelf after they continue down an aisle. He reads the label on a bottle nearby. He’s focused, like he’s busy reading the plaque at a museum. Mellowed, Matured, Tasted, Awarded. This tells him nothing of the drink’s taste nor of its effects. Are all these labels just posturing about long-kept traditions and family breweries? All he knows is it’s whiskey, the type that Chris likes. Strong, bitter, and smoky are all words he’d use to describe it, but he’s never tasted such a thing, himself. Never had a purpose to or an inclination to do such a thing to his body. Now, it might be different. 

     He offers the bottle to Chris, holding it by the neck. “This is the type you prefer, correct?”

     Chris looks up. Sure enough, Wesker’s right on the money. In his hand is a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. “Yeah, that’s my go-to.” He walks over and takes the bottle from Wesker. 

     “How did you…” wait. Dumb question. It’s Wesker. Of course he knew. Chris still isn’t sure whether to be flattered or creeped out when Wesker does that—when he demonstrates just how well he knows Chris. 

     “Have you ever had alcohol before?” He asks out of curiosity, although he feels like he already knows the answer will be no. “You’re welcome to try it, I guess. When we get back,” he offers.

     Wesker’s answer is as Chris expects. “I have not, and I don’t plan to make a hobby of it. This is simply a one-time deal.” Chris stares at him dubiously, his question unspoken, but Wesker responds to it, nevertheless. “I’ve seen you drink plenty of times in the past, Chris. I’d prefer not to recall the states you get into if I can help it.” Wesker’s sharp eye notices a bottle misplaced, so he corrects it as he continues. “Additionally,” He turns back to Chris. “I understand this can be an outlet for you. You’re the type to bury your stress beneath the surface. I’ve seen it bubble and fester until your emotions explode like an erupting volcano. Mh,” he looks aside, “excuse the metaphor.”

     Chris winces a little, then turns back to the bottle. After a moment or two of deliberation, he grabs a bottle of red wine in his free hand. “Well, you certainly gave me a lot of reasons to pick up the habit,” he points out. “I did try to quit for a while. Didn’t really stick.” 

      Chris holds out the wine bottle to Wesker. “Here. This way you can try more than one. See whatever you like more.” Chris angles his head slightly. “It’s like an experiment, kind of.” Chris isn’t even sure if alcohol works on Wesker, but he’s willing to try. Both for the sake of future reference and for the potential hilarity that might ensue.

     Wesker hums thoughtfully, spinning the long bottle in his grasp. Wine? Yes, he supposes this has been a long time coming. Excella used to barge in on him often during late nights at the missile area or experimental facility. She always came onto him, but oftentimes she appeared with a bottle of wine in one hand and two empty glasses in the other. Needless to be said, he never took her up on her offers. 

     “Fine,” Wesker agrees, handing the bottle back to Chris. “We’ll drink.” At some brief prompting, Chris heads to checkout. He finds Wesker awaiting their exit by the sliding door, and they leave together for the car. They exchange only idle chatter on the final drive of the night back to Ethan’s place—to their place.

     Chris shoulders open the door with a bottle in each hand. By the time they returned, the sun had already set, and Ethan and Heisenberg were nowhere to be seen. For now, Chris and Wesker settle in the guest bedroom. Chris sets the bottles down on the bedside table. 

     After a quick trip downstairs to grab some glasses, Chris sits on the edge of the bed and opens the whiskey. As always, Wesker’s presence nearby is a palpable sensation, almost a weight in the air of the room. Despite this, Chris finds he’s starting to get used to it. 

     The operative pours two glasses of whiskey, offering one to Wesker. “Here. We’ll start with the strong stuff,” he offers. Frankly, he didn’t choose it for Wesker’s sake, but for his own. He needs something with some kick right about now.

     Wesker judges the clear brown liquid with his eyes while Chris downs his glass with a few burning gulps. He watches as Chris grunts, smacking his lips at the intensity of the drink he just guzzled. Crazy fool, he’ll poison himself at that speed. Wesker ponders quietly as he swirls the drink in the lowball glass, thinking at least he has the sense to grab appropriate glasses for each drink. Wesker takes a sip of his own. 

     It burns going down, and the hot sensation overpowers any flavor the drink could possess. Wesker grimaces only slightly—just a slight flair of his nostrils that maintains until the severity of the sensation begins to cease. Of course, if anyone would notice, it would be Chris.

     Chris does in fact notice, looking at his former enemy with a raised eyebrow. "Weren't ready for it?" he asks. "It's strong stuff. S’the reason it's my go-to. Good for trying to forget things." Not that it ever did me much good in that regard. The blow to the head helped me more with that than the alcohol ever did. The whiskey helps warm him against the chill that's lingered in his body from outside. Or maybe that's just from not being alone in his dreary apartment. 

     Chris doesn't dare think that it might be Wesker's presence beside him that makes the burn warmer, and instead pours himself another drink. He downs this one just as quickly as the first, savoring the heat as it flows down his throat and spreads throughout his body.

     Wesker doesn’t dare match his pace. In this competition, he finds the victor shall be the real loser. Chris is throwing them back quickly, though. He tends to savor them more than this. Wesker supposes it just goes to show the state of that ‘volcano.’ Oh well. Bottoms up.  

     Wesker turns the glass topside. He comes to regret it as soon as the burn washes over him. Unsurprisingly, a burn from the inside is hardly different from one across the outside. Is this why Chris enjoys this? This burn? Can’t even have fun while you hurt yourself, can you? Wesker supposes Chris has grown used to that searing in his throat, numb from overexposure. It doesn’t explain to him why he just took the plunge, as well, though. Perhaps scorching his insides feels natural to a man who incinerated in a fiery pit. 

     Eyeing the ice left in the glass, he comments upon his second take. “Tastes the way gasoline smells.”

     Chris inclines his head. "You're not wrong." He shrugs. "It's not for everyone." He takes another drink. He's finally starting to feel a bit of a buzz, but Wesker seems completely unphased. It feels a little unfair, really. Not everyone can have a virus-enhanced metabolism filtering the alcohol for them. Chris sighs. "Most people drink it for the sensation, not for the taste. Myself included," he explains. For Chris, it's the way the heat diffuses throughout his body that he especially likes–the way it replaces the cold emptiness that typically eats away at his insides when he thinks about his past. It almost gives him the sensation of warmth and comfort he's longed for from another person. Almost. That warmth has never felt quite like enough for him. Just like how his date with Galloway felt wrong, felt like he knew that he was missing something he needed. Something that she couldn't provide. An edge to it, an extra factor that he knows he could only get from one person.

     Chris's eyes drift towards Wesker again at the thought. Does he know? is the question that drifts through his mind again, as it had in that coffee shop. Surely he has to, right? There's no way someone who knows Chris so intimately, in a way nobody else ever would, couldn't know about the feelings that he seems to stir in the former BSAA operative.

     Wesker catches him staring when he leans past him to set his glass aside upon the nightstand. Chris has appeared invariably of one mind about the subject of drinking, honed in like a predator upon its prey. Earlier, the soldier got to these drinks faster than Wesker cared to deal with his own business in the restroom—scrubbing himself clean of the intrusions of the day in another’s lab. That is why now, Wesker stands against the bookshelf and Chris sits upon the edge of his bed sipping his drink. It isn’t often that he comes in here. Despite his best interests, Chris has provided Wesker a level of privacy he hadn’t anticipated. Perhaps the fool is too self-assured in his preventative measures. Perhaps he is too kindhearted. Wesker half-expected that side of the bed he’s sitting upon now to be his self-appointed assignment. He can imagine it now: Chris, foolhardy and headstrong. Suggesting he sleep beside him permanently for his own good— for Chris’s peace of mind. He’s ignorant even now of what he’s doing—drinking on his bed, something Excella only ever dreamed of accomplishing. 

     Shall he pin him down and have his way with him? And if so, which way shall he have? Wesker’s eyes glance aside beneath his glasses, a sign of his thoughts only ever denoted with a turn of his gaze. He quite enjoyed their little scuffle in that depressing apartment. He sensed Chris’s appreciation of the hedonistic indulgence by his lack of action. Later saw it plainly by the tent he pitched. Wesker exhales a sadistic laugh at the memory. Hook, line, and sinker, this little fishy is his. The only step remaining is deciding what he is to do with his catch.

     Chris looks at Wesker, his head tilted. The laugh caught his attention. He glances Wesker over for a moment, then shakes his head. Whatever's going on in Wesker's head, he knows it probably doesn't bode well for him if he's laughing like that. He tries not to dwell on it, nor on how that laugh sends a jolt of something warm through his system. Maybe that's the alcohol's doing. Knowing he probably won't get an answer if he questions Wesker, Chris instead holds up the wine bottle. "Here. Try this. You might like it better," he suggests, pouring a glass and holding it out to the blonde. 

     Chris’ll stick to the whiskey. He never thought he'd be in a scenario like this. Back in S.T.A.R.S. he'd gone out for drinks with the team before, but Wesker had never come along. Barry always liked to say that their captain simply wasn't any fun, but Chris knows it was probably just because Wesker was so busy with everything else he was scheming up. But sitting in Wesker's room, on his bed, drinking with the man? He wouldn't believe such a thing to be possible if he wasn't living it right now.

     Wesker ultimately decides to take Chris up on his offer and toss this fish back into the proverbial lake. Half the fun of toying with Chris is the way he carries it with him after the fact, emotions worn upon his sleeve. Either way, he supposes this second drink will have to suffice in Chris’s stead. Bringing the glass to his nose, he inhales the aroma. It’s fruity, unlike the whiskey. 

     Come to think of it, whiskey is often consumed in shots; Wesker knows that much. However, Chris has been throwing back fingers of the drink as though there were no tomorrow. Self-destructive bastard. It’s no wonder his mood is always so foul, his alcoholism has rewritten his neural pathways in addition to the damage he’s attained elsewhere. Head injury, blunt-force trauma. The man he fought in West Africa would have patched himself up if he was bleeding, but this thing on the bed? The life would drain from him if he hadn’t the luxury of clotting blood. Wesker exhales through his mouth before he sips the fruity beverage in his quiet fury. It tastes…fine. 

     His thoughts proceed: that booze is his brain’s foul panacea, the producer of the only dopamine left in the system. Chris, why has it come to this? Wesker would rather have the virus squeezed out of him than see his nemesis die by his own unruly incompetence at the ripe age of… what is he now, fifty? No, Chris is going to live. He is going to return to his former boulder punching self even if Wesker has to drag him there, kicking and screaming. 

     His rumination grows quieter, and so, it seems, does the room. He takes another drink. Chris cannot die before I get to him first.

     Chris raises an eyebrow. "You're quiet," he observes. He sets his glass down and leans back. "Not a fan?" He asks, gesturing to the wine. Chris groans and falls onto his back on the bed. He stares up at the ceiling. Generally, when Wesker gets quiet like this, he's thinking about something. Probably scheming up another devious plan to make Chris's day harder. 

     Does he dare say anything about what he's been feeling lately? About the experience he had on that date–the events that made him run out on Elise earlier that day? Wesker has to know, Chris thinks again and again. There's no way he doesn't. As he lays there, he finds himself wishing for that pressure again–the other man's body weight on his own, whether in the context of a fight, or something...else.

      Wait. No. Stop. Ugh, what is with him? Chris still doesn't understand what's going on, why he's been feeling this way about his greatest enemy despite everything he's done to ruin Chris's life. Is it just the intimacy of being known, of being understood so deeply? Is it leftover tension from their old dynamic? Is it some hopeful, S.T.A.R.S.-uniform clad part of him that longs for the attention and praise of a man he'd put up on a pedestal? Or is Chris just that deprived of everything, socially, romantically, and physically, that he would latch onto the first person to even show the slightest inclination? That can't be it, right? Otherwise he would have probably been actually attracted to Galloway.

     “The wine is… fine.” Wesker’s voice returns Chris’s consciousness to the moment. He glances up to see the other man holding the bowl of his glass between his fingers, swirling the liquid idly as he stares down at Chris. His head thumps back down onto the bed. 

     While Chris’s mind is elsewhere, Wesker stealthily removes the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the nightstand. It shall live tucked behind some books just beside him. Wesker decided a while ago that this drink would be Chris’s last. He’ll have no need for this bottle by the time Wesker’s done with him.

     Chris sits up to grab the bottle of whiskey, but finds nothing. "What the..." He glances around, confused, before he looks at Wesker. Chris stares silently for a long moment, then narrows his eyes before huffing in irritation. 

     He's not nearly drunk enough for this. Chris glares at his former captain as he stands and abruptly snatches the wine bottle. Rather than retrieve his glass, he starts drinking directly from the bottle itself. This is probably a bad idea, but he doesn't care. His initial frustration with his own thoughts turns to frustration towards Wesker for hiding the whiskey. The sudden change in taste from the burning sensation of the whiskey to the much fruitier wine is whiplash, but it’s interesting and almost kind of exciting, the way the heat and flavor clash.

     Wesker watches him unempathetically. Chris is staring straight at him while he chugs that bottle, just asking for him to take it. Wesker snatches it in an instant—there’s not a moment to spare if he’s going to make good on his unspoken promise. Chris will thank him later. 

     However, for now they’re both faced with wrestling the bottle from each other’s hands. Reeling it away from Chris isn’t as easy as grasping and pulling. The brute’s got his fat fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, and he’s turning it sideways without a care for whether it spills and sullies their clothes, the bed, or the floor. The frustration of this mindless tussle forces Wesker to shove a hand against Chris’s face just to lug the worthless glass bottle from his idiotic hand. While Chris is huffing and puffing at him like the big, short-tempered beast he is, Wesker puts a cork back into the bottle and grins at him triumphantly. “Going to behave now?” He inquires.

     Chris eyes Wesker with a look that can only be described as furious. His blood boils. Chris wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, firmly. His entire body burns with heat and adrenaline, and a building, ferocious anger. Chris flies at Wesker, slamming into him and making the blonde's back collide with the bookcase in a loud thud. Chris's hands bracket Wesker on either side. Inches apart, Chris pants heavily as he glares daggers into the blonde's face. 

     "Real proud of yourself for that one, are you?" He accuses, baring his teeth.

     Wesker doesn’t dodge, nor does he deflect. He stands there, taking the blow like the saint he is. Yes, he’s an angel. “I am,” Wesker retorts, spite dripping from the way his words growl back at Chris. His head tilts a mite closer. “You should be thanking me.”

     Chris brings one of his arms around to press his forearm across the front of Wesker's chest. He pushes hard, trying to shove Wesker somehow further into the shelves. "Thanking you?" He snarls out. "You...are a pain in the ass, you know. Fucking...a decade of making me chase you around, play your fucked up little game, then a decade more of sitting around with you stuck in my fucking head–!" he scoffs. 

     "And you watched the whole thing, hiding out at my apartment, probably loving the show, huh?" He grabs a fistful of Wesker's shirt, a hand against the man's chest.

     “Oh, please. You wished I was there.” Wesker smacks Chris’s fist away before it wrinkles his shirt. “And after all, I wasn’t conscious of the situation. Ugh, but what’s the use of telling you this now…” Wesker places a hand upon Chris’s chest and pushes him away, but the drunkard persists, so one hand becomes two. “Has the alcohol impaired your judgement? Seriously, must I spell it out for you?”

      Just as Chris is about to snap back, the door opens. Standing in the doorway is Ethan, looking at first irritated. "Can you two keep it down? Some of us are trying to–" he stops, abruptly, as he realizes the position the other two are in. He stumbles back, astonished, before blinking several times and steadying himself on the door handle. "Oh. Uh...sorry, guys. Don't let me interrupt you," he says awkwardly, stepping back out of the room and closing the door behind him. 

     Chris stares for a moment or two at the doorway, then glances back briefly to Wesker. He's been momentarily stunned, his anger vanishing in favor of surprise at being walked in on, although he doesn't take one step away from the other man.

     Wesker seizes this opportunity to shove Chris back with both hands. He stumbles briefly, but lands safely on the soft bed behind him, Wesker looming over his defenseless body. He shakes his head whilst drawing closer, closer still until the bedside halts him from approaching any more. When Chris thinks he’s going to lean down over him, plant his hands on either side of his head or around his neck like before, Wesker doesn’t move. He just stares down at him disdainfully, disappointedly, dejectedly.  “When will you ever understand, Chris?” He asks, an indiscernible poignancy to his question. The emotion there… Chris wants to grasp it; he wants to understand it. What could make this man ask him such a thing with such an uncharacteristically melancholic look upon his face? And why does it sound familiar?

     Those questions are unfortunately lost to the sweet blur of the alcohol finally overtaking Chris’s senses. The colors of the dim room swirl above his head, as do Wesker’s words turn to gibberish. He can't remember when the colors began to dim into blackness or when the murmurs finally ceased. All he knows is this bed sure feels nicer than the one he’s got back home. If only every time he fell asleep was this easy…

Chapter Text

     Chris groans as he stirs awake. Everything’s foggy, and it takes him several long moments to come to his senses. The first thing he notices is that his head hurts. He’s not particularly surprised by this, but it’s still annoying. He supposes that’s what he gets for deciding to drink yesterday. Great. Starting the day hungover. That’s a good way to start it. The second thing he notices is the softness of the bed beneath him. It’s comfortable, much more comfortable than the couch, and he almost doesn’t want to get up. 

     Wait. Bed? Chris sits up, eyes flying open as he looks around in confusion. It takes him a moment to re-orient himself. He recognizes the room after a few seconds. He’s in the guest bedroom—well, Wesker’s room now. His former enemy is nowhere to be seen. Chris rubs at his eyes, trying to will away the disorientation. The reality of where he is hits him all at once. He’s in Wesker’s bed. He woke up in Wesker’s bed. Hungover. What…happened last night?

     Chris tries to remember. Most of his memories of the day prior are clear, unfortunately, including the ruined date that he still feels bad about. Once he tries to remember the later hours of the evening, though, it all starts to blur together. He remembers coming home, sitting in the room with Wesker and offering him whiskey, but shortly before his memories of the third drink he had, it starts to fuzz out. He remembers drinking, quite a lot, actually. He also remembers bits of his drifting thoughts—questions he contemplated that he almost wishes had faded with the rest of his memories of that night. After a while, though, it just becomes a fog. Beyond all of that, Chris remembers almost nothing else of the night prior. So…how did he end up in this position?

     Laid out on Wesker’s bed, the empty glasses from last night gone, Chris blinks as he struggles to try and remember anything that might have happened between the two of them earlier. Based on how he woke up… No. It can’t be, right? They didn’t…there’s no way… Chris shakes his head. They…can’t have gone there, did they? His face goes red at the thought. Eugh. Stop. Stop thinking about it. Surely you didn’t. There’s no way…is there ? 

     Chris groans again and slowly stands from the bed. Despite the more comfortable sleeping location, everything feels stiff and awkward. Phenomenal. Just what he needs today.

     Chris tries to work himself out of his funk with a morning stretch. That should cure his lethargy. At least, it should for the immediate pains in his joints. He stares ahead at the bookcase just beside the half of the bed he rolled off from. Something about it sparks a fragment of a memory…something about last night and the drinking. He can’t remember. 

     Sounds from downstairs distract Chris from his quiet puzzling. Voices—far too many to make up just the three other members of the house (four counting Rose, but her high-pitched voice is definitely not amongst them). No, there’s a whole party down there. Sounds like double their normal headcount and maybe more. What? Why’s…? Chris shakes his head as he trudges his heavy body to the doorway. It’s already opened. Through the headache and the drowsiness, he stumbles through his memories—the very ones he washed away so readily the night before. Is someone supposed to be here today? Again, he can’t remember. Whatever. He’ll just have to go downstairs into the living room and see the situation, himself. Maybe if he's lucky, Wesker can help him fill in the blanks of what he’s missing from last night. Chris hesitates on his way down the stairs, hand clutching haphazardly upon the handrail. Actually, maybe he won’t ask.

     The house is busier than normal on account of the guests. Wesker was down before dawn and wouldn’t speak a word to Ethan and Karl regarding their suspicions about the previous night. Of course, the intruder Ethan Winters blabbed to be intrusive Karl Heisenberg. Wesker isn’t even surprised by their poking and prodding; he expected it. To all of their questions, Wesker responded with flat ignorance. ‘A simple conversation between old friends,’ he said. Conversation, my ass, both Ethan and Karl thought in unison. 

     Now, Ethan and Karl oversee the business with their uninvited guests, the Hound Wolf Squad. Most of Chris’s men are in between the garage and a moving truck parked just outside. Wesker is the only one unattended, at least that’s briefly the case until a member of the squad decided they’d hang around to keep an eye on him. Nonetheless, Wesker sits placidly against the frame of the window seat, coffee in his hand just the same as the last time he sat there. He watches the movers outside carry boxes, furniture, and whatever else inside, all the same as Chris watches him from the bottom of the stairs, enraptured by the strange tranquility. The buzz of his phone interrupts his unintentionally honed focus. 

     Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt. Christ, this thing is blowing up. Is it the squad trying to wake him up? They could have just walked upstairs to get him… Chris checks the notifications. 

     The many messages are from…Sherry Birkin, of all people. Chris hasn’t exactly kept in constant contact with her, but they aren’t exactly strangers either. Her messages start ringing the bells Chris needed to understand why he’s hearing from her in the first place. They read:

[SHERRY:] Hey Chris, good morning. 

[SHERRY:] I never thought I’d be saying this, but imagine my shock whenever I read the urgent report issued this morning…

[SHERRY:] Is it… really true?

     Chris inhales through his teeth with a hiss. Shit. He should have figured that Sherry would want to talk to him, all things considered. He probably should have had her come over to Thanksgiving, but...well, adding Jake into the mix would be a whole additional factor that he wasn't ready to deal with just yet. There's no avoiding it now, though. Sherry's a DSO operative same as the rest of them, there's no way she wouldn't have found out as soon as the rest of the organization did. 

     Chris glances around at his squad. While the rest of the team hauls boxes into the garage, Canine stands apart from the rest and leans against the wall near the window, keeping one dubious eye on Wesker. A short distance away from Wekser on the window seat is Rose, who stands on the seat to look out the window with wide, fascinated eyes. Chris breathes out. It's fine. K's keeping an eye out.

     Chris distinctly avoids meeting eye contact with Wesker–he doesn't want to risk confirmation of his suspicions about last night right now. The idea of confronting that... Ugh. No. Not while hungover, thank you very much .

      Instead, Chris turns his attention back to his phone.

[CHRIS]: Hey.

[CHRIS]: Yeah, it's true. It's kind of a long story.

[CHRIS]: I'm sorry I didn't tell you guys sooner.

[SHERRY]: Yeah, I understand…

[SHERRY]: I couldn’t possibly imagine your position. Jake’s been… 

[SHERRY]: Well, let’s just say… he hasn’t been taking the news well. He’sdkvnxbscbm bc cbb

     Chris stares at the jumble of letters at the end, confused until another response comes:

[SHERRY]: redfield what the fuck

[SHERRY]: how

[SHERRY]: how the hell

[SHERRY]: chris you motherfucker how is he alive

[SHERRY]: why didnt you fucking tell me asshole

     Chris narrows his eyes for a moment, until he realizes– Ah. Jake. He probably wrestled the phone out of Sherry's hands. Chris can't imagine he's particularly happy about this news, all things considered. Sure, Jake had wanted to know about his father back in the day, but he never had a good opinion of the man. Now that Jake knows about what kind of person Wesker was–well, is–his opinion hasn't improved. But how was he supposed to tell him? Wesker probably doesn't even know Jake exists. This is going to be a hell of a time. Chris preemptively apologizes to his skull for his undeniably worsening headache. 

[CHRIS]: Jake?

[SHERRY]: of course its me

[SHERRY]: my fucking FATHER is alive somehow and you didnt tell me

[CHRIS]: I wanted to, but it's complicated.

[SHERRY]: complicated my ass

[SHERRY]: how is this even possible

[SHERRY]: im going to kick your ass

[SHERRY]: and then his

[SHERRY]: chris how the fsfajkgw gjskalg

     Chris sighs. Here we go again.

     He awaits another text that never comes. Are they arguing? Chris wonders. Is the phone broken, dropped on its face from the tug of war? Inevitably, Chris notices the ellipses of Sherry typing, not typing, then typing again, but a response still doesn’t come. Without warning, his confusion is finally answered when he receives a phone call from the young couple. Shit… the phone rings in his hand. He…should probably take this.

     Chris grimaces. He really doesn't want to take this while Wesker's still in the room. He tries to find an out–a room where nobody else in the house is currently milling about. The garage won't work, Ethan and Karl are standing in the doorway watching the Hound Wolf Squad, so...somewhere else, then. Chris holds up his phone briefly in lieu of an explanation to anyone who might be eyeing him, before escaping into the kitchen. He sets his phone down on the counter and watches the room beyond, grabbing his earpiece out of his pocket and connecting the audio to his phone. Once satisfied that the call will be mostly private while still giving him a vantage point to supervise the goings-on of the house, he finally answers the call.

     The other end of the line is chaos. There's muffled shouting in the background, almost certainly from Jake, with plenty of colorful profanities thrown wildly throughout. Only half of what he's shouting is English, but Chris can make out a lot of very furious insults being thrown at him. Yep. That's Jake, alright.

     Sherry’s voice reaches out amongst the chaos. “O-Okay, I’ll do it! Give me the—Give me the phone!” The argumentative chaos begins to dim as muffled sounds of movement overtake the speaker. Once it stops, the call loads and opens a face cam pointed toward Sherry, who holds her phone between two hands somewhere under an arm’s length away from her face. “Chris!” Sherry says finally, exhaustion beginning to creep up on her. She huffs through it, annoyed at the man off-camera. “Chris, please. Tell us everything…!” No time for formalities, it seems.

     Chris turns on his face cam as he holds his phone in one hand and rests the other on the table with a sigh. "It's...a lot," he replies. He hears a distant shout from behind Sherry that sounds like "BULLSHIT!" Chris simply shakes his head. Maybe he really should have just said something from the beginning. Doing this with a hangover is going to be agony. 

     "Look," he starts, "it was a surprise to me too, at first." He glances briefly at Heisenberg in the garage doorway. "Apparently he managed to survive the volcano as a little...worm thing."

     Jake comes charging into view of the camera behind Sherry. "So, what, when you told me you killed him, you were just lying?!"

    Chris groans. "Let me finish, Jake." This is already off to a bad start. "As far as I was aware, he was dead." Chris leans back slightly. "You read the report, he ended up with the Cadou. Managed to regenerate a body. It's a little more complicated than the report says, but..." He looks aside, eyes scanning to make sure the Hound Wolf Squad aren't paying very close attention to anything he's saying. He highly doubts they'd rat on him. He trusts them with his life, but best to be safe for now. He can tell Jake and Sherry the full, unabridged story, with the inclusion of Heisenberg's involvement, later. "I found him in the basement of the Winters' house."

     Jake folds his arms and steps closer, looming behind Sherry. "And you...let him live?" His voice is suspicious, doubtful, like he can't believe Chris wouldn't jump at the opportunity to put his estranged father back into the grave. There's something else to his tone, though. It’s something that Chris almost misses, but it's present nonetheless. He's not sure how to place it, but Jake almost sounds curious. Albeit still extremely pissed at the same time. The calmer tone quickly fades, though and is replaced by full anger once again as he tries–and fails–to snatch the phone. "Why didn't you fucking say something, Redfield?!"

     Chris raises a hand defensively. "I wanted to say something, Jake, I really did. It's a lot more complicated than I can say right now."

     Jake scoffs. "Complicated my ass. Let me see him."

     Chris shakes his head adamantly. "No. The last thing we need right now is to cause a bigger scene. I didn't say anything before because it could've made things so much worse. Besides, he..." Chris trails off. In the month or so since his former captain's revival, Chris has never once mentioned Jake to Wesker. That is a whole can of worms he feels entirely unprepared to open. After all, if Wesker really doesn't know about his son...god, how would he even react to that news? He deserves to know, surely, but...is now the time? Would Wesker even care? Jake is fully grown. There's obviously no real bond between him and his father, and Chris highly doubts there would be even if Wesker knew. It's not exactly like Jake is fond of the man either. "Jake, I really don't think it's a good idea right now. Not yet."

      Jake looks aside to Sherry, and Chris hears her high but calm voice speak to him. “You remember what the report said, Jake. He’s in DSO custody, being handled by Chris.” Since Jake is still visible on camera, Chris can see his reaction. He looks down, silent and disheartened. Sherry continues, “He’s probably locked up in a cell or…a safe house somewhere. Chris probably couldn’t even show him to you if he wanted to.” Sherry’s hand lands upon Jake’s shoulder. The man is moved to silence by her touch.

     Chris breathes out in relief. He's grateful that Jake has Sherry to keep tabs on him–the kid's always been impulsive and aggressive, so having Sherry to balance him out is always beneficial. Just as Chris thinks he's settled the issue though, Wesker steps into the kitchen. How he'd approached without drawing Chris's attention is beyond him, but before Chris can say anything to stop him, the blonde crosses behind him to the coffee machine. Undoubtedly in the field of view of the camera feed for the call.

     Confirming his suspicions, Chris winces as Jake snaps into action again. "Is that him?" he asks, voice accusatory. "Chris, put us on speaker!"

     Chris puts his body between the phone and Wesker. "No! I already told you, not yet. There's...something I have to work out first." Namely, he has to explain to Wesker that he has a son. That's going to be a weird conversation. Especially considering what might have happened last night. Chris still isn't sure on that front, but he doesn't like the way Ethan and Heisenberg keep side-eyeing him like they know something. 

     Jake starts trying to wrestle the phone away from Sherry again. "Fuck that!" He grunts in frustration as Sherry does her utmost to keep the phone out of his reach–an effort that's becoming increasingly difficult for her. "He's my father. And he's right there. Let me talk to him, asshole!"

     Chris glares back. "Not a chance."

     Chris watches Sherry and Jake play keep-away with the phone for another few aggravating moments. His head is pounding, and this definitely isn't helping. He thinks he hears Jake knock over a piece of furniture at one point, which Sherry admonishes him for. Nevertheless, Jake is undeterred. "I want to meet the mother fucker who put me and my mother through everything—"

     Fed up, Chris interjects. "He doesn't know, Jake."

     That finally gets Jake to stop trying to snatch the phone. He goes silent for a few moments, before he gives a deadpan “........what," finally at a normal volume.

     Wesker finishes pouring himself another cup of coffee and sets it aside. Chris is too preoccupied to notice him doing anything else until he places a glass of water beside his phone. Chris can’t tell where Wesker’s gaze is placed, but he taps the rim of the glass and tells him, “Drink it.” Once he’s grabbed his mug, he walks off. 

     “He…doesn’t know?” Sherry repeats, further dumbfounded by Wesker’s hovering beside the camera’s view. “A-And that was him…?”

     Chris glances aside at Wesker, then at the glass. Grumbling, he begrudgingly takes a sip of the water before addressing Sherry. "Yeah," he responds, holding the glass in one hand and the phone in the other. "From what I can tell, he doesn't know. I don't think Jake's mother ever told him." He sets the glass back down. 

     Jake sidles up next to Sherry, choosing for the time being to view the call over her shoulder. "You're serious?"

     Chris nods. "To be fair, I didn't know about you until...well, when we met." He remembers all too well. The shock he'd felt rush through him when he was informed, finally putting together why Jake felt so familiar to him. It was like almost nothing he'd ever felt. Only the shock of Wesker's resurrection could likely be greater. "All these years, he's never mentioned it. I don't think he knows."

     For a change, Jake is silent behind Sherry. He stares down and to the side, processing it all. His expression is a complicated one, torn between bafflement, disappointment, hurt, and a hint of guilt. For all his life, he'd assumed his father had simply been a deadbeat, that he'd left him and his mother to their own devices to struggle through life–leading him eventually to his mercenary job. A man who had tried to destroy the world, who Chris had killed with his own two hands, who Jake didn't even get the closure of meeting–had no idea he existed? Years of resentment, reframed with new information, makes him stop and think for a long moment.

     Sherry breaks from the silence of her thoughts to say, “Jake needs to meet him, Chris.” She’s deadly serious. “If not now, then when? Should we organize something with the DSO? Or keep this personal?” She shakes her head at all the questions she has. “Is he even allowed to have visitors…?”

     Chris looks aside. "He already has," he mentions off-hand. "But in all seriousness, I think he should meet him, just..." Chris grimaces. "Not now." He thinks for a moment. Sherry has a point. Wesker is Jake's father. They have a right to get to meet each other, at least. God, I can't believe I'm going to have to break the news to Wesker about his kid. But when to have them meet? He doesn't want to get the DSO involved any more than they are…

     "I could work something out," he offers. "After all, I'm living in the same house as him," he admits. He knows the DSO report designates him as Wesker's ‘handler,’ so organizing this sort of meeting would probably be his responsibility.

     "Wait, what?!" Jake blurts out. "You're living with him?!"

     “What? Yeah, what??” Sherry reacts in tandem with Jake. “The report didn’t say that! Chris, you’re living with him? H-How are you still in one piece?”

     Chris glances at the glass on the counter. "We made a deal," he offers as an explanation, taking another sip of the water. It's a nice relief to his aching head. Begrudgingly, he's grateful that Wesker gave him the drink. "Well, more like a truce." He shrugs. "It's not exactly been all sunshine and rainbows, but he's mostly cooperating at least."

     Chris's eyes drift to the glass again and to his fuzzy memories of last night. He still isn't entirely sure what happened between the two of them, but...whatever it was, he knows they shared a moment. He remembers some of it, at least. He remembers the two of them talking while they drank. And the reason Wesker made a scene at the DSO was for their combined benefit. It's weird, the idea of Wesker trying to help him. Sure brings back memories from his younger days, but the concept feels odd nonetheless. Chris furrows his brow in thought. There's no way Wesker can't tell the feelings Chris has been grappling with lately. Is...this another sign that it could be more mutual than he thinks?

      Shit, he's still on the phone. Chris's attention abruptly snaps back to the call. "Sorry. Zoned out for a second. Anyways, I could probably work something out so you two could stop by." He taps his fingers against the glass, thinking. Ethan had been talking about the winter holidays lately...something like that could work. Chris had planned to have another get together with the others, anyway–hopefully to make up for the trainwreck that was Thanksgiving. That just might work. "I might see if Ethan would be interested in having a Christmas party. You could come over for that," he suggests.

     Before Jake gets the time to complain about the wait, Sherry takes his hand into hers and nods for the both of them. “A month—that’s not too bad.” She says that to Jake, whose fingers curl around her smaller hand. “You can think about all the things you want to say to him.”

     Jake lets out a huff and looks aside. He's silent for several seconds before he finally looks back. "Fine," he reluctantly agrees. "Don't you fucking dare back out on us, Chris," Jake warns with a point of his free hand. He steps closer to Sherry, part of his chest to her back, protectively. "And he better not try anything."

     Chris scoffs, but it's partly a laugh. "You're one to talk, kid. Did I hear you flip a table earlier?"

     Jake glares daggers at Chris. "Oh, shut up. Do we have a deal or not, Redfield?"

     Chris nods and finishes off his water. "Yeah. It works for me. Guess I have a hell of a bombshell to drop on him," he replies. He's already not looking forward to that. Would Wesker even believe it?

     “Yeah, you do,” Sherry agrees. “I don’t envy you, Chris. May luck be on your side.” Speaking softer,  she turns over and says something to Jake that makes him nod, and they both then return their attention to the camera. “Okay, thanks for talking to us. I’ll take good care to make sure that this one,” she points a thumb over her shoulder, “won’t bring a whole militia’s worth of firepower to the Christmas gathering.” Jake punches her shoulder playfully and she laughs, shoving him back with a hand. “See you, Chris!” The call ends.

     As the phone goes back to his home screen, Chris gives a small shake of his still-aching head. Jake can be kind of a pain in the ass–mainly because he’s so hot-tempered, but even Chris can’t help but admit he and Sherry make for a cute couple. Sherry really does a great job of handling him. It’s a good thing they have each other; Jake would probably get into way more trouble without her around, and he helps keep her safe.

     Chris stashes his phone away in his pocket. For a long moment, he just watches the room as the Hound Wolf Squad mill about. He spots Wesker—back over by the window seat again. Chris wonders how much of the phone call he heard…and if he knows they were talking about him . He hasn’t said anything about it. 

     The agent gives a small grunt of effort as he straightens up. He feels a little better after the water, but his hangover isn’t being kind. Then again, he supposes hangovers never are. Drinking’s plenty fun until the consequences hit. 

     Chris walks around the perimeter of the house to the far wall of the living room, his eyes now zeroed in on Wesker. K still stands nearby, and he’s now holding a still very curious Rose, all while Wesker sips his newly refilled coffee. 

     Chris gives a small roll of his shoulders before approaching Wesker. He stops just a few feet from the man. Rather than say anything, Chris gives a small, subtle gesture with his eyes and a slight jerk of his head towards the stairs. He knows his former captain will get it. He tries to put into his expression how important this is, and that whatever he needs Wesker for is serious.

     Wesker eyes him as he approaches, and shortly after Chris asks for him without his words, Wesker places his mug upon the floor and drops his legs from the window seat. He adjusts his sunglasses as he stands, pressing them up with a finger whilst accompanying the other man to the stairs. Chris is being so secretive this morning. First, the suspicious way he was acting during the phone call, now this secret rendezvous. Wesker just accepts that these shall be considered usual situations for Chris, as he is allowed to keep secrets—as per their truce. At least, it’s implied that Chris is allowed to keep secrets. It’s never explicitly stated otherwise. Despite all of that, Wesker gets the feeling this little secret of Chris’s won’t remain his for very much longer.

     Chris leads Wesker upstairs and back into the guest bedroom, shutting the door behind the two of them. Here goes nothing. Just telling a man that you once killed that he’s had a son this whole time and never knew about it. Nothing weird about that.

     Chris folds his arms and leans against the wall. Where to even begin? He doesn’t want to just come right out with the whole ‘surprise, you’re a dad’ thing out the gate. How does he lead up to that? 

     Chris has no time to figure it out. Instead, he’ll have to wing it. Not that adapting to a situation has ever been much of a problem for him. 

     “There’s something I haven’t told you about,” he starts, eyes down at the floor. “Something important. Something that you probably should have known years ago, but even I didn’t know until a while back.”

     “Is that so?” Wesker replies, walking into the room behind Chris with a hint of disinterest in his posture. He leans against the bed’s footboard, folding his arms across his chest. “Well then, go ahead.”

     Steeling his nerves, Chris swallows and looks up to meet Wesker’s eyes. Here goes. No going back now.

     “You have a son,” he states flatly, maintaining eye contact as he watches to see how Wesker reacts to the news.

     Wesker… blinks beneath his sunglasses. A son…? A child related to him, and it is still alive? He ‘has’ a son, not ‘had’ a son, yes? At the very least a decade old, perhaps even two or three. Someone bearing his blood, his genetic code…

     Chris… He wouldn’t lie about something like this, now would he? He stands nothing to gain from connecting him with such an individual, aside from ruffling his feathers. No, if this was such a stunt, it would have been pulled in the company of the other two men of the house. He can hear their whispering thoughts in his ears now—pointing and mocking as though he isn’t there; it grates on his nerves. He will have none of that. Chris is alone with him here; it’s likely he’s serious. 

     This couldn’t have possibly been a further stage of project W—he would have known about it. If it was related to Umbrella, then he would have known about it. He went through each and every file, every scrap of information from the bowels of the Umbrella Corporation’s darkest recesses. Not a single piece of information should have stayed hidden from him, so what is this? What is the meaning of this?

     The very culmination of every one of these questions comes down to the simplest, bluntest inquiry any man in this situation could blurt out without satisfactory supplementary information. Wesker stares back at Chris, lips parted from the shock ever since the moment he was told. Like his son only a few minutes before him, “.....What?” is all he manages to say.

     Chris stands up straight from where he's leaning. "Does a woman with the last name Muller ring any bells?" He opens. Surely that ought to help, it's not like Wesker really ever had any other relationships of that nature to Chris's knowledge.

     However, to Chris's surprise, Wesker continues to stare at him blankly. There's not a hint of recognition on his face. Did he really forget Jake's mother? Was she that insignificant to him? Ouch. He'd...better not tell Jake that. Maybe he needs to jog his memory a bit more. "Um...she was from Edonia? You met her in the ‘90s...?" Chris looks at Wesker expectantly.

     “Edonia…” Wesker tests the sound of that word on his lips. Yes, it’s one he knows, though not very intimately. It hasn’t crossed his mind in decades. “Yes, I’ve heard of the country.” His response is short and curt. “Muller…” He ponders the name. 

     Ah, he remembers now. His and Miss Muller’s relationship was wholly a sexual one. One purposefully devoid of emotion or connection, as Wesker desired to keep it. A popular pastime in the army is relying on the sexual favors of others in a man’s time of need, so he did just that. Truly, the circumstance that led to such events centered on lack of action—boredom for being too overqualified for his multiple jobs, boredom after completing his purpose in the army, and boredom from the dozens of muscle-bound meatheads too lily-livered to make anything of their sorry selves. 

     That Muller woman was an outlet, as well as an experiment turned experience he didn’t particularly enjoy, although he gave it the chance it deserved. Human beings exist to copulate. Any scientist understands this basic desire, this animalistic drive that thrusts the population forward into unsustainable amounts. Needless to be said, he has no interest in procreation now. 

     Back in the military, it wasn’t that his mindset was exactly different, it was just that he hadn’t the luxury of hindsight. Solely there for the experience, the base desire fulfilled, he never saw need for preventative measures. They weren’t trying for a child; they were experiencing one another. This son of his…is just a peculiar stroke of luck. A luck which he…isn’t sure whether he appreciates or admonishes. 

     He returns his gaze to Chris, “I…was unaware,” he eventually says, any other words lost to him. He looks aside to a hand brought to his chin. Silently, he shakes his head.

     Chris nods. It isn’t often that Wesker is speechless like this. "I figured. Like I said, I had no idea either until I met the kid." He scoffs and shakes his head with a small smile. "He almost put a bullet through my head for killing you, by the way," he mentions with a chuckle. Chris had been ready to take it, too. It would have been fair. In hindsight, he's glad he was spared an early death at Jake's hands–they wouldn't be where they are now, otherwise. 

     "He's a mercenary. Got caught up in a civil war in Edonia that turned nastier because of the C-Virus. He's the reason we have a vaccine for the C-Virus, actually. Your genetics gave him antibodies for it," Chris explains. "Jake doesn't know very much about you. Hates your guts, actually. He thought you'd walked out on him and his mom. And he didn't take it very well when he found out all the things you did," he elaborates, glancing aside. Jake's temper certainly is as furious as his father's, that's for sure. At least he has Sherry to calm him down. Oh, right. Sherry. "He got experimented on by Neo-Umbrella in Lanshiang. Jake and the DSO agent who was trying to get him out of there. They eventually escaped and helped me and Piers put a stop to what Neo-Umbrella was scheming."

     Chris steps slightly closer to Wesker, meeting his eyes. "The DSO agent who was accompanying him is Sherry Birkin." Chris somehow manages to hold the eye contact, despite the gravity of all the news he's conveying. He knows this is a lot, but he's not sure how much of his time in Edonia and Lanshiang that Wesker was aware for, if he was still hitchhiking on him at that time. Best to catch him up on everything. Knowing Wesker, he'll want to know all the information he can anyways.

     Chris knows that mentioning Sherry might be almost as big of a bombshell as the knowledge that Wesker has a son. The fact that his son and William Birkin's daughter are partners? That's bound to pique his interest. After all, aside from Chris, nobody other than William Birkin ever knew Wesker as well.

     “Birkin’s little girl?” Wesker responds, head tilting up from his thoughts. “She was so young last I saw her…” William Birkin, his lone friend for so long, his rival. He was dedicated thoroughly to Golgotha and willing to part ways with Wesker and stay with Umbrella in order to see it through to its completion. Willing to put down his life for it as well, it seems—as the report he read on the fatal incident with his experiment led him to understand. A U.S. military raid, the Golgotha virus, Birkin’s near-death and mutation. Birds of a feather, they remained even in these dire moments it seems. The report he read reminds him even now of his own rebirth after his first bitter end in the Arklay Research Facility. But that is all in the past now. 

     “I’m sure he can rest well knowing his daughter is alive and well,” Wesker says as an aside. That is, until his gaze returns to Chris yet again. “She is well, isn’t she?”

     Chris nods. "She's the one who called me earlier. Her…and your son. They're together." He raises an eyebrow at Wesker. It's surprising to hear Wesker actually ask about someone other than...well, Chris. Then again, Birkin was an important person in his former captain's life. He knows they have a long shared history with Umbrella and the t-Virus. Chris grimaces a bit as he remembers the phone call earlier. "Jake heard you were alive when the DSO sent out the report this morning. He's..." Chris thinks. How to describe Jake's reaction? ‘Angry’ feels too simple. There's a profound grudge, certainly, but Jake's opinion of his father is a complicated one. Now that his father is alive...it can only have become more so. 

     Chris huffs and walks over to sit on the bed, elbows resting on his knees. "He reminds me a lot of you, actually. Before I knew he was your son, I thought he seemed familiar. It was a hell of a shock when I found out why." Chris looks at Wesker. The resemblance is uncanny. Jake has a lot of physical similarities to his father, primarily in his bone structure, but perhaps the most alarming similarity is the way they fight. Despite having never met Wesker, Jake's combat–especially his melee combat–is the spitting image of his father, minus the superhuman speed and strength. How Jake managed to learn his father's fighting style is beyond Chris, but he still remembers seeing reflections of Wesker in every palm strike the young man delivered. "He fights like you do," he says, tilting his head. And he's kind of an asshole, he doesn't say but definitely thinks.

     Wesker exhales a brief sound—perhaps a laugh. “Is that so?” He asks over his shoulder. An interesting coincidence. “I’ll have to meet the man one day. Jake, was it?”

     Chris exhales as he shifts his weight on the bed. As always, Wesker is one step ahead. It’s annoying how he always does that, but at least it makes saying this part easier. "Yeah. He already made me promise that, actually." Chris still isn't entirely sure it's a great idea, but...the kid deserves it. They both deserve to get to meet, really. He'll just have to make sure it doesn't escalate into a fight if Jake gets riled up. All the worried anticipation makes Chris groan and rest his face in his hands for a second, though. "He was very insistent about it," he adds.

     Wesker nods briefly, a hand sliding across his slicked hair. “I see,” is all he says in return.

     Chris stands from the bed and rolls his shoulders out. God, he's sore. Now that he's taken care of bringing Wesker up to speed on his son, he has other things to worry about. "I'm going to go check on the squad, see what the DSO's having them haul in," he announces over his shoulder. It's certainly a good reason to get out of this room, where he finds the ghosts of foggy memories from last night that he still can't quite grasp haunt the edges of his mind. We didn't...surely we didn't.

     Chris smacks the sides of his own face a few times to snap himself back to attention. He needs something else to focus on beyond his increasingly complicated situation with Wesker. Back to business. You've got a squad to check up on. Without any further word, Chris disappears out the door and back downstairs to observe the situation in the garage.

     Rounding the staircase to the garage door, Chris still finds Ethan leaning against the doorframe. He’s relaxing on the sidelines, watching the others within the garage, so Chris steps up behind him to do the same over his shoulder. 

     Chris quickly finds the obvious difference in the layout from just a simple glance—it’s his exercise equipment, the stuff from his apartment, and… even more. Looks like all of his clothes finally made their way over here. Great. More to not add to his closet. All the clothes his squad brought are still upon hangers, as though they stormed into his apartment closet and grabbed whole armfuls at once. The hung clothes lie atop the washing and drying machines, and any other clothes are nearby in boxes. Right. He’ll have to sort that all out later today…or Wesker will? He’ll figure it out. 

     Next, his gaze comes across the box of memories. So it’s here now…the box where he keeps all the stuff from his past that he can’t quite bring himself to part with. Yeah. Hm. Maybe he should hide this stuff…sounds like an embarrassment waiting to happen. 

     And of course, the most obvious addition to the garage is the exercise equipment. There’s his equipment from his apartment—his dumbbell set and weight lifting bench, but there’s also all of his other equipment too. Chris has moved often from place to place, so he’s gotten used to maintaining a storage unit. The extra equipment is from there—familiar, if not a little dusty. There’s his old punching bag and his treadmill, both of which have seen lots of love throughout the years. They’re certainly well-used, but that means they’re reliable, right? Chris is happy to see them again. 

     Besides that, he sees his old pull-up bar halfway sticking out of a box filled with other miscellaneous items from his storage. And further beyond that, there’s…a multi-gym machine, and it’s brand new. Chris finally steps past Ethan to set his hands on the metal machine.

     It’s shiny. And doesn’t reek of age and use like the other equipment here. Comes with a leg press installed too, that’s nice.

     Chris glances over the machine curiously, along with the rest of the items in the garage. If his clothes are here... Chris meanders over to a large black case beside the wall and opens it. Just as he suspected, inside is his combat gear. His equipment, weapons, all of it. It makes sense–if he's going to be stationed here indefinitely, they would have all of his things brought over. The workout equipment makes him pause, though. He gets bringing the things he already had in his apartment and storage, but...a brand new machine? That is what makes him take a second look. 

     The workout equipment, his combat gear...to an outside observer, this might seem like nothing more than meets the eye. However, Chris knows better. He's been in this line of work for far too long not to read the unspoken message here for what it is. The DSO didn't just buy him a fancy new workout machine as a "good job" present. No, this is a warning. They want Chris to get back in proper fighting form. And if that's the case, that can only mean they plan to put him back on active assignment sooner or later. There's no doubt about it. The DSO wants to send him on missions again. Chris can tell that much. 

     Admittedly, Chris is grateful. He's needed to get back into proper shape for quite some time. Having brand new equipment definitely would help. Chris is also undoubtedly dreading it. Getting back into fighting form means getting back into the fray, back into the living nightmare that is his work. All while also being assigned to keeping an eye on Albert-fucking-Wesker. To another degree still, that work is almost all he's ever known. Decades after decades of fighting bioweapons has been his livelihood. Bioterrorism doesn't stop just because he's been kind of washed up lately and now dealing with his former enemy's resurrection.

     Speaking of Wesker, the thought of training again brings Chris's mind back to that fight in the snow. He thinks of the cold beneath his back, the humiliation at being defeated while Wesker looked down at him and offered a hand that said far more than his actual words. That invitation, that silent offer to train...would Wesker really be willing to do that? Why? What does Wesker get out of having Chris in peak physical condition again? Does he just...like seeing Chris that way, or something? Or is this another bizarre game, wanting to build Chris up to his highest only to tear him down again? With Wesker, it could very well be both. 

     If Chris does get back into the swing of things, if he does start working out and training again, maybe he could finally prove himself again. Maybe he could show Wesker that he's still the man who put that mastermind in the grave, the man who defeated him. Maybe he wouldn't lose this time if they had a rematch of that spar outside weeks ago. He could also prove to himself that the man, the legend, the soldier known as Chris Redfield still has it, that he can still fight just as well as he used to, that he's still just as good as he once was. 

     Chris gives a nod of thanks to the Hound Wolf Squad as they carry in another box, when movement from the doorway catches his eye. Ethan's on the move, crossing the garage to stand beside Heisenberg, who has thus far been standing there in the middle of the garage watching the Hound Wolf Squad haul in Chris's belongings.

     A couple members of the squad stand idle by the time the last few boxes roll in. With nothing more to do and a moment to think, they finally realize something. One of the guys that’s been watching them this whole time is the damn metal magic fucker from the village. They hauled several bulky metal machines alongside several hundreds of pounds of weights for their captain’s return to fitness and Heisenberg…DIDN’T HELP AT ALL. Understandably, they’re bitching him out rather thoroughly right now. 

     Heisenberg throws his hands up defensively, innocently…! “Oh, but I couldn’t interrupt. You were all so focused on your mission!” He bears a toothy grin to Lobo, who’s got him by the sides of his trench coat.

     Ethan just watches this scene unfold with folded arms. He quirks an eyebrow up at Lobo. "It took you all this long to think to say anything to him? You brought this on yourselves, honestly." In all seriousness, Ethan does feel a little bad about the Hound Wolf Squad having to do all that hauling by themselves, but at the same time, watching his partner's growing amusement at their plight was enjoyable enough that he opted not to say anything. 

     Ethan is quickly distracted from the scene before him by Chris's approach. The agent walks up, glancing between Heisenberg, Lobo, the rest of his squad, and then finally landing his gaze on Ethan. The blonde in question inclines his head and gives a small smirk, nudging Heisenberg in the back. Chris's approach seems to draw the attention of the Hound Wolf Squad as well, because Lobo finally puts Heisenberg down to greet his captain. 

     Chris tries to ignore his faintly lingering headache as he meets Ethan's eyes. There's a glimmer in them, an expression that says Ethan knows something Chris doesn't, and that he's all too proud of himself for that fact. Something is up, that much is for sure. Does it have to do with his alcohol-induced memory loss? Why else is Ethan looking at him like that? Chris eyes the father suspiciously.

     Unfortunately for him, the worse pain out of the two of them leans over to Chris and Ethan and shakes his head of grey hair. “So, Redfield, lots’a ‘conversations’ you had last night?” Karl knowingly nudges Ethan with his elbow. “Heard a lot of ‘chatting, ’ you know? Against the walls…against the bed.”

     Ethan breaks out into a full-on shit-eating grin. “Sorry about…interrupting you two, by the way. I didn’t realize I was disturbing your fun, ” he chimes in. 

     Chris’s eyes go wide as the teasing hits. This…has to be a bit, right? They’re messing with him. Surely. Unless… Chris furrows his brow. He’s still not entirely sure what he and Wesker got up to last night, but Ethan and Heisenberg’s words have him second guessing his initial doubts about their activities. Did we actually…?  

     Chris hears a member of his squad whistle in response to hearing the teasing. Oh great. Sure enough, a look behind him confirms a mix of surprised and smug looks from his men. If he wants plausible deniability about him and Wesker, he needs to establish it now.

     “It wasn’t like that,” Chris argues, although frankly, he’s not entirely sure if that statement is true, himself. Especially given the small rush of warmth that seems to flood him at his attempts to remember what exactly happened between the two of them in that room. “We had a few drinks, and we talked.” He hopes, at least. The way Ethan keeps staring at him like he knows something isn’t very reassuring to the idea.

     Heisenberg cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah, ‘talked.’ ” He grumbles to Ethan: “He’s got the same excuse as Albert…” Just to prove a point, Karl pushes Ethan against the closest wall and sets his hands along the surface behind either side of his head. “Oh, yes, let’s chat and catch up veery platonically while I stare at you like thhhis.”

     Ethan’s mouth quirks up in that snarky little grin again over Heisenberg’s shoulder. He plays along, placing two hands on his partner’s chest in mimicry of what he saw Wesker doing. “Yeah, no tension at all with this, just two guys talking to each other.” 

     Chris is baffled. ‘The same excuse?’ That can only mean the two of them have already spoken to Wesker about it. If he also said they just talked, then maybe that’s all there was to it, but Ethan and Heisenberg’s teasing leaves very little to the imagination. If Ethan’s jab about interrupting them is to be believed, then he saw something happen between the two of them last night. Chris has a feeling Heisenberg’s recreation might be based on eyewitness testimony, if that’s the case. He tries not to let his face go hot at the idea. This is already embarrassing enough as it is.

      “I don’t know what the hell you two are on about, but it’s ridiculous,” Chris attempts to refute. “Either you’re making this up to fuck with me, or you misinterpreted something,” he argues, trying to ignore the whispers and muttering of his men off to the side. Well, he’s never living this down now, is he?

     “Yeah, yeah,” Heisenberg says, drawing his hands away from his partner. Even still, he can’t help but mock Chris aloud. “They really did go hard enough to hear from afar. Not loud enough to hear across the forest, but…” Karl makes a show of scratching his chin, then snaps and points to Chris. “Ooohohoh, did you two not go all the way?”

     Tundra walks into the scene through the open garage door. She walks a couple steps, hears the innuendos being tossed around, then promptly backs up and walks right back outside. 

     Lobo runs a hand through his beard, serious despite the snickers hanging around the air. “Alpha, just what the hell have you been getting up to with that man?”

     Heisenberg nods at Lobo and at Ethan, pointing energetically. “I’ve been asking the same thing!”

     Chris holds his hands up. "Nothing!" He groans. Great . Now everyone thinks he and Wesker were up to something last night. Damn it all. "I had a few drinks, we talked, I vaguely remember him pissing me off somehow, and that's all I can remember," he explains. He can at least try to preserve his dignity a little, here. Even if he's fighting a losing battle.

     Ethan cocks an eyebrow. He doesn't believe any of that for a second. He saw what happened last night. Even if they didn't do what the things he witnessed would imply, there was still a palpable tension between them that Ethan could never mistake.

     Ethan and Karl eye one another dubiously. They definitely don’t believe his speedy and uncertain testimony, so Heisenberg shakes his head, brushing some dust from his shoulder. “Sure, Redfield. Sure.”

     Just as the teasing is nearly through, one last remark sends Chris over his limit for the day. His ego can only take so much. With Rose still tagging along beside him, Canine says to another member of the team, “I never thought the captain’d be into that sort of thing…”

     Chris throws his arms up in defeat. "Alright. That's enough," he declares. "Everyone out. You already brought everything over, anyways." Chris glances over his shoulder to Ethan and Heisenberg. "You two, go watch your daughter or something." He's officially had enough. Already dealing with the shock of waking up in Wesker's bed was a lot, and now he's also had to deal with updating Jake and Sherry, breaking the news to Wesker that he has a son he never knew about, and on top of it all, everyone in the house deciding to give him shit for last night. 

     Ethan rolls his eyes and exits the room with Rose in his arms and Heisenberg in tow, the latter of whom looks entirely unsympathetic. Tundra briefly re-enters to inform Chris that she checked all the security measures hidden around the house's perimeter before she and the rest of his squad finally depart, leaving Chris alone at last in the garage. He takes a deep breath and rubs at his eyes. God, this has been a rough morning.

     Since he has all this new equipment now, he might as well get a head start on working out. It gives him something to do that might get his mind off of everything going on, at least. Plus, if he really is going to be sent on a mission soon...well, the sooner he gets in proper shape, the better. There's no time like the present. After a quick stretch, Chris walks over to the multi-gym machine and begins a simple arm workout, just something to get him started.

    Chris hasn’t made himself work out like this for far too long. When did he last use that bench? Probably a while before he was taken off of real assignments if he had to guess. And that punching bag…it hasn’t seen use for…god only knows how long. He begins with bicep curls as an old habit, and soon moves on to a seated position where he can work his chest. The movement of his arms in front of him reminds him of this same view he’s seen time and time again. He can’t wait to feel that familiar burn—the good burn. 

     “Ah, there you are.” That callout. Chris recognizes it in a heartbeat. He glances over the garage’s half-built car to see Wesker stepping through the door to peruse the differences. He glances around rather obviously. 

     So this is all Chris’s? These are the machines he trained his body upon? Wesker presses a gloved hand into the old sandbag Chris’s squad affixed to the rafters. It looks rough; he likely went through plenty of these. The treadmill and the rest look fine. He’ll just have to make sure those get worn out, as well. 

     Before Chris gets the opportunity to really say much of anything to the man who walked in on his workout, Wesker takes a knee beside one of the old cardboard boxes Hound Wolf Squad brought over among the rest. Unabashedly nosy, he snoops without Chris’s permission. Of course, it’s that damn box o’ memories he meant to put away somewhere. Damnit! His pride…

     Chris stands, rolling out his shoulders and wiping the sweat from his brow. Just when he was getting into the groove, too. Wesker’s callout brings back memories of hearing those same words years ago, albeit in a very different context. 

      More importantly, though, god only knows what Wesker will have to say about the keepsakes in that box. He already had plenty to say about the old S.T.A.R.S. photo, after all. “It’s rude to look through other people’s stuff, you know,” he comments as he walks over to the blonde, grabbing a towel off the washing machine as he passes to help wipe away the rest of the sweat.

     The man doesn’t spare him a glance; he’s busy shuffling carefully through keepsakes—artifacts of Chris’s past. “I don’t see you taking it away from me,” Wesker remarks, dragging an old BSAA patch out of the box as he says that. So many memories to see and so little time judging by the hardened glare Chris is giving him from above. No matter though, it isn’t as if Chris Redfield scares him.

     On a good day, Chris tends not to think about his past too much. It’s one thing that’s changed so much about him over these last few years. Everything just got harder and harder to face, and burying it all (quite literally) in this box was the easiest way for him to keep himself going. But even that much stopped working out eventually. Perhaps it’s not so surprising that Wesker’s return is what is finally digging up all these long-repressed memories. He used to only think about his time in S.T.A.R.S. or Africa when he drank, but now he can’t seem to stop thinking about it all. Somewhere in the depths of that box are photos of old squadmates, old gear and dog tags either from himself or other fallen soldiers he fought alongside, buried like the men they belonged to but still kept around for memory’s sake. Some of the few things in that box he hasn’t tried to forget. But as for the rest…those memories have found a home at the bottom of a cardboard container and a bottle of whiskey.

     Wesker’s voice is what brings Chris’s attention back around to the box below him. “Hm… ah! Here it is…” he says.

     Chris glances down from his towel to see what’s so interesting over Wesker’s shoulder. Turns out he’s got an old picture of Chris that he took after making a particularly big catch on the lake. He’s a much younger man in that photograph—smiling triumphantly with a fishing pole in one hand and a fish half his height in the other. What’s so special about this picture, though?

     Wesker provides no answers, instead turning the photograph over to Chris so he can ask with a serious expression: “Can I have this?”

     Chris narrows his eyes at the picture…and blinks several times in confusion. What the hell would Wesker want that photo for? He wonders briefly if this is yet another attempt to somehow mock him. Then again, the serious look on his face doesn’t show any indication of any such intentions. “Why do you want that?” He asks, simultaneously curious and suspicious all at once. It’s a little strange for Wesker to be requesting this photo of all things from him, but maybe there’s just something here that Chris isn’t picking up on.

     Wesker flips the photo back toward himself, his grin now apparent to Chris since they are facing one another. Was he smiling at it earlier…? “I find it humorous,” he answers simply.

     Chris stares for a moment without responding, watching Wesker’s expression. Initially, he probably would have taken that answer at face value—confirmation that Wesker merely intended to poke fun at him. 

     But Chris knows Wesker. This close to him, he can see the more minute details in his expression, and he can just make out those burning eyes behind his sunglasses. There’s something else, the slightest hint of something more in his expression. In those embers, Chris sees… fondness? Is that right? It’s such an uncommon emotion for Wesker to portray at all that Chris almost doubts himself, but there’s no denying what he reads in the mastermind’s eyes. There’s a very… special kind of fondness there, one that makes Chris’s heart stutter for a moment like it’s just as astonished as he is. He has to catch his breath for a second. It’s a kind of fondness born from something that Chris doesn’t dare try to put a name to, but it’s something that feels deeply familiar to him all the same. 

     Eventually, Chris realizes he’s been staring for too long without actually giving Wesker an answer. There’s really no harm done in letting Wesker keep the photo—aside from maybe some done to Chris’s pride, which has already taken quite the beating today. Chris wipes his face with the towel again and offers a nod. “Sure,” he finally agrees, and there’s a sincerity in his voice that surprises even him.

     Wesker exchanges a nod with Chris and stands. “Right then,” he starts, sliding the photo into the breast pocket of his shirt. “You’ve only just begun, yet you’re sweating this much already… eergh,” whatever that displeased throat noise meant, Wesker walks off into the house. Soon enough Chris is done with his hand towel, and Wesker has returned with not one, but three bottles of water. One for each drink Chris had last night. He tosses them over one at a time, then takes a seat atop the bench. Nothing left for him, Wesker lends the proverbial spotlight over with the wave of a hand. “Show me what you’ve got, Redfield.”

     Chris raises an eyebrow and cracks his knuckles. "Alright, then." Wesker wants a show? Fine. Chris walks over to the bench and starts loading up the weights. While he probably would have been able to bench upwards of double his body weight in his prime, nowadays is another story. Chris ultimately decides on around 250lbs, and after setting up, lays back on the bench. Wesker wordlessly approaches to spot him.

     Chris takes a deep breath and sets his hands on the weight above him. Surely he can do this much, at least. Once certain his grip is steady, he goes for the press. Slowly, but surely, he brings the bar down to his chest, then back up before resting it back on its supports. Looks like he still has some of his former strength, at least. That done, Chris sits up to glance at Wesker expectantly. He knows he's probably going to be mocked or berated somehow, but he's still curious what his former enemy thinks, even if he knows his strength isn't nearly as incredible as it used to be.

     Inexpressive as always, Wesker stares back at Chris as he turns around to face him. “What is it?” He inquires, tone as serious as death itself. “Is that all? Don’t tell me you’re discouraged already…” One hand upon a hip, Wesker leans over the bar and draws Chris back with the gesture of his finger.

     Chris rolls his eyes. "Fine, fine." There's a faint muttering under his breath, something about Wesker being bossy, but he lays back on the bench again, nevertheless. Why Wesker insists on making him do this right now is beyond him. Maybe Wesker just wants to see Chris push himself? Maybe he hopes he'll fail? Chris isn't sure. The one thing he does know for sure right now, is he'll be damned if he doesn't prove himself–and shut Wesker up. 

     Chris goes for another rep, face twisted into a grimace as he brings the bar down to his chest again, then back up. This time, he looks up at Wesker from his position on his back.

     For as long as Chris’s expression betrays the difficulty he’s having, Wesker is there ready to pull the bar off of him at any time. That gaze… Even beneath the sunglasses, Chris can tell where his focus wholly lies. It seems they have a long ways to go. 

     “You’re not nearly starting from scratch, but I take it this is not your personal best?” Wesker watches for a response. Chris just gives him a grunt of effort in return. “You’ll just have to work back up to it, then.”

     His lifting record? God, he hasn’t been able to lift his record in a long damn time—not since his prime. Wesker expects him to make it to that point again? Can he even do it?

     Chris sits up and sighs. "I'm out of practice. I'll work on it," he answers, standing. He walks over to the water bottles Wesker grabbed earlier and opens one, taking a long drink from it. "How much can you do, anyways?" He asks. The question is born partially out of curiosity, but also partially because it's useful information to know. How well has Wesker recovered in terms of his superhuman strength? He knows it will probably be more than his own current best, given the fact that Wesker is a literal bioweapon, but regardless, he finds himself curious.

     Wesker turns aside at Chris’s question. Eyeing the weights, he decides to load them all onto the bar. Chris has had this set since the old days, so he’s got enough to bench his record, plus a little more since he’s always been about pushing himself. Wesker wipes the dust off of the last weight and slides it onto the bar. Without checking, Chris knows already that it weighs 500 lbs. That's as long as he hasn’t lost any of the weights over the years. Wesker remains stood next to the head of the bench, wraps his fingers around the bar and lifts it all with one hand.

     Chris is mildly humiliated, but unsurprised. Wesker has the advantage of the viruses in his body giving him additional strength–and there's the fact Chris isn't exactly at his prime anymore. It's still infuriating to see Wesker best him like this, though. Sighing, Chris downs the rest of the water bottle before turning back to Wesker again. It's definitely impressive, but he can't help the way it makes frustration at his own inability simmer in his gut. 

     "Impressive," he remarks dryly. "Makes sense, though."

     “Testing this body’s limits could prove worthwhile,” Wesker remarks, lifting the bar above his head. He makes it look all too easy. “I’d be interested to see if it’s changed…” With a heavy clunk, he sets the bar back onto the barbell bracket. “But you’ve forbidden my experiments,” he presses his shades up with his index and middle finger. “So there is nothing to be done.”

     Chris rolls his eyes. "You know why I did that," he points out. "But I guess testing your physical strength wouldn't be much of an issue...probably." He folds his arms. "As long as you had someone watching you." Something tells Chris that he’d end up being that someone. But whatever; he tosses the now-empty water bottle in the trash and moves over to the punching bag after grabbing another water bottle to sit nearby. As much as the idea of letting Wesker test anything unnerves him, something like figuring out the blonde's physical limits might actually be beneficial. At least then, Chris would know exactly what he's dealing with.

     He walks to a nearby box and digs around inside, pushing aside the box's other contents until he finds his target–a set of boxing wraps. He starts wrapping his hands as he turns to face Wesker again. "We can't all have viruses giving us superhuman strength," he remarks. "Some of us have to do things the hard way." Once his hands are wrapped, he checks to make sure the punching bag is set up properly. "Besides, it's how I did it before." He doesn't give a further explanation for what 'before' means. He knows Wesker will know what time period he's referring to. After all, Wesker was the reason he went to all that trouble of getting as strong as he did in the first place.

     Wesker sneers at Chris’s remark, brushing him off with a stroke of his hair. “Hmph. ‘The hard way.’ You talk as though decades of research is as easy a walk in the park. What you do is simple, Chris.” He says, tapping the perimeter of a barbell weight with his finger. “The difficulty only comes with the dedication.” He waves a hand and steps around to sit upon the bench again. “Proceed.”

     Chris huffs and takes up his stance at the punching bag. He starts off with a few simple boxing drills, practicing his go-to punches, nothing especially out of the ordinary. This is probably the one part of his workout that still feels familiar, mostly because it's the part that gets the most practical use when he's on missions. 

     Chris can still feel his former enemy's eyes on his back as he practices, watching each punch analytically. "So," he starts, still delivering blow after blow to the bag while he talks, "What brings you back down here, anyways?" He half expected Wesker to go about his business in his room as usual, especially after the particularly major news he dropped on the man today.

     Chris can hear the tap of footsteps between his punches. “I thought I would take a look at all this equipment,” Wesker responds, his voice trailing around to Chris’s right. A quick side glance shows him that his former captain is beside him, eyeing his form with a keen eye. Better put on a show, then. Chris throws out a couple of his usuals: jab, jab, straight. Jab, jab, hook. After he throws his hook, Wesker calls him out. “Shoulders, Chris. Shoulders high, chin low,” he directs. “Do it once more.”

     Chris shoots him a brief look, but ultimately does as he's told. He adjusts his posture, going for his punches again, and he can immediately tell the difference. He can feel his punches landing with more force, and can see it in the way the bag swings afterwards, too. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, falling into the rhythm of old habits, old training, old moves that might as well be muscle memory at this point, slowly starting to come back to him.

     Perhaps as a way to affirm Chris’s adjustment, Wesker continues their conversation. “You have quite a lot of equipment,” he says, looking around. “You used to train by yourself?”

     Chris nods. "Usually. That, or at base with other operatives. Occasionally I tagged along with the Hound Wolf Squad, but that was mostly to supervise their training." For the past few years, Chris has worked out almost exclusively to keep himself in decent enough fighting form, and for very little else. Mostly just enough to keep himself in shape. He rarely works out with others, and even back when he was more active about it, he often preferred to work out alone. "The big machine over there," he says with a gesture of his head, "was apparently a gift from the DSO. The rest is stuff I already had."

     “How nice of them,” Wesker remarks flatly. “You prefer to workout alone, then?”

     Chris shrugs, then resumes his drills. "Sometimes. I don't think I've regularly worked out with other people since S.T.A.R.S.," he replies. He throws a few uppercuts into his drills, just to cover his bases. "I still spar, sometimes. Usually with the Hound Wolf Squad. The rest I typically do by myself." Although, ever since the Village, he's only done the bare minimum of training. The last time he properly trained with another person was probably when he gave Ethan military training after the Dulvey incident. 

     Speaking of S.T.A.R.S., Chris can't help but feel a strong energy of familiarity from this moment. Here he is, going through the motions of the same drills he's done for years, the workouts from his military and S.T.A.R.S. days combined with his personal training regimen from when he was with the BSAA– from when he was training to beat Wesker –with his former captain standing over him, analyzing his moves. In a weird way, it helps. Having someone who knows his fighting style, his form, the limits of his strength–that can actually properly watch him and point out his mistakes is useful. Not to mention that he knows Wesker knows what he's talking about. He can trust the advice that the mastermind gives him. So, he falls back into that rhythm, into that feeling, into an energy he hasn't felt in years. With Wesker watching him, Chris finds he wants to prove that he can be as good as he used to be, that he can return to the strength and skill of his prime years, and maybe even surpass it. He wants to prove that he's still the man who killed Albert Wesker.

     Wesker exhales, taking a moment to either watch Chris’s form or merely to prepare himself for what he is about to admit. “For the power you attained just by working out by yourself…” Wesker folds his arms, leaning back against the wall in front of Chris and the sandbag. “Even I must admit, it’s an impressive feat. The promise you showed in S.T.A.R.S. wasn’t for nothing,” he nods, a hint of pride beneath his flat expression, then he tells Chris to watch his footing. Wesker proceeds, “ You’ve defied the odds before. Now, you just have to do it again.” He tilts his head, looking aside. “Easier said than done.”

     Chris pauses for a minute, almost faltering as surprise nearly throws him off. He feels a sensation rush through his body, just as powerful and as overwhelming as just after he'd baked the pie for Thanksgiving. As before, Wesker's praise has a profound effect on him. It feels like a shot of pure positive emotion just spreading to every part of his body in seconds. It's still staggering to the point that he almost loses his footing…to feel a sensation that used to be so familiar in his S.T.A.R.S. days. To feel himself physically and mentally light up like a lightbulb at Wesker's praise, a rare treat that became almost entirely absent after Wesker's betrayal is almost as strong a sensation as the warmth that good whiskey brings him. 

     Self-satisfaction suffuses his veins with the warmth, and as he reaches the end of this particular drill, he feels a sudden urge to go for something stronger, an innate knowledge that he can, and that it will only further cement that he's deserving of those words. He reels back, shifting his stance in a way that feels as natural as breathing, and then he slams his fist forward in a haymaker. The thud his hand makes against the bag is deafening , and it swings back violently before Chris stops it with an arm so it doesn't slam into him. He breathes heavily, taking a moment to re-center himself after the surge of emotion and energy that just shot through him. 

     After a second that feels like an eternity, Chris looks to Wesker again. "Then if I have to do it again, so be it," he answers, a grin on his face. He feels hyped up, energized, more than he has been in years. Having his old rival...and his former captain...around to prove himself to is a hell of a motivator.

     Wesker approves. “Good answer.” He hands the next water bottle over to him, then gives him a pat in the center of his back. “Once you’re ready, let’s spar. A moving target makes for far better practice than a still one.”

     Chris downs the water bottle, wipes his mouth, then tosses the empty bottle in a nearby trash can. Despite having already done a decent amount of working out, he feels exhilarated. He cracks his knuckles, smirking at Wesker. "A spar, huh?" He tilts his head. "Would be nice to pay you back for that time outside," he remarks. "Alright, let's go." 

     He stretches a bit, watching Wesker intently. The idea of sparring with his former enemy only adds to his building vigor, thanks in part to the anticipation of a good fight. Factor in that the fight is against Wesker , and that's an idea that makes Chris really raring to go. He wants to knock that smug look right off of the bioterrorist's face this time. Fighting Wesker is always an adrenaline rush unlike any other enemy he's faced. Nothing could come close.

     Wesker shakes his head, a small smirk upon his lips. They haven’t exactly been close, but he assumes Chris hasn’t been this pumped in quite a while. He’s so energetic… he’s the spitting image of his younger self, always raring to go. “Very well,” Wesker says, “but take a breather. Shall we do this here or outside?”

     Chris glances around. While the garage has enough space that they could spar in here if they wanted, they'd probably get more out of this fight with more space to work with. "Outside," he says with a decisive nod and a thumb gesturing over his shoulder. "More space that way. I don't exactly feel like accidentally knocking into an expensive piece of equipment today," he says with a small chuckle.

     Reluctantly, despite how energized he is, Chris takes a moment to dry himself off with the towel again, and drink some more water. It does nothing to dumb his rising anticipation, nor his eagerness to prove his skills. He wants nothing more right now than to get Wesker back for their previous fight. Even if he doesn't manage to knock him down this time around, he'd at least like to do better than a single hit.

     Wesker waits idly while Chris takes his breather. He finishes the last water bottle, and once he’s ready, Wesker takes off his watch as well as his shades. He points with the tip of one of his sunglasses’s temples toward the garage door, then sets his items atop the dryer. Affixed to the wall is a button that opens the garage, so he presses it, revealing the dimly lit room to the cool outside air. 

     “After you,” Wesker insists, and they both head outside.

     Chris marches out into the snow with renewed vigor. The cold air is nice on his sweat-slick skin as he walks out into the yard. He can't help the eager smile that lingers on his expression even now. He takes another moment to stretch his legs out while Wesker takes his position opposite him. Hopefully this time will go better for him. 

     The cool wind whistles past as Chris stares at his former enemy, but it does nothing to chill the excitement flowing through his veins. This time, surely, he'll do better. He has to. If for no other reason, than just to spite Wesker.

     Wesker looks up and their eyes meet. Those red eyes don’t glow like they often do, though perhaps Chris is only noticing this now because of the first time he brought him out here. They’re red, certainly, but the red only lines the outside of the iris. There’s yellow in there too, something he hardly ever sees. Seeing Wesker’s eyes is hard enough, seeing his eyes like this? Chris can’t be sure if he’s ever seen this without sunglasses… 

     When they’re both a few steps apart, Wesker explains their rules. “I will keep my hands to my side.” He says, pulling his gloves taut. “Your only job is to land a hit upon me, do you understand?”

     Chris gets into position and takes up his fighting stance. He’s momentarily so struck by the sight of Wesker’s eyes like this that he almost forgets what they’re out here to do. Usually, Wesker’s eyes are a burning, bright red. Now that he’s getting a better look, it’s intriguing to see the finer details, the different colors and shades in those inhuman eyes. As always, glowing or not, that gaze carries with it an intensity that’s almost burning, that seems to burrow inside his head with just a look. At the same time, he also feels like he can’t look away, like Wesker’s complete attention is a force that physically pins him in place. 

     Chris snaps himself back to reality as another cold breeze passes them by. Focus . He’s here to spar, not to stare. He has his objective. He has his mission. He simply has to execute it. All he has to do is hit the man. He can do that.

      Chris nods, then all at once, shifts his weight and launches himself forward. He goes for a jab to Wesker’s side, but the blonde turns his body to avoid it in the blink of an eye. Damn Wesker and his insane reaction speed. Chris tries to swing around with a right hook, but Wesker side-steps that, as well. Chris grunts in frustration. He’s going to have to try and catch Wesker off-guard somehow… 

     He tries to go low, again, aiming for the gut, but Wesker jumps back. Chris feels the embers of anger start to ignite in his gut, only adding fuel to the fire that is his energy right now.

     Chris reels back for a straight, but while he’s pulled back, Wesker stops him by swiping his legs out from under him. Chris falls onto his ass. 

     While he’s downed, Wesker remains squatted in front of him. “You’re far too obvious, Chris,” Wesker stands and offers him a hand. He pulls him up. “Plainly attacking as you have been might work against mindless, shambling creatures, but it is no good against a trained fighter.” To demonstrate, Wesker repeats Chris’s punch. He reels back for a straight, then throws it right at Chris’s chest. Chris manages to catch the fist with his still-wrapped hand. Wesker nods. “You must create a window of opportunity,” he says, pulling back his fist again. He throws it, and Chris catches it again. “Do you understand?” He asks while they’re close.

     Chris pants heavily and nods, letting go of Wesker’s fist to step back and re-enter his stance. He’s not going to be able to go for his heavy hits right now, that much is for certain. Best to get in quick strikes, and hopefully manage to catch Wesker off guard with a few of them. 

     Chris decided on a combo of jabs this time— a flurry of punches in a variety of directions. While individual heavy strikes are more of his usual forte, he’s not going to be able to land one with Wesker watching his body language. His former captain is right—against a trained fighter, those kinds of hits will only land if he catches them off guard, giving himself the time to actually wind up. His fights against Wesker in Africa are proof of that—most of his actual punches he got in either after hitting the blonde with a weapon, or as a counterattack. 

     After a second to re-center himself, Chris attacks, with sharp, fast jabs to different areas of Wesker’s body. The mastermind dodges the first few, but ends up having to block and parry several of the jabs. Chris feels a small swell of pride in himself at that development. 

     As Chris changes it up and adds a sudden left hook—which Wesker blocks just in time—he feels a shot of adrenaline course through him. This spar has his body running hot and his nerves sparking with energy. When his fist collides with Wesker’s palm, he feels another shot of that electrical sensation run through him.

     Fighting Wesker is truly something else. Maybe it’s the pure danger that the man exudes, maybe it’s their history together, maybe it’s something else, but Chris always feels fired up whenever he fights his greatest enemy. Even in the context of a spar, it gets his blood pumping to be exchanging blows with this man. It also could be that Wesker just infuriates Chris so much that getting to let out that aggression this way is cathartic. Frankly, the agent isn’t entirely sure himself which factor is the most pertinent.

     “You adapt well, as expected,” Wesker remarks, leaping back. “However, your stamina could use improvement. It shall return with time.” He runs a gloved hand through his slicked hair. “Can you take anymore?”

     Like before, Wesker’s praise makes a strange, almost overwhelming feeling spread instantaneously throughout Chris’s body. He wonders if it’s just because of how much he used to admire the man that those words make him practically fall apart. Maybe it’s just because he hasn’t had this feeling in a long time. 

     Chris has to adjust his footing as the wash of emotion almost makes him misstep and slip in the snow. Despite this small fumble, he still feels pumped up. He grins at Wesker’s question, almost challengingly. “Yeah, I can take it,” he says in between heavy breaths. There’s something so invigorating about this, about fighting and training under Wesker, that makes him want to just keep going—at least until he finally proves just how capable he is. 

     Chris goes for another flurry of jabs, like before, which Wesker mostly deflects. After another hook, he sees Wesker shift his weight almost imperceptibly, and his eyes catch something. There . Wesker’s focus is on Chris’s quick strikes right now, and he can see the man preparing to block his presumably incoming left fist by how he shifts his position. It’s then that Chris makes his move. He starts to go for the jab, but the moment Wesker’s arm starts to come up, Chris pushes forward, throwing his weight into Wesker by leading with his shoulder. To Chris’s satisfaction, the collision knocks his former enemy slightly off balance. When he tries to regain it, Chris then abruptly twists, and slams his fist into the side of Wesker’s head with a backhand. He follows through with the turn, ending up facing the bioterrorist, heaving breaths that fog up into clouds in the freezing winter air. For a moment, Chris just stands there, watching Wesker get his bearings and awaiting some kind of acknowledgment—whether that be insult or praise, either one. Regardless, he wipes his forehead and catches his breath. He can’t help the surge of satisfaction that rises up. He hit him.

     Mission accomplished. Maybe that will knock that smug look off his face for once.

     Doubled back from the blow, Wesker turns back to Chris and sizes him up with his now fiery, glowing eyes. Chris appears so satisfied with his little victory, like an old dog that’s proud of fetching its stick all the same as a young pup. It’s moments like these where Wesker can see Chris’s past self in him, so full of vigor and determination. Very well. He’ll let him have this one as well. 

     “Well done, Chris,” he says, adjusting his gloves. “You make your old captain proud. Now then, let’s get out of this cold.”

     As the sensation that rushes through him once more from Wesker's praise hits, Chris stumbles. He ends up having to suppress a full-body shudder at the feeling. What the fuck? Combined with the exhaustion of the workout and the spar, that added feeling nearly sends him to the ground. He just barely manages to catch himself, while a flood of endorphins hits him all at once. Combined with the thrill of a good fight and the satisfaction at accomplishing what he set out to do, the rush of positive feeling has him grinning like an idiot. Why does that make him feel so good? It's Wesker, of all people. What the hell is wrong with him? Chris finds himself asking the same questions that have been plaguing him since Thanksgiving–the same questions that had nearly overwhelmed him during his date with Galloway. He tries to focus on the cold, the snow beneath his feet, the freezing air on his face–an in an effort to cool down and get a hold of himself. 

      Wesker's phrasing brings back memories. The mansion incident, the confrontation with Wesker in that lab...Rebecca getting shot. Chris sighs. That moment back in that mansion had felt almost like a fever dream. Wesker's betrayal had been whiplash, shattering Chris's image of his captain with one pull of a trigger. And then facing the Tyrant, seeing Wesker get seemingly killed... he still has nightmares about it. So why does such a specific phrase make him feel so conflicted? Why does he feel both dread at the memories it brings up, and pride at his own abilities, at Wesker's words?

     Chris shivers. Right . They're still out in the cold. He can have his internal crisis when they're not at risk of freezing to death. Well, when Chris isn't at risk of freezing to death. Nodding to Wesker, Chris starts making his way back inside, slipping back into the garage.

     Wesker returns to the garage-gym with Chris in tow. His jaunt is casual, but he senses unease in his nemesis. He’s having another one of his moments, as always. Chris isn’t very good at hiding his emotions, not from Wesker, anyway. It’s a fact that he has genius-level intelligence, so it is no surprise to him that he can read Chris based upon body language or expression alone. Understanding people has always been rather simple for Wesker. In reading Chris, he finds he has an even easier time at the task. Simple, stupid Chris…

     This reaction the man had though… my, what a sight. Wesker is feigning ignorance, as his back is turned away from Chris at the moment, but…what a peculiar reaction…

     Once they’re both inside, Wesker shuts the garage door. Still turned away from Chris, he reaffixes his watch with one hand. “You will follow a strict training regimen and a diet with nutrients enough to fuel muscle growth.” He commands, turning back to Chris, sunglasses returned to his nose. He stares back at him, cool as a cucumber. “I will construct the regimen,” he says with an exhale. It seems he doesn’t trust Chris in doing that himself.

     Chris towels himself off, still sweating despite having been standing out in the snow for who-knows-how-long. Exhaustion colors his expression and leaves his posture slack. Now that the thrill has worn off, all the working out he just did has caught up with him. It’s been a long time—too long, since he really trained that hard. 

     Chris pauses as Wesker speaks, turning to look at the other man. A million thoughts, a hundred questions run through his mind, but the only one he finds himself able to voice aloud is a simple “Why?” He clears his throat before elaborating. “Why are you helping me train?” He asks, eyeing Wesker up and down like he’s trying to detect any sort of hint from his body language to answer his question. Like he expects there to be a catch, a scheme, some sort of manipulative plot. It’s a reasonable assumption, in Wesker’s case. But Chris can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else here, and it digs at him fiercely, demanding explanation. What does Wesker even get out of helping him? Maybe he just wants a better fight.

     Wesker sighs, so the question finally arises. “Yesterday, while I was in DSO’s custody, I heard…only talk of you.” He grits his teeth, rubbing a temple at the memory of the annoyance. “Brash and needless comments. Many of those useless fools are all too ready to gossip given the opportunity. Waste of my time.” He adjusts his glasses, “That is where I overheard talk of your reassignment. I don’t expect you would have done any good preparing for missions on your own, not in your state.” He says, brushing Chris’s glare off. He knows he’s right. “Not without the right push.” The ‘you’re welcome’ goes unspoken.

     Wesker proceeds, walking around Chris as he talks. “You’re expecting something more, though. A personal motivation. As allies, it’s the least I can do…” Wesker hums a menacing laugh. 

     His walk comes to a stop just behind Chris as he leans slightly over his shoulder. “You’ve heard the saying ‘keep your friends close, but your enemies closer’. How close does that make us, Chris?”

     Chris works hard to suppress another shudder as he turns to face Wesker fully. He looks aside, caught in the fact that he knows Wesker’s right. On all fronts, that is. But he sure as hell isn’t about to say that, let alone to the man’s face. 

      Irritatingly, Wesker has a point with the saying, too. Chris huffs and forces himself to meet the blonde’s eyes. “Fine. I guess you’ve got a point, there,” he admits. He doesn’t specify which part of Wesker’s answer he’s talking about, though. He doesn’t dare. 

     Unfortunately for Chris, Wesker did used to be his captain. If anyone can really give him the push he needs to train back to his former strength and know exactly what he needs to get there, it’s Wesker. The idea of training under him again after so long is jarring, but…it might be exactly what he needs. Wesker is a good teacher, after all. Probably because he’s a genius. It doesn’t make him any less of a manipulative bastard, though. 

      Sighing, Chris slings the towel over his shoulder. “I guess that works, then. Reminds me of old times, almost,” he points out. Chris walks to the door that leads back into the house, head still heavy with exhaustion and his turbulent thoughts, and gestures with his eyes in invitation for Wesker to follow. If this is his new status quo, he’ll just have to adapt.

     Wesker spares one last glance toward the garage before making up the distance between them. Chris lets him pass and shuts the door behind him. 

Chapter Text

     Days of training alongside Wesker turn to weeks, and before Chris knows it, he’s found the rhythm of his days warping around this one activity. He wakes up, he wants to train, he reports to the DSO, he wants to train. Time to sleep? No, it’s time to train! Wesker began the arrangement, but once Chris remembered his affinity for this, he soon began spending most of his time in that cold garage, much to Wesker’s mutual satisfaction and chagrin. Hypocritical, yes, but Wesker has often had to pry Chris from one of the machines lest he collapse on his way out. Sorry bastard never quite learned when to quit. 

     Their spars have gotten closer. Chris soon graduated to hand-to-hand, no Wesker keeping his hands to his side anymore. However, practice against Wesker still hasn’t progressed to superhuman speeds, as much as Chris has desired to fight Wesker at full power. As his confidence builds, so does his aggravation with Wesker’s restraint, weirdly enough. He just wants the opportunity to prove himself. 

     For the moment, they’re preparing for another duel. Chris wants to step their practice up a notch, but Wesker still hasn’t deemed him ready, so Chris ponders another challenge instead.

     Chris sits on the bench with his hands resting on his knees as he thinks. His shirt—a new one he’d bought after Ethan had finally told him to stop stealing his clothes—is already darkened from the sweat of the first phase of his new workout regimen. Wesker’s been pushing him hard, but it’s paying off. 

     Thus, he thinks. If Wesker won’t allow a spar at full power yet—something that would have probably terrified Chris a month ago, before their truce, but only fills him with an eager fire now—he needs to find a way to up the stakes that Wesker would allow. Chris glances around the gym as he considers this conundrum, trying to get inspiration, before his eyes land on a square shape in the corner.

     Chris stands abruptly, walking over to the box that caught his eye and opening it. It’s the one containing his combat gear—which he’s been keeping in the garage for the time being until he eventually needs it sooner or later. It could be any day now, really. But that’s not what Chris is here to think about. Instead, an idea strikes him, and he grabs his combat knife, the karambit’s curved blade still feeling comfortable in his hand despite a lack of recent use. A quick rummage through the box turns up another sheathed knife—a simple standard-issue combat knife he’s had for years. 

     Under normal circumstances, Chris would never trust Wesker with a weapon. He’s already lethally dangerous unarmed, giving him a weapon could just be asking for trouble. Chris still finds his nerves going wild at the thought. But in the almost two months that Wesker has been back, things have changed.

     In the time they’ve spent here—all the occasions where they’ve fought, either due to their usual rivalry’s heated disputes or in their sparring matches—Wesker could have killed him at any time. He could have turned any of those moments into a life-or-death battle, and he never has. Even that time in the bathroom, where Chris had briefly feared he might have been right about this whole ordeal from the start, Wesker had chosen to spare him.  The mastermind has spent the past few weeks helping Chris, for fuck’s sake, actually trying to properly train him back to the power and skill he’d held in his prime. 

     All that being considered, Chris ultimately decides to choose against all odds to trust Wesker with this. He grabs the second blade and stands again, turning towards his sparring partner. “I’ve got an idea,” he offers.

      Chris steps across the garage towards Wesker, holding both knives in one hand. They remain sheathed as he walks up.

     “I need to get practice in with my weapons eventually,” Chris begins. He holds out the normal combat knife towards his former enemy as nonchalantly as he would if he was passing the man a pen. “We could start with this. Up the level of the spar without going all the way, and get some practice in with my actual gear at the same time,” he suggests.

     Wesker takes the knife and eyes the blade against the fingertips of his gloves. He’s similarly interested in the prospects of the duel, as he feels it is more evenly matched. Similarly to Chris, Wesker has always preferred hand-to-hand combat over knife-to-knife, so he is less adept in this field as compared to many of his other talents. Although for Wesker, ‘less than adept’ is still very skilled; it is just less than perfection. He agrees nevertheless. “Fine. Shall I be on the defensive, then?”

     Chris shakes his head. He brandishes his knife, then meets Wesker’s eyes. “Hell no. Give me some offense, too. Won’t do me much good to only practice making attacks and not blocking them.” He shifts his footing. 

     While their spars have included Wesker going on the offensive before, there’s never been any weapons involved. There’s an added thrill at that concept—a dangerous weapon wielded by someone who is in and of himself dangerous. Plus, it’s a chance to prove that he can take it. If Chris from a month ago could see himself now, he’d probably think he’s lost it, but the truth is that sparring with Wesker has become one of the most interesting parts of his day.

     Offense, as well? That takes some trust. Whether it is trust in his own abilities or in Wesker is yet to be seen. “Understood,” he responds, turning then to Ethan, who stands nearby waiting for his laundry. “You. Oversee this competition.” He doesn’t particularly want to see it getting bloody, but if it does, then a third party that’s already involved is easier than one out of the loop. He looks back to Chris. “Winning conditions?” He inquires simply.

     Chris spins the knife in his hand. “Whoever can restrain the other. Sound fair?” He tilts his head to the side, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

     From the garage door, where he’s been watching for the past few minutes or so, Ethan shrugs. For someone who claims to hate Wesker so much, Chris certainly hasn’t been helping his case by spending so much time training with him. Between that and the incident a few nights ago…Ethan’s starting to wonder if he should just ask Chris if he wants to share that guest room. He just hopes that Chris’s decision to trust Wesker with a deadly weapon isn’t a mistake.

     “Very well,” Wesker agrees, but only as long as Chris wears a melee vest. He’s got one with his gear, he just doesn’t wear it very often. Chris agrees, but finds that he only has one, so Wesker decides to be the one unarmored. Unlike Chris, he can take a knife wound no sweat. They’ll do it here.

     After pushing most of Chris’s workout equipment up against the walls, the three of them take their places. Ethan remains in the garage doorway, leaning against the frame with arms folded. Chris and Wesker stand opposite each other across from the space, as Chris pulls the vest on. Once they’re both in position, a nod from Ethan is their signal, and they begin.

      As has been usually the case with their spars, Chris is the one to make the first move. He wonders briefly if Wesker just likes making Chris come to him, but pushes that thought out of his mind as he focuses back in on the fight. He darts forward, going for a wide slash that Wesker jumps back from. Wesker counters with a swing of his own, but Chris just manages to parry it in time. As their blades collide, Chris grins. 

     Ethan watches the two battling it out with a mix of interest and concern. He keeps a careful eye on the both of them, but especially on Wesker. While Ethan’s more or less grown used to his new housemate, it doesn’t mean he’s not still somewhat wary of him. 

     Watching Chris and Wesker spar really is something else. They trade hit after hit, Chris having to put in extra effort to keep up with Wesker. As Wesker goes for another swing, Chris ducks out of the way, but gets a small slash to the edge of his vest as Wesker turns. Chris slams his shoulder into Wesker, hoping to throw the man off-balance to get the opportunity for a solid hit, but Wesker plants his foot and pivots sharply to dodge the downward stab.

     Wesker’s knife is a gleam of silver as it lashes out at the agent, and Chris just barely has enough time to lean back as the blonde tries to go for a slash across his chest. The blade can’t have been more than an inch from him. A rush of adrenaline runs through Chris at the realization, and he smirks. He’s been improving in the time since Wesker started him on this training regimen. Sparring with a man who has literal super speed has certainly improved his reflexes, too.

     Chris steps back, pausing to take a breather, so Wesker takes that time to smooth his hair back out. Once their eyes meet, they start again. Wesker twirls the knife in his fingers while awaiting Chris’s move. Each time before, he’s gone first, but now Chris is waiting poised, ready for Wesker to come at him. Wesker shakes his head and readies his knife. Fine, then.

     Wesker darts ahead, grazing Chris's arm as the agent ducks out of the way. An improvement, surely, but he could do better. Chris retaliates by slamming the handle of his knife into Wesker's side. Chris reaches out, trying to get Wesker in a hold, but the blonde shifts and goes for another strike, this time catching Chris's vest. 

     Chris huffs in frustration and effort as he pivots on his feet and gauges his options. An idea hits him as his eyes watch Wesker's stance for an opening. Chris adjusts his grip on his blade and goes for a vertical slash aimed at Wesker's hand. Unfortunately, his attempt to disarm his former enemy falls flat as Wesker uses his own knife to block the attack. Undeterred, Chris goes for a hard thrust towards Wesker's shoulder–but in a blur of movement the blonde side-steps it. 

     Wesker goes for another slice towards Chris, and he brings up his arms to block it. He gets a nasty slash across part of his forearm for his troubles, but otherwise manages to minimize the damage. He hisses as the blade cuts into his skin, and out of his peripheral vision he can see Ethan wince. It stings, but he'll be fine.

     Wesker shakes his head at Chris’s suffering. “Sloppy, Chris,” he says, looking down upon him and his wound. “Is that really the best you’ve got? You’ve got a knife, now use it.” As Wesker growls this command, he raises his weapon and slashes diagonally. Chris parries it. Wesker goes again, slashing from different angles. Chris parries them all. 

     “Good,” Wesker murmurs between parted lips. They draw close now, knives scraping against each other. “Now, keep up.” Wesker pulls back and begins stabbing rapidly at Chris, though he avoids the lethal points. The soldier is forced to jump back to continue dodging, back, back again until his back is against the wall. Wesker approaches him so swiftly that he hardly has a chance to roll away unscathed. He feels the tug of Wesker’s grip latch onto the back of his vest, but he loses him as soon as he’s out of arm’s reach.

     Chris glares at Wesker like he’s trying to bore a hole in the man’s head. He knows he can pull this off, he just has to actually do it. Then maybe Wesker won’t give him any shit.

     He hears Wesker’s footsteps beside him before he actually sees the blonde, so he pivots to block an incoming strike. He manages to deflect Wesker’s attack just in the nick of time, turning and using his arm to knock the mastermind’s slash off course. He can feel eyes on him—Ethan’s on the back of his head, no doubt—but predominantly Wesker’s , searing into his senses like a brand. Chris feels the blood in his veins come to a boil. It’s now or never—he needs to make his move. 

     There—Chris spots his opening. Just as Wesker moves in close again for a slash, Chris watches his former Captain’s posture carefully. He finds his chance. He takes it.

     Everything seems to happen all at once. The moment the other man’s arms start to raise, Chris takes his opportunity and swings at a low angle, thrusting the point of his karambit into Wesker’s abdomen. The blade buries itself in the blonde’s body as Chris’s eyes meet Wesker’s with a ferocity and thrill that only ever comes out when they’re sparring. It’s not too dissimilar to the look on his face in their final showdown—albeit lit by the much cooler light bulbs of the garage rather than some fiery depths below.

     Then, abruptly, everything seems to move slow. Chris’s eyes trail down to the wound, to the blade still embedded in his former enemy’s torso. He can just barely see blood leak out around his blade—hardly visible against the dark clothes Wesker always wears. He almost doesn’t process it until a drop hits the floor. Somewhere behind them, Ethan inhales sharply.

     Chris’s grip goes white-knuckled against the karambit’s handle. He stabbed Wesker. Actually stabbed him. He’s never felt simultaneously so invigorated and so horrified all at once. This could be it. This could be what breaks their truce, what finally tips the scales. Chris has simultaneously proven his own skill, and potentially doomed them all. He should back off, probably. He doesn’t. Instead, he stares, torn between being exhilaratingly satisfied and dreading every second that passes. He doesn’t pull the knife out, just stands there holding it, as if entranced. Blood hits the garage floor with a slow but certain drip, drip, drip. Nevertheless, Chris remains motionless, grinning at his achievement. All the while a silent fear lurks just at the edges of his expression, almost drowned out by the thrill of the adrenaline rushing through his system right now.

     Eyes locked, Wesker places his hand upon the one Chris has curled around his knife and pulls it out of his abdomen. Chris only breaks their eye contact briefly to look down at where Wesker touched him, and then at his wound’s rapid regeneration. “Congratulations, Chris,” he says, spite dripping from his tone. “You’ve ruined a perfectly good shirt…” He exhales, what a shame.

     Without warning, Wesker lowers the hand he has holding his knife and grabs a fistful of Chris’s shirt. He lifts the big man off of the floor and over his head, then tilts his head as he looks up at him. Chris hates that he can read what he’s thinking: you’re proud of that one aren’t you, Chris? Yeah, he is, but he won’t have time to feel like that for long. 

     Wesker unceremoniously drops Chris and kicks him back across the garage where his head thunks awkwardly against his punching bag. Painful, but not as bad as conking his head against the concrete. Chris lifts his hand to rub his head, but hesitates at the sound of the other man’s knife clattering against the floor. He has no chance to react. Wesker is already upon him, twisting and restraining Chris against the ground in an arm hold. A knee upon the small of Chris’s back, Wesker looks aside at Ethan, the referee. Time to call it, says his glare.

     Chris inhales through his teeth with a hiss as he feels blood rush through his body. Where some of that blood goes he'd rather not think about, but he doesn't have time to ponder how much of it is rushing to his face before Ethan steps in. The father of the house holds up a hand and steps into the garage proper. "Alright, that's the match. Victory goes to Wesker," he announces, gesturing to the man in question. 

     Chris lets out a breath he didn't realize he was still holding as Wesker finally releases him. He huffs, propping himself up on his hands, as he tries to get his bearings. Memories flash before his eyes–Wesker holding him off the floor had certainly brought a lot back, most notably the confrontation at the mansion. He still remembers seeing the flash of movement of Jill slamming into Wesker and through the window out of the corner of his eye, but none of that happened here. He's still reeling from that image, let alone everything else that just happened. He stabbed Wesker. And then he'd found himself almost revisiting that moment in the bathroom- of being held down by Wesker, completely helpless. Chris tries to subtly adjust his pants. At least this pair is decently baggy. Fuck....again, really?

     Chris shakes his head and pushes himself to his feet. He can see Ethan side-eyeing him, somewhere between looking concerned and looking...smug? Chris shoots back a glare. Not a fucking word, Winters.

     There's still almost a phantom sensation of Wesker's weight against his back. Chris grimaces at the sensation, not sure whether he wants it to go away. At least he managed to land a solid hit, even if he lost. There's still a small puddle of blood on the ground, and Chris finds his eyes drawn to it almost unintentionally. He drew blood. From Wesker. He has the skill to do so, now. A small swell of pride returns, although it does little to overtake the other raging emotions he's grappling with right now.

     Once Wesker gets off of Chris, he looks down at his shirt, disgusted by the bloody mess. With another sigh, he begins to unbutton it. He’s halfway done by the time he turns his glare upon Chris again. “You’re improving, Chris. I must admit, I didn’t expect to be wounded so soon.” Chris is startled from his eye contact with the ground from the black cloth of Wesker’s button-up getting thrown upon his face. “You’ll purchase a replacement.” That was a command, but he said it like a fact. Wesker turns on his heels to leave.

     The smell of blood mixes with the sudden, overwhelming smell of Wesker's cologne as the shirt hits Chris. He yanks it off his face, the scent lingering in his nose despite the source now being in his hands. Strangely, the added scent of blood doesn't seem out of place for the mastermind. Chris shudders at that thought.

      As Wesker leaves, Chris stares dumbfoundedly at the shirt. It's one of the many shirts Wesker has commandeered from Chris during his time here, dark fabric now marred by a single hole and a surrounding stain of blood. Now he has to go get another one? Wesker has other shirts, he's basically claimed ownership of every dark piece of clothing Chris owns at this point, why does he need another? Chris groans and cups a hand around his mouth to yell through the garage doorway Wesker just disappeared through. "It's my shirt, anyways, why does it matter!?" He gets no response. Damn it. He'll just have to run to the store later. Right now, he needs to cool off and get his head straight. He disappears into the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

     Ethan glances at the blood still staining the floor, then at Chris as he walks off. Fucking roommates. With a sigh, he reaches out through the network–finding Wesker's still-slightly-fuzzy presence further out. You two couldn't be bothered to clean up? he projects, irritation leaking through with his words loud and clear.

     It takes a moment, but Ethan eventually hears a response in his mind: Leave it to Chris.

     The dreaded day of the Christmas party is on the horizon; it’s tomorrow, but some family and friends as close as family are set to arrive today. The house is festively decorated with lights, tinsel, stockings, and a tree decked with the works. They decorated it a couple weeks ago—Ethan, Rose, and Karl. That was until Rose requested for her uncle Chris to help too, to which he happily obliged. None of them expected her to be unsatisfied with Chris alone, though. She requested Wesker, as well—although she struggled with getting the name out on her first few tries. The others didn’t help, as they weren’t quite sure what to do with her request. Stubborn as her father, she remained adamant, so Chris made the trek upstairs to ask Wesker to join them. 

     It took some convincing, but Wesker inevitably obliged the child’s request and joined the others in the living room. Little Rose lit up when she saw them both return, the whole family assembled! The adults wouldn’t really call it that, but… she didn’t know any better. At least it made her happy. 

     Now, Ethan and Karl are busy bustling around the house cleaning up, Wesker is holed up in his room, and Chris is seated on the couch, head in his hands. He’s been busy mentally preparing himself for another fiasco like the last get-together, or worse…

     Chris tries to steady himself as he dreads what could happen in the next 24 hours. Sure, the early arrivals tonight are people who already experienced the mess that was Thanksgiving, and presumably will have some idea of what to expect with Wesker around. The others, though...that's another matter entirely. There's a lot more guests this time, some who don't really know Wesker, and there's no telling how that could change things. Thankfully, Wesker seems to have chosen to give Chris little grief today, so things have been smooth so far. He doubts that will last, though. 

     There's also the matter of Jake. Sherry had already texted to confirm they'd be attending, and Chris can't help but feel anxious about Wesker's son finally meeting the man in person. How is he going to react? Is Chris going to have to break up a fight? How will Wesker react? There's a billion ways this could go wrong, and he can't stop considering all of them. Ethan had told him earlier, when he'd caught Chris pacing around the living room thinking about these scenarios, to sit his ass down before he worried a hole in the floor. Now he's practically wearing one in the couch with how he shifts anxiously. 

     Chris is pulled from his thoughts by the sound of an approaching engine. Well, he's out of time to worry about all this, the guests have started to arrive. A knock on the door draws everyone's attention, and Ethan gives a pointed look towards him from where he stands across the room. Chris reads the silent request for what it is, standing to go open the door. He has a hunch he knows who's on the other side, anyways. He'd recognize the sound of his sister's motorcycle anywhere.

     Claire is there, helmet under an arm when her brother opens the door for her. She runs a hand through her hair, pushing back some wayward strands from her helmet head. She greets Chris as soon as she’s done. “Happy holidays. Now, open the garage or I’m gonna start caroling.” She points a thumb over toward her bike. 

     The Redfields hear the garage door opening before Chris has a chance to respond. A glance behind him shows Heisenberg walking back into the living room from the garage, and he’s giving them a thumbs up. Claire raises a hand and tosses a thanks his way, then pats Chris on the arm. “Wait up for me real quick, would you?”

     Chris nods, waving her off with a small smile. Claire being around is always a reassurance, at least. Chris closes the door and walks across to the kitchen, grabbing a mug and a box of hot chocolate mix. If Claire rode here on her motorcycle in the cold...it's a miracle his sister isn't freezing. The least he can do is make sure she doesn't actually die from frostbite or something. Chris sets the box down on the counter. He'd originally bought the hot chocolate mix for Rose, but everyone in the household has been using it, lately. Actually, now that he thinks about it, he should probably make two hot chocolates, just in case. If Rose sees it, she's definitely going to want some. Shaking his head, Chris starts preparing a second one, and even throws in some extra marshmallows for the little girl. 

     Claire enters from the garage door just as Chris finishes up, and he holds out the mug to her with a grin. "Here. Don't want you to freeze, last thing I need is a popsicle for a sister."

     “Oh, you’re a lifesaver,” she says, stripping her glove from her dominant hand before she takes it. “Wish you could’a been sent to a warmer place… feel how cold my hand is.” Without warning, she reaches out her ice cold hand and taps the back of it against Chris’s neck. He pulls back from the sudden chill and Claire laughs as she raises the mug to her lips.

     Chris rubs his own hand along the back of his neck in an effort to ward off the chill from Claire's hands–and his own still-looming sense of dread. "Hey! Is this how you thank me for making you a drink?" He shakes his head. Motioning for Claire to get settled wherever she likes, Chris walks across the living room to Rose, who sits on the floor with what looks to be a small toy reindeer. She looks up as Chris approaches, and as soon as she spots the hot chocolate, begins frantically making grabbing motions at it. Chris simply laughs and shakes his head, holding the drink out to her. "Careful," he warns, but Rose pays him no mind, diving straight into drinking the sugary beverage excitedly. Ethan rolls his eyes fondly where he stands nearby. 

     "You're going to give her a sugar high," Ethan half-admonishes. "Next time, you get to be the one to wait for her to fall asleep," he says with a point at Chris. Rose simply giggles and continues enjoying her treat. Despite this, Ethan makes no move to take the drink from her. It's Christmas, the kid can have some fun. Ethan squats beside her, gesturing to Chris with one hand. "Come on Rose, what do we say?"

    Rose smiles wide at Chris, holding the mug in both hands so she doesn't spill it. Smart girl, Chris thinks. "Thank you, Uncle Chris!" she exclaims gleefully, before turning her attention immediately back to downing the drink. Chris smiles and stands again, walking back over to the couch.

     Claire is sitting there when her brother takes a seat. “She’s so cute…” She says, looking off at Rose. She turns back to Chris after a sip of her cocoa. “So how’s the old ball and chain?” She asks, taking another gulp as she points a thumb up toward the ceiling. “You two kill each other yet?”

     Chris sighs and leans back on the couch. "Very funny," he says with a roll of his eyes at Claire's description of Wesker. "Surprisingly, no. I did stab him, though," he says off-hand before realizing how alarming that might sound. "It was a sparring match. I've been trying to get back into shape, and he's been helping me train. For some reason." Chris shakes his head. He's still not entirely sure what Wesker's motivations for helping him with such a thing are, but he can't deny the results or how much of a thrill it is to get to spar against him. He makes more and more progress every day. It really is kind of like being back in S.T.A.R.S. in that regard.

     Claire looks at her brother dubiously, but he doesn’t seem like he’s bullshitting her. “He’s helping you train…? Huh. I guess that means you two…really did make up.” It sounds weird to say aloud, but Chris’s testimony is backed up by the transformation of the garage into a home gym. That must be where they train.

     Chris pauses for a moment. Although it’s weird to acknowledge, he realizes that Claire is right. Aside from the constant undercurrent fear that Wesker might try something, Chris and his former enemy are more or less getting along these days. Well enough to train together, that's for sure. How the hell is Chris even meant to define their relationship? He's not exactly sure that he'd call them friends. No, that certainly isn't the case. Not with how Chris still feels wary around Wesker. It's something that's hard to put a label on, especially with Chris's increasingly complicated feelings towards the man. He pushes down that thought almost as soon as it emerges–that is not something he wants to unpack with his sister around right now. 

     Instead, Chris focuses back on the topic at hand. "I guess you could call it that. Part of me still expects him to try to go AWOL at some point. He hasn't shown any interest in trying to, though." Chris gestures towards the stairs with his thumb. "He's holed up in his room right now, but Rose even got him to help with the decorations," he recounts, still slightly bewildered at that particular turn of events.

     Claire laughs as though Chris is joking, but his expression says the opposite. “Ha—you’re serious?” Chris nods, and she looks over to Rose, surprised. “You go girl.” She turns back, taking another drink. “What’s…the plan for the party? He’s not gonna attend, is he?”

     Chris sighs, expression solemn as he leans forward. "Not initially. He really doesn't seem to want anything to do with it." Chris glances over his shoulder. Still no sign of the man in question. Probably still up in his room. "I made him swear to come downstairs when Jake gets here, though. Promised him and Sherry that I would let them meet. The kid deserves to meet his father. But I need to be able to keep an eye on that conversation, so I told him to at least come downstairs for that much." He's still not looking forward to it. If he's lucky, Jake will be able to keep his raging temper in check for once. If he's not...well, he'll figure it out.

     His sister nods in response, “Yeah. Sounds like a good idea. I’ll keep an eye out, too.” She smiles, brushing some hair behind her ear. “I can’t wait to see Sherry, though. We text, but don’t get together as much as we should—oh! That reminds me, I think she told me about a phone call you three had. That was a while back, though…” Claire thinks on it, then inevitably sighs. “She’s a tough girl, but I don’t want this to be any harder for her than it has to be. Or for Jake, for that matter. Just… make sure he isn’t planning anything like last time. I’ll go give him an earful if I have to.”

     Chris nods. "Yeah, Jake wasn't... thrilled about the news. He kept trying to snatch the phone away from Sherry. I practically watched them play keep away for fifteen minutes," he mentions. "But I appreciate you having my back. I don't think he's going to try anything, but I've been trying to keep tabs on things around the house until the party. Last thing we need is a repeat of his disappearing act from a few months ago." That had nearly given Chris a heart attack, frankly. He's still mad about it.

     The Redfield siblings hear the sound of a car door slam as they close out their conversation. Chris starts to head for the door, whereas Claire peeks out the window. Just in time, it’s their favorite pretty boy. 

     Chris opens the door for Leon, who has arrived with multiple gifts in each arm. The sight reminds Claire to go grab what she brought and put it under the tree, so she heads back into the garage. 

     “Looks like Chris-mas came early, ey Redfield?” Leon smiles at his buddy as he kicks the snow from his boots. “Hey, was that Claire? Am I not first this time?”

     Chris smirks and helps Leon put the gifts around the tree. "Nope. She just beat you here. Still waiting on Jill, though, so you got second this time." Chris stands and gives Leon a friendly shove in the arm. "It's good to see you, man." 

    In the meantime, Rose is distracted from her hot chocolate by the sight of the presents. She stares starry-eyed at them in the beginning, before turning to notice her favorite (and only) babysitter. She sets the mug down and waves with both hands frantically, bouncing where she sits. Ethan chuckles and picks Rose up, bringing her over to Leon. "Looks like somebody missed you," Ethan says with a laugh.

     Leon smiles wider, leaning his head lower so he can see Rose eye to eye. “I missed you too, kid. You excited for the sleepover?”

     The sound of footsteps accompanies Claire’s return. She’s got a red duffel bag filled with clothes, as well as the gifts she brought. She starts to unpack them once she makes it to the now overflowing tree skirt.

     Rose's eyes go wide with delight. "Sleepover?!" She hadn't realized some of the people coming over were staying the night. If she was excited before, she's practically alit with glee now. "Yay!!" She exclaims, then turns to her dad. "Are we really?" She asks hopefully, smile a mile wide.

     Ethan chuckles at his daughter's excitement and gives a nod. "Yep. Leon, Claire, and Jill are staying over! Isn't that fun, Rose?" Rose cheers in response, and Ethan grins. "She's been hyped up about this party all week," he explains, moving to sit Rose back down by her toys. 

     Chris ruffles the girl’s hair and turns to Leon. "So, no helicopter this time, hotshot?" He teases, raising an eyebrow. After the last few times, he half expected Leon to fly in again. Just to be dramatic, if nothing else.

     Leon shakes his head. “No helicopter,” he confirms. “Though, maybe I should have, just to make it here first again.”

     From halfway under the tree, Claire speaks up, mocking Leon. “You can drive, just don’t run yourself off the interstate.”

     “I’m not that bad of a driver, you guys…” Leon responds, frowning after he thumbs his bangs from his eyes.

     Chris laughs and strolls back over to the couch. "Really? Lets see, who drove a motorcycle up the stairs in an enclosed building ?" He folds his arms. "You're lucky you didn't crash. Or hit me, for that matter." Sitting down again, he rests an arm across the back of the couch. "Nice to see you made it out the door in more than one layer, this time," he points out, gesturing to Leon's jacket. "Managed to not let Luis convince you to remove a layer in the name of 'fashion', huh?"

     Leon sighs. “It was fashionable though…”

     Claire pulls herself out from under the tree and brushes any stray pine needles from her shoulders and hair. She looks over just in time to see Leon pouting. “Aw, Chris. Look what you’ve done. You hurt his feewings.” She pouts as well.

      “Both of you, stop, please.” Leon begs, head in his hand.

     Chris sighs and pats the couch for Leon to take a seat. "Alright, alright. Speaking of, how is Luis doing? Haven't heard from him in a while." To be entirely fair, Leon's partner also just doesn't get out much. Similarly to Wesker and the Winters family, he's been basically on house arrest for the last several years. It was a miracle he even made it out of Valdelobos, all things considered. From what Leon had told him, Luis had nearly died–or convinced Leon of it anyway, but Ada had him rescued and got him emergency medical treatment. He was eventually handed off to Leon again some time later, and he's been under the DSO's watch ever since. As a former Umbrella employee, they wanted to keep him in custody, but Leon was able to pull some strings, and now the two of them live together. It almost reminds Chris of his own situation with Wesker, actually. Almost.

     Leon nods as he sits. “He’s good. Ever the romantic, you know how it is.” He tosses that out as to not get so deep into his love life, but it strikes him that Chris… might not know how that is. He’s not exactly the most eligible bachelor, after all. “Or maybe you don’t,” Leon tries, “Uh, Claire, help me out here.”

     Claire looks over from where she’s seated by the tree and Rose, takes a drink from her cocoa, then nods, raising a finger. “Right. Chris, you see, when two people love each other very much…” She begins, intertwining her fingers, but Leon cuts her off. 

     “No, no! Nevermind…” Leon shakes his head at her teasing.

     Chris rolls his eyes. "Claire, I'm not that stupid," he shoots back. He may not be privy to the details of Leon's relationship, but he does know Luis has a reputation for being quite the flirt. So he's told, anyways.

     "You sure, Chris? I'd be willing to explain it to you, we just have to get Rose out of the room," Ethan chimes in, joining in on the teasing by shifting the target to Chris. Ethan exchanges a small smirk with Claire. He's in for it now.

     Leon gives Chris a pat on the shoulder for the teasing passing over. He’s apologetic, but how can he refrain from adding at least a little? “No, something tells me he wouldn’t be able to take it…”

     Chris shoves Leon again, harder this time, almost toppling the blonde over. "What do you think I am, five?" He shoots back. "Ganging up on me , now, huh?" Chris accuses with an eyebrow raised at the others. "And to think I was the one who invited you both." Chris shakes his head disappointedly. 

     "What goes around, comes around, Chris," Ethan remarks back. 

     "And on Christmas Eve, too," Chris declares mournfully.

     Ethan opens his mouth to probably add to the teasing, when there's another knock at the door. Ethan turns to get it this time and opens the door. On the other side is one Jill Valentine, who steps inside quickly. "Damn, it's like a freezer out there," she says through a shiver.

      Chris waves her over. "Jill, come save me from these guys. They're teaming up against me," he complains jokingly. His face then softens slightly at his long-time friend. "Welcome in," he greets.

     The others greet her as well. “Don’t mind him, Jill.” Claire meets eyes with her brother’s glare while waving him away. For the sake of his pride, he’s not going to budge. “We’ll just get tired running around in circles,” she says, half-laughing. Even if messing with Chris will be funny for a little while.

     “Oh, speaking of—I meant to ask, what are the sleeping arrangements for tonight?” Leon asks, looking between Chris and Ethan.

     Chris grimaces. Right. That. There's not a lot of options in terms of sleeping space in the house. There's really only two bedrooms: The Winters', and Wesker's. Chris usually takes the couch, but he's not about to make his sister and his friends sleep on the floor. So, he'll surrender his usual sleeping spot. It's one of those pull-out couches, the kind that turns into a bed, so two people could probably share it. "Claire, Jill, do you guys want the couch bed?" He offers. He's not about to make the girls share with him, that's for sure. 

     Jill shrugs. "Works for me," she confirms. 

     Chris nods, then turns to Leon. "The chair reclines back almost all the way, you could probably sleep on that, if you wanted."

     Leon agrees, looking over at the recliner, but he turns his gaze back upon Chris, confused. “What about you, Chris? You’re not gonna sleep on the floor, right?”

     Chris frowns. Shit . He'd been so caught up in figuring out everyone else's arrangement, he'd forgotten about himself. Since he gave up the couch, he needs to find somewhere else to sleep. He'd wake up sore if he slept on the floor. In terms of his options, he doesn't have a lot. Given the limited spaces in the house, a shiver of dread runs through him as he realizes the only real space that could fit him is…

     "You could share the guest bedroom with Wesker," Ethan points out, as though he'd read Chris's mind. His expression is flat, and his tone is very matter-of-fact, but there's almost a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. Ever since the hangover incident, Ethan has been giving Chris that weird look a lot when Wesker is the subject matter. Like he sees something between them that Chris doesn't. He won't explain it, either. Chris has tried. 

     "Are you serious?" Chris answers, turning to Ethan, baffled. "Hell no." Sharing a living space with Wesker is one thing, but sleeping in the same bed as him? It had already been awkward enough waking up in his bed the one time. With Chris's complicated feelings on Wesker...he couldn't handle it. Besides, God only knows if Wesker would agree to it.

     "I mean it. You'll just be a grumpy asshole tomorrow if you sleep on the floor, so either you share with Wesker, or we rearrange the whole sleeping plan," Ethan counters. Chris grits his teeth. He hates that Ethan's right. God, is he really about to agree to this? Sharing a bed with his former worst enemy? It's almost unthinkable. But what other option does he have? "And you think he'll actually agree to that?" Chris tries to argue, tries to find an out. He knows it's probably pointless.

     The guests in the house look amongst themselves, as though all asking one another ‘is that safe?’ Chris sharing a room with Wesker is dangerous enough, but a bed? This house may very well become a pile of rubble by tomorrow morning. 

     Leon swoops in to offer himself the sore back. “Hey, it’s fine, Chris. You take the recliner. I can just sleep on the floor.”

     Chris shakes his head. He's not about to make his friend deal with that. "No, you're a guest. I'm not going to let you sleep on the floor," he argues. If there really is no other option for him...Chris looks towards the stairs with furrowed brows. There's really no choice. Chris stands from the couch, reluctantly accepting his fate, and heads for the stairs. He should go ask, just to make sure. Here's just hoping that it's not too awkward of a conversation. 

     While the others mutter uncertainty behind him, Chris steels his resolve and makes his way up the stairs and across the hall towards the guest bedroom. When he arrives, he hesitates, fist hovering aside the door. He knocks. "It's me," he announces. "Need to ask you about something. It's, uh…time-sensitive."

     Chris waits at the door for a few moments until he hears a response: “It’s unlocked.”

     Taking that as an invitation, Chris steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. Wesker is reclining against the bed’s backboard, a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. “What is it?” He asks, his shades on the bedside table beside him.

     Chris shifts his weight awkwardly as he stands by the door, a pit in his stomach as he tries to bring himself to ask the question. He doesn't even want to do this, let alone try and get Wesker to agree to it. But what choice does he really have? Might as well just bite the bullet and get it over with. "Leon, Claire, and Jill are spending the night, which means they're sleeping in the living room,” Chris says, a hollow breath finding the space between his words. “Which means I need to sleep somewhere," he prefaces his question. Not that there's much point, Wesker was already aware that those three would be staying over. Chris takes a deep breath. Here goes . "Which leaves here. Do you mind if we split the bed for tonight?" He says, reluctance probably audible in his tone, but he can't help it.

     Wesker stares up at him, pen hovering over the page. “You wish to sleep here?” Somehow, his expression drops further. “Again?”

     Chris sighs, folding his arms. "I don't have a lot of other options. It's that, or the floor," he points out. He's not exactly thrilled about the idea either, but he's at a loss. He should get an air mattress next time he runs to the store–that way they don't have this problem again. He's fine with sleeping on the floor if he has to. He's a soldier, he'll be fine. Although he dreads the backache that would inevitably ensue…

     Wesker exhales a sigh as Chris is already contemplating how he’s going to deal with sleeping on the floor. Despite his thoughts, he’s startled from them by Wesker’s response. “Fine,” he says simply, returning his attention to his notes. “Just keep your hands to yourself this time.”

     Chris sputters for a moment as the confusion hits. 'Hands to himself'? Just what the hell happened that one time? Despite his best efforts he still hasn't been able to remember very much of that night, and each time he hears something new about it he becomes increasingly concerned that his initial assumptions may have been true. Then again, Wesker could just be fucking with him. Either option is entirely possible. Chris looks aside for a moment before giving a small, awkward nod and excusing himself from the room. He returns back downstairs to the living room, giving another small nod of confirmation to the others as he reaches the bottom of the stairs.

     The others watch the frazzled soldier descend the stairs and are stunned by his affirmation of the impossible task he just fulfilled. Claire watches her brother sit on the couch with disbelief. “He agreed?” She exclaims in confusion. She doesn’t care if the whole house can hear her.

      Chris lets out a sigh. "Somehow," he admits. "So I guess that's that settled," he sinks further into his seat. The whole situation is already awkward enough, but now he actually has sharing a bed with Wesker to look forward to later. 'Look forward to' isn't quite the right word. Dread is more like it. 

     Even Ethan seems mildly surprised, although not nearly as much as the others. "Huh. Half expected him to say no, but...well, at least you won't have to sleep on the floor," he says instead of elaborating. 

     Jill takes a seat beside Claire. "Just be careful. I still don't trust that asshole isn't going to try to kill you the first chance he gets," she points out. "Or worse." Jill idly itches at a spot on her chest, seemingly almost without realizing. Chris can guess what memories are going through her head right now, and he grimaces. She has a point, but so far, Wesker hasn't tried anything. He'd slept in his bed once before, after all...so maybe this won't be as much of an issue as he thinks.

     Claire dances a reindeer toy on the ground in front of Rose, who does the same with her own reindeer. “As long as we don’t have to deal with him…you guys wanna watch some Christmas movies?” A classic Redfield tradition. The group agrees, and they transition into deciding their favorite holiday flick. That’s a harder choice than expected, but it only takes a little debate before they agree on a movie. Claire, Leon, and Chris settle in on the sofa, only to have Rose run up to Chris’s knee and ask him to let her sit there too. Unable to say no to the girl, Chris lifts her up and sits her on his leg, where she seems satisfied. Jill takes the recliner and Rose’s dads take the window seat, treating it like a loveseat. 

     The movie plays and a mix of nostalgia and joy fills their hearts. Nostalgia for the old days, for when everything was easy. Ethan is lucky to have settled back into an easy domestic life; the others likely envy him for it. Chris might live here too, but his life is still far from easy, Wesker makes sure of that. Though, they haven’t fought quite as viciously as they used to in quite some time. Maybe it’s the workout regimen, who knows? Chris knows a lot about that guy, but sometimes he still eludes him. Keeps things interesting, at least. 

     The movie wraps and they watch another, the runner up for ‘best Christmas movie’ based on their debate. This one goes by pretty fast, as well. Chris’s dread only grows. It’s late… little Rose is already lying asleep against him. It’ll be time to turn in soon.

     Ethan eventually walks over and plucks Rose gently from Chris's lap, and he and Heisenberg give a cursory wave to the others before heading upstairs with their daughter in tow. Looks like they're calling it a night, then. The pit in Chris's stomach only sinks deeper. With every passing moment he gets closer to the awkwardness of his impending sleeping situation, and he desperately tries to think of a way to stall–but he finds none. 

     Chris spares a few glances around at the others. Beside him, Claire yawns and stretches her arms over her head. On the other side, Jill and Leon are engrossed in a debate about whether or not "Die Hard" is a Christmas movie, but he can tell their conversation is beginning to wind down. It's clear from the atmosphere in the room that almost everyone is ready to turn in for the evening, and Chris nearly feels sick. 

     "It's getting late," Claire points out, looking towards the darkness outside the windows. "Chris, help me get this bed folded out," she requests, standing up with Jill following suit. Chris is much slower to get to his feet, almost trying to prolong how long it takes him to get upright. Every second he can put off what's coming is a relief, but every one of those seconds that ticks by only fills him with more dread. Reluctantly, and probably slower than is really necessary, he helps Claire and Jill toss the cushions aside and pull out the bed from the couch. He offers to go get blankets for the both of them, just to buy some extra time, while the girls (and Leon) get changed. He dawdles in the rooms he retrieves blankets from, briefly just standing in a closet for a minute or two to try and take whatever precious moments he can, before finally he returns with the blankets and offers them to the others.

     Once everyone's settled, Chris looks towards the stairs. There's no avoiding it now. Might as well just deal with it. He's a soldier , for God's sake, he can take having to share a bed with another man. Even if that man is Wesker...

     Dragging his feet, Chris makes his way up to the guest bedroom.

     Wesker looks as though he hasn’t moved a muscle since Chris departed. He spares him a glance, but Chris doesn’t return it. He’s too busy avoiding that eye contact in his bee-line to the side of the bed Wesker is not already on. Staring down at the spot he’s about to take, he can’t help but notice the outstretched legs of the other man just on the edge of his vision. I’m really about to sleep with Wesker… no, no— get in bed with Wesker. No, sleep in Wesker’s bed? None of these sound particularly wholesome. Why am I even thinking like this…?

     Chris exhales a grim sigh, like he’s about to throw himself to the wolves. Well, here goes. Chris pulls the comforter and bed sheet aside and climbs into the bed. Dear god… he’s never realized just how small this bed is. They’re so close. 

      Doesn’t matter, Chris tells himself. He’s tough. He just needs to go to sleep and get this behind him. The big man pulls the sheet over his shoulder and turns his back toward Wesker. He could worry himself up all night thinking about this, but somehow a spell of drowsiness hits him quicker than it usually does, and he’s out like a light before he has the chance to think about anything more. 

.    .    .

     When Chris stirs awake from a dreamless sleep the next morning, he finds himself...strangely comfortable. A quick moment to take stock of himself reminds him– Right. He slept in Wesker's bed last night. Thankfully, Chris is unharmed. Despite the awkwardness of sharing a sleeping space with his former enemy, Chris finds himself surprisingly well-rested. Probably the benefits of sleeping in an actual bed for a change. 

     Just as he's about to get up, he finally notices one particular detail of his surroundings that he'd somehow missed. He must have turned over in his sleep, because now he's facing the other side of the bed, where Wesker still lays, seemingly fast asleep. Chris is struck by the sight. Most of the time, Wesker seems to suffer from a severe case of Resting Bitch Face, his expression cold and serious at all times. The only variation in this expression is when it shifts into anger, or on rare occasions, the strange smirks and other micro-expressions he only ever seems to direct towards Chris. Like this though, Wesker's face is neutral, relaxed in a way the man never really seems to be. Combined with his hair–messy and ruffled in a way it never is, that perfect persona he maintains at all times is gone in this moment. If it wasn't for everything Chris knows about him, he almost looks...human. Normal. More like his captain than he has in years. It makes Chris wonder if he ever would have had a chance to see something like this, all those years ago. If things had gone differently, maybe. Then again, Wesker's true nature probably would have shown itself sooner or later regardless.

     In the moment, Chris gets a chance to really look at Wesker. He follows the planes of his face with his eyes, noting his jawline, the shape of his cheekbones, all of it. In the time since his regeneration, he's come to look more or less like he did all those years ago in Africa. He'd been almost corpse-like at first, but now, Chris sees a man that simultaneously is the spitting image of his captain and his greatest nemesis. Even relaxed like this, there's a subtle danger to Wesker, a sense of power in the subtle, lean muscle of his body. It's almost strange, the juxtaposition of the air he exudes with the image of him sleeping peacefully like this.

     Chris isn’t exactly sure what time he went to sleep last night. He isn’t sure what time Wesker went to sleep either. If he was up longer than Chris, then maybe he’ll be out longer still, which means he can stay here longer. Take in this strangely peaceful view of which he won’t admit he’s enraptured. But…no, what is he thinking? He doesn’t want to be here when Wesker wakes up. Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. He should just get downstairs and join the others. Sounds like there’s some action down there so somebody’s probably awake. Yeah. That’s good. That’s his out. 

     Chris shifts his weight to the side of the bed, but hears the movement of sheets behind him. He turns back around to catch the flutter of the other man’s light eyelashes, the squint of his eyes dazed by the morning light. These small movements captivate Chris, and just like that, his escape is halted. 

     Wesker reaches a hand from under the covers to rub the sleep from his eyes, ending the maneuver by brushing his hand through his bedhead. His voice is just as fried in the morning, just as menacing. “Leaving so soon?” He inquires, leaning up from the bed.

     Chris looks aside, awkwardly, trying to hide how long he had been staring. Shit. He tries his damndest, but it’s like his eyes are drawn to Wesker—almost as though the man is a magnet. Chris needs to get out of here, and fast. This is already awkward enough as it is. 

     “Yeah, uh, I hear some of the others downstairs. Gotta go help Ethan out with hosting this whole thing,” he deflects, glancing towards the door. He stands, nearly stumbling in his hurry, and adamantly tries to avoid paying more attention to Wesker than he has to. If he keeps getting distracted by the strangely fascinating details of Wesker fresh out of sleep, then he’s never going to live it down. There’s no way he wouldn’t notice.

     Chris is sure Wesker’s smirking when he exits the room. He takes a few moments to collect himself in the hallway, but of course Wesker steps out the doorway just as soon as he’s started pulling himself together. Wesker pays him no mind; he simply walks off toward the restroom to freshen up. “Put on a pot of coffee,” he orders Chris nonchalantly. He doesn’t give him the chance to argue, shutting the bathroom door as soon as he gives the command.

     Chris huffs in annoyance. He was already planning to make coffee anyways, but being ordered to do it just annoys him right now. He tries to ignore the small, almost eager sensation that rises up briefly— where the hell did that come from? —and huffs, turning and making his way down into the living room. Maybe if he’s lucky, today won’t be too difficult. Maybe. He hopes so.

     The living room is already bustling with the activity of a lively Christmas morning as Chris descends the stairs. His housemates and the guests alike are mingling happily amongst themselves, chatting and laughing. 

     Seated at the tree is Rose and her dads, the little girl happily tearing into a brightly-wrapped gift with energized glee. On her head sits a too-large Santa hat—wait, scratch that, now that Chris has a better look he can see that Rose is wearing a Santa hat on top of another hat on her head. A quick glance at Karl confirms his usual accessory is absent—and now rests upon his daughter’s head instead. How the Santa hat ended up on top of it is a mystery, though. 

     Meanwhile, Leon, Claire, and Jill are seated around the living room, talking amongst themselves and catching up. Leon occasionally breaks the conversation to acknowledge Rose, which only adds to the toddler’s joy. Claire gives Chris a small wave as she spots her brother at the bottom of the stairs, while Jill looks at him with an expression of relief. Did she think Wesker would do something to him? In hindsight, that’s pretty justified for her to worry about, all things considered. Chris still isn’t entirely sure what happened last time…

     Putting that out of his mind, Chris walks to the kitchen and starts a pot of coffee. He watches the room while he waits on it, enjoying the holiday cheer and letting it chase away some of his lingering awkwardness. It’s nice to see the household this lively. Maybe that’s just the holiday’s doing, though. Or maybe Chris has just been starved for the company of others that much. Who’s to say?

    The amiable atmosphere can’t last forever, though. Everything’s fine; it’s casual and happy until Wesker descends the staircase. The friendly atmosphere quickly dissipates, withered away by the uncomfortable tension the few of them have with Wesker occupying the same room. It’s thick and suffocating, the tension and the menacing aura Wesker offers in return for their weariness. The man himself doesn’t seem to care very much though. 

     Sharply dressed with his hair combed back and his sunglasses on, Wesker only halts once the attention shifts to him. Seems the only one minding her business is the child, too preoccupied with tearing some flimsy wrapping paper. This lot could learn a thing or two from her. Wesker makes a brisk walk through the living room to reach the coffee machine and Chris, who he exchanges a disgruntled look with silently. 

     The coffee still isn’t done brewing, so he folds his arms and waits leaned against the counter. Chris and the others can’t help but watch him, like he’s a wild animal that just wandered into their house. Wesker sneers at Chris’s surprised expression and gestures him back toward the others with the flick of his head. It shouldn’t be that startling that he’s here now. He needs to eat the same as the rest of them. Never the matter. He’ll be gone as soon as this pot is done brewing.

     Chris gives a small, slightly awkward nod to Wesker before returning back over to the group. It's not unusual for Wesker to basically sap the cheer out of a room just by walking in. He should probably go try to bring the mood back up. Chris makes his way over to the other DSO operatives. Time to try and change the subject. 

     "So, what's this I heard about you and Ashley getting stuck in Poland for a week?" Chris pitches to Leon, voice cutting through the tense, silent air like a hot knife through butter, hoping that Leon takes the opportunity being presented to help diffuse the situation. Maybe if he can just get everyone talking again.

     Leon meets Chris’s hopeful gaze and catches onto what he’s attempting here. “Y…Yeah, you know that girl is just full of surprises.” Leon goes on, telling a story ripe with adventure—one that almost sounds counterfeit. Then again, it is Leon. Extreme scenarios seem to just happen to him, similar to the rest of them. Even so, Claire calls bullshit—jumping from a plane with only one parachute between the two of them? Yeah, no. What are they in, an action movie? Leon insists it happened, nonetheless. 

     Chris listens to the chatter idly, his tension waning as he sees the others relax as well. He’s lucky they’re in good spirits, although they were as well the last they saw Wesker. Both times, the atmosphere shattered. He just needs to piece it back together…

     Chris listens intently to the story, occasionally chiming in to prompt further conversation or to join his sister in good-naturedly ragging on their friend, but the entire time he does so, he can feel eyes boring into the back of his skull. A chill goes down his spine–one which he tries to hide. A quick glance over his shoulder is all it takes to confirm his suspicions. Sure enough, Wesker is staring at him. It's a sensation he's familiar with, sure, but not one he's ever sure he'll fully get used to. 

     Chris meets his gaze uncertainly for a moment, then turns back to the conversation without a word to the blonde in question. There's still a sense of awkwardness from what happened earlier this morning, and Wesker staring at him like this doesn't help. He's sure that Wesker is probably very amused watching Chris squirm like this. He tries to focus in on the conversation at hand again, instead, in the hopes that maybe the socialization will help dispel the lingering awkwardness he feels.

     Before Leon is done telling his story, the coffee finishes brewing. Finally. The moment the machine stops croaking, it feels as though a huge wave of relief comes across the whole room. Leon keeps talking though, bragging about his rookie and all the progress she’s made. 

     While the others are focused on Leon, Wesker steps up behind Chris, coffee in hand. “The garage. Tonight.” Simple enough; looks like Chris isn’t getting out of training even on Christmas. Just his luck. After a sip of his drink, Wesker adds, “And don’t get any funny ideas with the alcohol.” He spares a pointed glare through his shades’ temples toward Ethan, who he told previously to assist in Chris’s sobriety. “I’ll allow something special for training tonight, on account of the occasion. So decide what you want it to be.” Nonchalantly, he turns heel to depart, careless of Chris’s immediate reaction. “Call me down when my son arrives,” he says. “Farewell.”

     At first, Chris is briefly stunned. "Huh?" Chris opens his mouth, confused, hoping to say something more or get further clarification, but before he can do so, Wesker is already disappearing back upstairs. Wesker wants him to decide on something special for training tonight? What exactly does "special" entail? What would he even choose?

     Chris shakes his head. Ugh . He can worry about it later. Right now, he has much bigger things to worry about. Wesker's parting words are a reminder that they have guests coming soon, and among them is Jake. That is a whole can of worms he has yet to open. He still isn't entirely sure how he's going to manage that interaction, but he'll figure it out. For now, he can focus on the party. Speaking of the party, little Rose has walked her way over to Leon and is currently tugging on his pant leg, holding up a doll for him to see.

     Leon shakes the doll’s hand at Rose’s prompting, and he tells her to go look for the gift he brought for her. Ethan sticks a hand under the tree to search around for her, and they soon find the wrapped box he brought. 

     A rapping knock at the door meets their ears before the girl manages to get all the paper torn, and in comes Rebecca, cherry cheeked and bundled up to the neck. She’s here early to make up for last time, and seems a little frazzled from the rush, but she is otherwise fine. She exchanges a hug with Jill and Chris, then offers gifts to the both of them, which they decide to save for later—for when everyone’s here unwrapping presents.

     Chris and Jill sit with Rebecca and catch up, all while Rose drags Claire and Leon off to play with her and her dads. It's nice to have most of S.T.A.R.S. back in one place, all things considered. They so rarely get to hang out, what with all of them busy with the constant threat of bioterrorism, but it's nice to get to spend what little free time he has with people he's known for so long. 

     While he's distracted, though, another knock at the door comes, and when Ethan calls out that it's unlocked, the door is quickly shouldered open so forcefully Chris briefly worries for the hinges' safety. Standing in the doorway is Jake with Sherry just behind him. He scans the room quickly before his eyes lock onto Chris, and he beelines across the room while Sherry protests behind him. As soon as Jake reaches the agent, he rests a hand on the arm of the couch and speaks in a dead-serious tone, "Where is he?"

     Chris sighs and nudges Jake's arm out of the way to stand. "I'll go get him. Don't go starting a fight, either," he appeases, turning towards the stairs. He sees Sherry rest a reassuring hand on Jake's arm out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't expecting them to show up so soon, but there's nothing he can do about that now. Time for a really awkward family reunion. With little further fanfare, he turns and heads back up to the guest bedroom.

     Chris escorts Wesker back to the living room, returning him to the party sooner than any of them would have liked. Jake is there at the bottom of the stairs, perpetually searching around the dim light of the upstairs balcony until both men reach his vision.

     The moment Jake spots Wesker, he goes completely rigid, eyes wide. He’s seen photos, sure, but he didn’t expect this. Despite how long he’s been dead, Wesker doesn’t look any older than maybe 50, tops. On top of that, there’s no sign of any permanent scarring, or any evidence of his fiery demise. He’s the spitting image of the pictures Jake’s seen. 

    Wesker is imposing, downright menacing , even in this casual attire. Every part of him screams danger . It’s easy to remember that this is the man who once tried to end the world…but he’s also Jake’s father . He feels a sense of awe, at finally getting to meet him. And it’s a relief to finally get to see him in person, strange though it may be. He’s not entirely sure what to say, and when Chris leads Wesker over to a corner and motions Jake over, he silently approaches, dumbfounded. So this is him…the man he spent so long hating, only to find out he never knew of his existence…

     Jake feels Sherry slip her hand into his and squeeze it. It’s a sign that she’s here for him; they’re in this together and she won’t be going anywhere. Not if she can help it. Time for them to approach. 

     Even if Wesker didn’t know everyone else in the room, it would be easy to tell which of them is his flesh and blood. The resemblance is striking. “So you must be Jake,” Wesker speaks, his tone menacing by default. Despite this, he extends a hand for a handshake. “It’s a pleasure.”

     Jake accepts the glove-to-glove handshake, taking a long moment to look Wesker over. Jake gets why Chris had found him familiar when they first met; he can tell where he gets a lot of his physical traits from. There's no denying it–this man is his father. "Yeah, it's…good to finally meet you," he answers only somewhat awkwardly. He'd spent the past month trying to think of what to say, practicing how this would go, but all of those carefully-planned words escape him. "I'm guessing Chris told you about me, then?" He assumes. A nod from Chris off to the side confirms it. 

     Jake gives Sherry's hand a small squeeze as he sticks his other hand in his pocket, trying to seem casual. "So, you really didn't know? Did...Mom just never tell you?" He asks. Might as well get the questions out of the way while he has a chance. Chris already told him that Wesker didn't know he existed until just recently, but Jake wants to hear it directly from the man. He wants to know if he really was wrong to resent his father for walking out on him.

     “Straight to it, then?” Wesker replies, almost amused as he takes a sip of his still-unfinished coffee. Blunt and to the point, just like his father. “No, I was unaware until that one had the foresight to realize we may meet. Had you not been invited to this get-together, we very well may have never reunited.” Wesker and Chris shoot looks at one another, though none of them can see his glare behind his shades. Chris can guess. He might be exaggerating slightly, but Chris really did wait far too long to tell him. “Your mother and I did not…keep in touch with one another after our splitting,” he explains. “That brief period was the extent of the contact I had with your mother.”

     Jake shifts his weight slightly. After so many years spent with pent-up anger he would never be able to let out on his father, he feels almost guilty at the confirmation that at least some of it was unjustified. Some of it. "Sounds about right," he admits. It's not surprising to learn that his parents weren't exactly very close for very long. After all, his mom had never been entirely honest with him about his parentage, anyhow. He knew his mother still loved Wesker, and admired him, but she always talked about him distantly, as if knowing she'd never see him again. And details she'd given about his father had been vague. Looks like he wasn't the only one kept in the dark. "You have Chris to thank for me knowing about you too, actually," he says with a jerk of his head towards the soldier in question. A smirk draws across his face as he adds, "Almost ended up shooting him over it." Technically he almost shot Chris for killing Wesker, but who cares about the semantics right now. Chris probably already told Wesker about that, anyways.

     “Yes, haven’t we all?” Wesker replies flippantly. He’d shoot Chris right now if he had the means. Payback for that stab.

     Jake gives a small, sarcastic half-smile. "Given your reputation, I'm not surprised," he remarks. He's heard from quite a few different sources about Wesker's various exploits by this point. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been curious about why his father was so feared among all of the world's most skilled anti-bioweapon agents. Thankfully, Sherry and the others had been willing to fill him in. It's still slightly surreal to imagine, his own father being almost responsible for the end of the world. Jake frankly still isn't sure whether to be impressed or ashamed. 

     Jake gives a skeptical look towards Chris at Wesker's words, though. Despite it all, Chris... hadn't tried to kill Wesker again? Why? Given what he's heard, he half expected that Chris would have put a bullet in his father again the moment he got the chance, so...why didn't he? In a way, it's probably for the best that Chris didn't kill him again, given that they'd never be having this conversation otherwise. But it's still strange. Chris grimaces and only returns the look with one of his own that reads a silent ' Don't ask. ' So Jake doesn't. For now, at least.

     "I've heard a lot about you," Jake finally says. "Mostly from Sherry." He gives his girlfriend's hand another small squeeze. He's thankful for her presence beside him right now. He's not sure he'd be able to keep his temper down otherwise. He still feels a lingering irritation towards this man, mostly born of the things he's heard he's done, and everything in Jake's life that's been a result of his unusual parentage. "I guess I have you to thank for me not getting infected with the C-Virus like my comrades."

     Wesker hums thoughtfully at Jake’s final addition. “The C-Virus… I’ve heard of that name. How I’d love to peruse its file.” He tosses a look Chris’s way again. There are many files he’d be interested in reading first, however. Namely, those on his housemates and the additional virus he now possesses. Only time will tell whether he’ll convince Chris to hand the information over. Something tells him that he’ll remain in the dark for a while longer. 

     With Sherry’s mention, Wesker nods politely at the woman, having meant to address her earlier. “Sherry. You might not be aware, but we met long ago. I remember when you were half the height you are now.”

     Sherry shifts her weight on her feet, tension heavy in her shoulders. “You were close with my dad, weren’t you?”

     “That’s right,” he replies, nodding his head. “Your father adored you. It’s a shame he isn’t with us now.”

     Sherry looks down, conflicted, yet saddened by the reminder. All her memories of her dad are so complicated. Confusion, anxiety, and trauma make it hard to remember the happy memories, but she knows that deep down, her father truly loved her. He was just a tragic victim of his own genius. “Yeah,” she says, rubbing a bit of her hair on the back of her neck. “It… hasn’t been easy.”

     Jake releases Sherry's hand in order to press his own to her back comfortingly. He offers a subtle, softer look her way, before turning back to his father and schooling his expression back to normal. "That reminds me, actually," he begins, drawing the attention of the conversation back to him. "I've read the report about it, but still...how are you back? If Chris really did manage to kill you years ago." He's curious, sue him. The report didn't exactly give a lot of details, and Jake has a feeling Chris is holding out, anyways.

     Wesker tilts his head into a nod back toward his son. “That is a question I would like a more defined answer to, myself.” Although he seriously doubts he’ll be left anywhere near a lab with the means to study Uroboros and this preservation property. Onto what he can answer, then. “However unintentional, my consciousness, or… perhaps a copy of my consciousness remained beyond my expiration. Housed dormant within a single remaining pustule of Uroboros, it survived long enough for a good-enough opportunity to appear, and the rest you’ve heard already.”

     Jake gives a small hum in response, thinking. Whatever the means, the fact that he's getting to meet his father at all is astonishing. "Can't say I envy you there," he replies, scrunching up his nose at the thought of what that experience must have been like. 

    While Jake converses with Wesker, Chris watches the two intensely. He's been standing by, observing, keeping an eye out for any sign of hostility. Although the tension has never fully drained from Jake's shoulders, he seems to be staying civil and casual, at least. Quite the accomplishment for the kid, all things considered. Sherry really has whipped him into shape, it seems. At least a little bit. He'll have to thank her for finally getting the younger man to calm down for once. For now, their conversation seems to be amicable enough, so Chris decides to give them the benefit of the doubt and steps away to get himself a glass of water. 

     Jake watches Chris walk away before turning back to the man before him. For all of Chris's complaining and angry looks, he doesn't seem nearly as phased by Wesker as Jake expected him to be. Then again, if he's been living here for a while, maybe Chris is just resigned to the situation at this point. Or...maybe it's something else? There does seem to be something odd in the way they look at each other. Jake doesn't want to think about it too much. Instead, a memory hits him, something Chris had told him not long ago. The three of them talk a bit longer, and Jake mentions it, sparking competition. While Chris is distracted speaking to his sister, Jake, Sherry, and Wesker disappear into the garage.

.     .     .

     Meanwhile, Ethan watches the guests from beside the Christmas tree as everyone socializes with one another. His daughter seems thrilled by all the excitement, although that might also just be all the presents she’s received this morning. Despite the strangeness of their circumstances, Ethan really wants this get-together to go well, unlike the mess that was Thanksgiving. Rose is never going to have a completely normal life, he knows that much, but he can at least try to give her as normal of one as he can. A knock on the door startles him into motion and out of his thoughts, walking to the door to let the new arrivals in. Behind him, Rose’s attention turns to Karl while Ethan opens the door to the two figures standing outside.

     Standing front and center is a woman with a blonde bob and a chipper smile. She hardly gets through a ‘hello’ before meeting eyes with Leon further inside. He’s at the door with Ethan not long after. 

     “Ashley! Luis, you made it,” Leon says, hand on the doorframe. “Ethan, these are my plus ones.”

     “I don’t think we’ve met,” Ashley says, swiping some hair behind her ear. “I, um, I work with Leon.” She’s smiling, proud to be able to announce that.

     Ethan smiles and holds open the door. “You must be Ashley, then. Leon talks a lot about you,” he greets, ushering the pair inside. 

      “What, not me? And here I thought I was your favorite,” Luis teases as he sidles up to Leon with a gait that would probably look ridiculous if he wasn’t as self-confident as he is. Ethan closes the door behind the two once they’re inside.

     Leon shakes his head at Luis. “Right, my scantily dressed friend Luis is here too.” He says, brushing a finger down his  shirt’s unbuttoned collar. “These guys will have your head for this little fashion statement, you know?” He mentions, wrapping an arm around Ashley’s shoulder. “Come on, Ashley. You should greet the others.”

     Luis grins wide at Leon and gives a small wink. “Maybe so, but I don’t hear you complaining, eh?” He points out. He does at least back off with the teasing long enough for the three of them to walk across to where Jill and Claire are very excitedly waving them over.

      “If it isn’t the rookie herself!” Jill greets, smiling at Ashley. “You’re keeping Leon in check, right?” She asks with a small smirk. 

    Ethan watches with a half-smile of amusement, but just as he’s about to go rejoin the day’s festivities, the sound of a truck pulling up drifts from outside. Ethan is back at the door in seconds flat. He’s got a hunch who the next arrivals could be, and when the knock at the door comes and he opens it, he’s pleased to find he was right. Standing outside are two faces Ethan hasn’t seen in a very, very long time. Too long, in his opinion. Zoe and Joe Baker stand side by side as Ethan smiles at them from across the threshold, and almost as soon as she makes eye contact with him, Zoe lights up. “You made it!” He declares, holding open the door and motioning the both of them inside. 

     Joe steps in first and surveys the room. Despite his age, the old man’s got one thing on a lot of the folks inside, and that’s muscle. Well, perhaps aside from Chris. Either way, that must be the reason he places himself between his niece and Ethan’s house of strangers. Ethan can’t exactly blame him; he was pretty finicky for a while after escaping Dulvey with Mia. Same with the village… Maybe the edge never really left him.

     Joe glances over the other guests uncertainly, but ultimately seems to find the environment pleasant. “Quite the shindig you’ve got here,” he observes, the white brustle of his mustache curving amicably. 

     Ethan’s expression is only slightly sheepish as he closes the door behind his two new guests. “Yeah, feels a little weird to have this many people in the house.” Ethan then steps around to Zoe. “It’s really good to see you both.”

     Unlike her uncle, Zoe’s looks have changed a bit since she last saw Ethan. Her hair just barely reaches her shoulders in a mullet, a new look for her new identity. Though, there’s more reasons than that for why she went for the change. “Yeah, you too,” she says, rubbing her hands together in a futile attempt to warm herself up. “I was only barely able to reach out after months of searchin’. Are you really kept that isolated? No contact, no nothin’?”

     Ethan sticks his hands in his pockets. “I mean, I’m at least allowed to go into town,” he offers, “but the DSO’s pretty strict about us contacting people, aside from that. Comes with the territory of not legally existing,” he says with a shrug. He’s used to it by now, but it was frustrating how long it took to finally get to talk to Zoe again. Between him being basically a government secret, and Zoe having to use a new identity, it’s been a bit of a struggle. The fact that the DSO allowed them to meet in person again is a miracle and a half.

     Looking around the room, Zoe raises her hand to count a few heads. “You’ve got quite the turnout, even so. You mentioned something about your daughter. Is that her over there?” They both turn to where Zoe is gesturing. Near the couch is Rose, who has been running here and there, piling plush toys onto Leon’s lap. “She’s cute,” Zoe says, her smile a tad melancholy.

     Ethan returns the smile. “Yeah, I’m trying to give her as normal of a life as I can, despite…well, everything.” His expression turns somber as he turns back to Zoe. “I…don’t know if you heard about what happened with Mia,” he replies. “She didn’t make it out of the village,” he explains. He knows Zoe’s done her fair share of poking around in the BSAA’s files—it’s how she’d managed to contact him and Mia again in the first place—but that was quite some time ago, now. The fact that the BSAA’s files are that insecure should have probably been a red flag to begin with, all things considered. But it doesn’t matter now. 

     “At least Rose is happy, despite everything,” he offers, smile slowly returning to his face.

     Zoe’s hand raises to her mouth. “I…was about to ask. Ethan, that’s…I’m so sorry.” For Mia to die after everything? After living trapped on the same property for three years, condemned the same as her family… Mia might have brought that upon them, but she still became a victim of Eveline in the end. And what became of the E-Series. She looks up at Ethan. “Despite it all, we’re alive. Somehow.” She sets a hand on her uncle’s arm. “How normal is your life now, anyway, Ethan?”

     Ethan scoffs a small chuckle. “About as much as it can be for a walking mushroom,” he remarks dryly. He’s long come to terms with Mia’s death, by now. Even if she had made it, it’s unlikely they would have been able to maintain their relationship any more—his little remaining trust in her had vanished when he found out she’d been keeping the truth of his humanity from him. Besides, he has a much more supportive partner now. As for his life now, well…

      “Actually, why don’t I show you?” He offers. Ethan turns his head over his shoulder and finds Heisenberg watching their daughter as she gleefully buries Leon, much to the amusement of a spectating Luis. Ethan’s attention on the man seems to get Karl’s attention, and after a questioning look from his partner, Ethan motions him over. He gives a small gesture with his head towards the Bakers. “Give ‘em a little show, Karl?” He requests, tone lighter with the change of subject.

     Heisenberg wanders over, ready to trade hellos when he suddenly gets the go-ahead. “Why hell—o, oh! If you insist, Herr Winters.” Karl fingers the brim of his hat, patting himself down for any metal before glancing aside for his trench coat. “Now, where is that little…?”

     Rose’s attention followed Karl as he left her side, but she giggles watching the man look a fool trying to find something he clearly doesn’t have. Karl strokes his beard, puzzled. “Now where could it have gotten off too?”

     Still laughing, Rose trots over to her papa and tugs insistently on his baggy pant leg. When he kneels down to her level to see what all the fuss is about, she reaches up to his head, but his hat is no longer there. It’s above him, hovering beside Ethan where he just stood. “What is it, kiddo?” He asks, acting aloof when Rose points up behind him.

     Ethan laughs and snatches the hat out of the air, revealing one of Rose’s small, metal toys underneath. Ethan unceremoniously plops the hat down on his daughter’s head, who giggles in delight and pushes it up so she can see better. Rose claps her little hands, always the best audience Karl’s ever had, and Ethan watches the moment fondly, eyes soft as he stands with his family. He went through hell to get to the life he lives now, but it’s moments like this that make it feel worth it. No way in hell would he give this up.

     Karl scoops Rose up into his arms as Zoe tries to process what she just witnessed. “I-I…? He can make things float? How the hell is that…” She reaches up, distracted by the still-hovering metal toy. “How’s that possible?”

     “Oh, you know,” Karl starts, holding Rose in one arm and extending a handshake with the other. “Science. Name’s Karl.”

     Zoe nods, still a bit confused. She shakes his hand after a beat, realizing she’s leaving him hanging. “Oh, Zoe. You can call me Zoe.”

     Joe extends his own hand for a handshake, as well. His grip is firm, strong, evidence of his physical strength. “Joe Baker. That’s a neat trick,” he compliments, gesturing to the toy. “Guessin’ you’re infected or somethin’ too, then?” He assumes. 

     Ethan gives Karl a small good-natured nudge. “We met in the village. Asshole nearly killed me the first time we met, but I probably wouldn’t have made it out without him,” he explains. “He’s got the mold, too, that’s part of why he can do that. The DSO says he’s like a stingray,” he teases.

     Heisenberg lifts his hand and the toy drops into his grasp. “It’s a smidge complicated.”

     “Well, I’d love to know more,” Zoe says, looking around. “Maybe we should sit down… oh, if you’re allowed to tell us, that is…”

     Ethan glances aside at Chris—the man is still distracted talking to Claire. He seems in good spirits, at least. Ethan guesses getting to catch up with his sister is probably a factor in that. 

     As far as Ethan knows, technically most information relating to the mutamycete is top secret. But all things considered, if anyone should be allowed to know, it’s the Bakers. They had lived through the hell that the mold is capable of first-hand and survived, after all. Zoe knows first-hand what being infected was like. Ethan’s case is a little different now, but there’s probably no harm in telling the Bakers. It’s not like they don’t already know about the mold. Hard to keep a government secret from someone who used to have said government secret flowing through their bloodstream. Although Mia had certainly tried, Ethan thinks bitterly for a moment.

     “I don’t know if I’m allowed , per se, but it should be fine. I think,” he answers, leading the others over to the dining room table. “It’s not like you don’t already know a lot of it,” he points out as he offers seats to the Bakers.

     Ethan, Zoe, Joe, and Karl get to talking, catching up, and filling in gaps that Zoe’s research couldn’t fill. While they’re busy, another guest knocks on the door and Ethan calls over for Chris to answer, but he’s already on it, jogging to the entrance swiftly. 

     It’s Sheva, and she gives Chris a side hug once she steps inside, as her off hand is busy holding a couple gifts. “Chris, you’re looking merry,” she says, patting his shoulder. “I hope I’m not too late.” Jill and Sheva exchange waves and quiet greetings. “This is for you,” she says to Chris once she hands Jill a present of her own. If I’d have known what anyone else wanted, I would have gotten the group something…” She ponders that momentarily. “Perhaps I should have brought a bottle of wine?”

     Claire raises a hand toward the kitchen at the suggestion. “Already got you covered! A box of wine’s in the kitchen.” She winks, a mischievous look on her face that says the party has hardly begun. “Chris can’t have any, though.”

     Sheva shrugs her jacket from her shoulders, thanking Chris once he politely helps her out of it. “Trying to quit?” She asks him.

     Chris hangs up Sheva's jacket, then turns to face her. Right. Wesker's no-alcohol policy. "Yeah, it wasn't exactly doing me any favors," he admits. His former captain's been trying to get Chris to give up drinking ever since that incident where he woke up hungover, and while it's been doing him some good, it's also been quite the annoyance. Wesker had initially started by slowly weaning him off of it–he was allowed the occasional drink every now and then before Wesker would take any alcohol away–but those have been getting further and further apart. While it’s helping him cut the habit, Wesker’s taking it so seriously he basically isn’t allowed alcohol at all now. He can't even sneak a quick drink just to take the edge off. Wesker got Ethan in on it and now they've hidden all the alcohol in the house.

      Oh shit. Wesker. Chris got so caught up in socializing with his friends and family that he forgot to keep checking on Wesker and Jake. A quick glance finds the space near the wall they'd been occupying now empty, and Chris feels his stomach drop. Where the hell did they go? He really hopes nothing happened–that's the last thing he needs. Or a repeat of the disappearing act Wesker pulled on Thanksgiving. He better not be pulling that shit again. "For fuck's sake– I look away for two seconds..." Chris scans the room, but finds no sign of either of them, or Sherry. At least that means she's probably keeping an eye on the both of them, but where did they go? 

     Another quick glance around the room finds Chris noticing something-namely, that the door to the garage is open. "Hang on, I gotta go check on Wesker and Jake. Hope the kid didn't start anything," he explains as he excuses himself. Chris marches off towards the garage like a man on a mission.

     “Wow, Jake… I had no idea you were that flexible.” Sherry is stifling a laugh when Chris walks in on the scene. The room is cool, chilled by the winter breeze seeping in through the cracks in the garage door, but warmed by the laughter escaping from Jake and Sherry’s mouths. Jake is in a rather precarious position against the wall, leg as high as he can place it. He’s a man of many talents, but even he appears strained. Wesker stands on the other side of him, judging his form, his flexibility. 

     “There is still room for improvement. Perhaps you should join my tutelage, as well.” A perfectly-timed glance at Chris earns that ‘as well’ its meaning. He addresses him with only a cock of his eyebrows.

     Chris blinks in confusion at the scene before him. There’s a relief that shoots through him at seeing everyone involved appear unharmed, but he has no idea what he’s witnessing right now. 

     Jake huffs through his effort and levels a smirk at his father. “Really? Well, let’s see how you can do then, old man,” he prompts, gesturing to the wall with one hand. 

     Chris narrows his eyes at Wesker. Of course he spotted him the moment he walked in, of course he had to bring up their training regimen. That’s something he’s not quite ready to explain to Jake right now, so he simply gives a small tilt of his head in response, a silent way of asking just what the hell he’s witnessing.

     Chris is the least of Wesker’s concerns right now; he’ll get enough of an answer from merely observing. “Watch and learn as your old man shows you how it’s done.” 

     Wesker steps up to the wall and wastes no time stretching his leg out against it. It’s easily higher and straighter than Jake’s. He showcases his flexibility even further by bending his supporting knee, allowing his leg to flatten further against the wall. “If it’s any consolation to you, I assure you Chris is nowhere as flexible as either of us.” Wesker turns a slight smirk toward the man in question.

     Chris folds his arms. “We can’t all be 90% legs,” he shoots back, raising an eyebrow as he steps into the garage proper. “Besides, not really my style.” No, Chris has never really had any need for that level of flexibility, primarily due to his preferred fighting style. Brute physical force and weapons prowess suits him just fine, he’ll leave the acrobatic maneuvers to Wesker or his more lean comrades. 

     Jake raises his eyebrows and smirks at Chris, bringing down his leg from the wall and turning to lean back against it, instead. “What I’m hearing is you’re jealous,” he jokes.

     Wesker agrees, pulling his leg down from the wall, as well. “Most certainly.”

     Sherry rubs the back of her neck. “Really, I’d be more surprised if you were flexible, Chris.”

     Chris steps over to where Sherry stands to the side, observing the father-son duo curiously. “What are you two doing, anyways?” he asks, mostly out of curiosity by this point. 

      Jake stretches his arms across his chest. “Well, you said I fight like he does. Figured we’d do a comparison,” he explains. “What, did you worry we’d run off?” Jake asks. There’s a look in his eyes that suggests he fully believes Chris thought that. 

     Chris huffs. “No, I was more worried that your dad over there kicked your ass,” he returns. Not that Jake isn’t a good fighter, but Wesker is something else entirely. His tone is light as he says it, though, more of a teasing jab than an actual expression of concern. At least the two aren’t actually fighting, like he’d feared. Jake can be easy to rile up–and god knows what Wesker would do to the kid if he started something.

      “Oh yeah. Speaking of—“ Jake begins, before abruptly pivoting on the spot and throwing a kick at Wesker. The blonde ducks under it, easy as can be, as though he’d expected it the whole time and just been waiting for it. He probably had, knowing him.

     With a leg stuck out, Wesker spins as he ducks, skidding hard against the concrete. However, the curve of his foot hooks Jake’s ankle and he pulls it out from under him, causing him to stumble, but ultimately catch himself, back against the wall he just stretched upon. Wesker just adjusts his glasses casually. “Would you like to join us, Chris?” He asks that once stood upright again. While he’s distracted, his son sneaks up a few steps behind him and throws a palm strike at his back, but Wesker twists out of the way at the last moment.

     “I’ll pass,” Chris answers. “I already got knocked flat on my ass enough this week,” he says as he watches the same nearly happen to Jake. 

     Jake goes for another kick, which Wesker catches by the ankle and deflects. “Boo,” the young man retorts, despite his sparring. “You’re that sure you’ll lose, huh?” He goads, smirking at Chris as he narrowly dodges a strike from Wesker beside him. 

     “No, but I’m damn sure you will if you don’t pay attention,” he points out, spotting a slight shift in Wesker’s stance that he recognizes all too well from his own spars against his former enemy. Jake doesn’t seem to have noticed, and Chris can tell where that’s going. 

     “What’s that supposed to me—” Jake’s response is cut off by Wesker faking him out and delivering a firm strike to his front, followed by a sweep of his legs out from under him again. Jake lands on the garage floor with a grunt, while Chris just stares down at the young man and shakes his head.

     Wesker lugs Jake to his feet as soon as he doesn’t look so dazed. “Are you self-taught?” He asks, watching his son raise his fists, still holding out. He catches a palm-punch from Jake. “You’re a mercenary, correct?”

     Jake cocks his head to the side. “Right on both fronts,” he answers. “Although, I help Sherry out sometimes as a…personal favor.” That’s what he calls it, at least. The DSO sometimes does pay him to help out, but if he’s going with Sherry, sometimes he can be convinced to do a freebie or two. Mainly so he can make sure she makes it home safe. He doesn’t mention that part, though.

     “That’s why I thought it was weird,” Chris adds, observing Jake’s stance, “how he picked up your moves.” It still feels uncanny. Jake is the spitting image of his father in many ways,  and it will never stop feeling weird that this man is Wesker’s own flesh and blood.

     “Indeed,” he says aside to Chris. “His style is very much like my own,” Wesker notes aloud, palm striking back at Jake. He doesn’t truly have an answer as to how this could have come about naturally. Unless Jake had some kind of video or story from his mother about Wesker fighting, there’s no reason for their styles to be so similar.

     “Maybe it runs in the family?” Sherry suggests, partly joking.

     “Wouldn’t be the only thing I got from him,” Jake responds, offering her a wink and a smirk as he swings a high kick around that Wesker blocks with an arm. 

      Chris rolls his eyes. From the corner of the garage, he spots movement—it seems the Hound Wolf Squad have shown up and chosen to spectate from a distance. He offers them a small nod and a smile, which is returned before he turns his focus back to the spar. He glances back just in time to see Jake take a slam from Wesker’s shoulder, although the kid does get a hit in to Wesker’s side in retaliation.

    “Not bad,” Wesker retorts, switching to quick jabs. Jake follows suit, and they trade dodging and punching. Chris’s squad have been here long enough to start up a game of blackjack, but that has all but stopped since Wesker and Jake arrived. They’ve been more or less watching, some still playing, some with cards in hand, some not. Canine is more focused on petting his dog than the cards or commotion. At least they’ve been here to keep an eye on them while Chris was distracted.

     Chris watches the fight with rapt attention. He’s probably more familiar with Wesker’s fighting style than any other person on the planet, and he can see how it’s reflected in his son. Jake doesn’t have quite the pinpoint precision or superhuman agility that his father does, but the way he throws his strikes and delivers his kicks is unmistakably the spitting image of Wesker. It still sends a chill down his spine to watch the younger man fight. 

     Jake also, despite being outclassed, holds his own fiercely. He’s stubborn, yes, but there’s also an urge to show off, a sense of smug self-satisfaction that Chris also recognizes from his father. Even down to his personality, Jake resembles Wesker— they’re both assholes, Chris thinks to himself. Although Jake is all fire and anger while Wesker is more cold and aloof, there’s a sense of almost devil-may-care attitude to both of them and a fierce sense of independence and ego.

      Chris realizes how long he’s been staring in silence, analyzing the two when, almost as though they knew what he was thinking, Wesker and Jake clash and whip their heads around to look at him. Nearly stepping back, he blinks in surprise as both of them simultaneously ask, “What are you looking at?” Although Jake’s tone is more accusatory and Wesker’s carries a more knowing, unsurprised undertone, the unexpected synchronization only adds to the uncanniness of how similar they both are. 

     “...Just watching,” he half-lies, nearly stuttering from the surprise. He knows Wesker won’t believe him for a second, but it might get Jake off his back, at least. It’s not entirely untrue—he just leaves out the part about his inner thoughts.

     Sherry looks on at her boyfriend, hand on her cheek. She shakes her head slightly as Jake wipes some sweat from his brow. He’s insistent as ever, but beginning to grow exhausted. He doesn’t want to lose to someone thirty years his senior, even if it’s his father. Jake watches the other man remove his sunglasses and rub the corners of his eyes, expression frozen as he turns his gaze back upon his son. That’s the first time he sees it—those eyes. Those unnatural, yellow-red eyes. It lowers his defenses unintentionally. He’s heard about it, maybe even seen some of it from photos, but seeing it in person is striking, like an immediate reminder of their differences. The fact that his father isn’t human is clear as his icy glare. It’s even stranger how casual he looks with those eyes, that gaze. He turns those startling eyes upon Chris beside them and calls him over. Chris, at least externally, shows no reaction to Wesker’s revealed face, both speaking casually. Does he see his eyes a lot or something? Jake doesn’t have an answer. Either way, they’re uncomfortably chummy for two men who fought to the death on multiple occasions. What’s going on here?

     “We’ll end this here,” Wesker declares, pressing his thumb between the fingers of his glove. “You fought well. Take a rest.” He nods backwards toward the exit, “There should be food soon, so I’ve heard.” Between a nod from Jake and a few glances from Chris, Wesker folds his arms across his chest and plants his shoe against a free wall in the garage, deciding to remain idle here.

     Jake smiles at Sherry and takes her hand, leading her back into the living room while Chris remains behind, lingering in the garage with his eyes on Wesker. He's silent as he watches the man for a long moment, considering what he just watched unfold. He'd feared that Jake and Wesker's first meeting would result in a fight, or worse, but he hadn't accounted for...well, what he just saw. He's not sure how to feel–relieved that they didn't fight, or concerned by how well they managed to get along? 

     Wesker hanging behind also piques his interest. He's not surprised that Wesker's choosing not to re-join the festivities in the living room, but he could have just disappeared back off to his room again. Instead, he stays behind, and Chris can't help but wonder why. Does it have to do with Chris himself? Does he just not want to bother passing through the living room (and all the guests' line of sight) to get back to his room? Chris can't figure it out.

     Instead of voicing any of this aloud, Chris shoots a small, questioning glance Wesker's way, before walking past him to where the Hound Wolf Squad is chattering. He sees Lobo slip Umber Eyes a $5 bill–a gesture that Chris rolls his eyes at with a scoff and a small smile. His squad greets him as he approaches; even Canine's dog pants happily at him. Keeping an eye on Wesker, Chris elects to join the blackjack game and distract himself from all the thoughts racing through his head.

     Their team leader is dealt in and they finally continue their game, much to a few’s relief. They’ve been stuck in the slowest game of cards due to this father-son situation taking up half the party’s attention. 

     Before the game starts up proper, Lobo cracks the seal off of a new pack of cigarettes, slips one between his lips, then offers the open end of the box to his captain.

     Chris almost reaches out to take it, before stopping himself as he feels a now-all-too-familiar gaze on his back. Right. Fine. Wesker probably wouldn’t let him smoke even if he tried, so Chris turns down the offer, to Lobo’s apparent surprise. Lobo doesn’t press, at least. 

      Chris glances briefly over his shoulder to find, as he expected, Wesker is watching him. He turns away, that burning gaze digging into his mind as always. Asshole . He tries not to think about how accustomed he’s becoming to that stare, the almost physical weight of Wesker’s attention on him. He also tries not to think about how the sensation of that stare makes the back of his neck heat up. Instead, he focuses on the game. Get it together, Redfield.

     The Hound Wolf Squad begins to talk, and Wesker turns away. Tuning out idle chatter is a simple endeavor. All his life, Wesker has dealt with the dreadful monotony that is small talk, and he prefers to instead ignore it. It’s why he and Birkin got on well, he thinks. Along with their rivalry adding some entertainment, so did his mutual respect for his surroundings. They both knew how to keep a lab organized and quiet, and that is a luxury few in the depths of Umbrella cared to practice. It’s no wonder Umbrella’s science ended in disaster so frequently; their ensemble consisted of the greedy and corrupt. Though incompetence was never completely removed, they were still a breeze for Wesker to annihilate. He can hardly fathom why he’s pondering such a topic now; reigniting old memories and old anger won’t do him any good. At least he has the satisfaction of wiping each of those sorry bastards on his list from the face of the earth. It makes him laugh to himself quietly, the reminder. Good riddance.

     While Chris is preoccupied with the blackjack game, and Wesker with his own thoughts, heeled footsteps ring out against the garage floor. Crossing the threshold from the main house is one Ada Wong, clad in a red dress with a black jacket overtop, and black leggings. She glances to the group in the corner, noting Chris among them, before her eyes fall on Wesker. Ah . There he is.

    Stepping out of the doorway and into the space proper, Ada finally speaks up, a hand on her hip as she eyes Wesker. "I see the rumors are true, then," she observes. "Now I know why Leon told me to come in here. Long time no see." She'd heard of his revival, of course, although not from the same methods as most of the others. She has her sources. While the news had been initially shocking, Ada is only actually mildly surprised to find that it's true. Wesker's always been a tough man to keep down.

    “Ada,” Wesker greets her plainly, with only her name and a glance. Mention of the others causes his gaze to fall beyond her shoulder; of course they’d send her to him and of course they’d have to meet again. “I trust you’re doing well.” He says, addressing her in his typical monotone. “It’s unlike you to make appearances at events such as these.”

     Ada regards him with only a slight raise of her eyebrow. "I could say the same about you," she points out. Wesker has been the introverted type for as long as Ada's known him. Not that she really ever complained about it. The work came first, of course. As Wesker pointed out, she's not exactly the most social, herself.

Wesker glares back at her but exhales. “Touché,” he concedes. “Although, I hadn’t much of a choice.” There was an extra tinge of spite in that last line—Chris can feel it’s directed at him. “Are you still working independently?” Wesker inquires.

     Ada nods, adjusting the hem of her dress. "I shift from employer to employer as it suits me," she answers. Whoever can actually afford the price, really, but working as an independent agent gives her more freedom to choose between clients as she sees fit. It's far more freedom that way. Leon had once offered to get her in with the DSO, but Ada had turned him down. Being tied to a government organization for the foreseeable future certainly isn't her style.

     “I see.” Slight interest as her previous employer aside, Wesker hasn’t the money, means, nor intention to hire her again. Not that she’d accept, unless the pay was substantial. That ship has sailed. She’s an untrustworthy asset, but a skilled one. He respects her enough for that, though a grudge he likely has.

     Ada can detect the slight resentment in his tone, and her expression shifts imperceptibly in reaction. "Either way, do try not to cause too much trouble this time around, it's an awful lot of work for me," she says as she turns and disappears back into the doorway from whence she came, just as quickly as she'd arrived. Just before she steps fully back into the house, though, she turns over her shoulder to meet Wesker's eyes again. She tosses a brief glance towards Chris, then addresses the blonde too quietly for the operative seated nearby to hear. "I know he's fun to play with, but try not to be too rough with him, will you?" she says with a knowing glint in her eyes. Just like that, she's gone, vanishing back into the house. 

.     .     .

     As the day goes on, the festivities continue in relative peace. Tension bleeds into the air whenever someone encounters Wesker, but the atmosphere of the party remains otherwise undampened. It seems even Wesker's oppressive aura can only do so much to bring down the festive air. Jake and Sherry catch up with Leon, while Ashley socializes with Jill, Claire, Sheva, and Rebecca. Once Ethan and his family have brought the Bakers up to speed on everything (that they're allowed to tell them, at least), they spend most of the afternoon playing with an all-too-excited Rose, who thrives under the attention. Ada fully vanishes sometime shortly after she arrived, with only a brief farewell to the party's hosts, Leon, and Luis before she's gone without a trace. 

     As the day winds down into evening, the guests begin to gather more centrally in the living and dining rooms to eat and exchange gifts. Chris is never far from Wesker throughout most of the party-and when he does leave the man's immediate vicinity, he entrusts the Hound Wolf Squad to watch him.

     When all the food has been eaten, everyone gathers in the living room for gift exchanges. Most of the gifts are for Rose, who tears into each present with equal delight. Ethan makes sure she thanks the others for each and every one before she runs off to go play with all her new toys. Ethan's eyes watch with soft, tender fondness at his daughter's happiness– at least he's able to give her a happy life and a fairly normal holiday, despite everything. Ethan gifts Karl an entire new set of clothes, along with a jacket, supposedly so he can "wear something other than his coat, for once." In return, Ethan receives a strange mechanical tool with no clearly obvious intended use. Heisenberg launches into a long-winded explanation about all the different things the machine can do, and while nobody else really gets it, Ethan manages to deduce it's some sort of complicated multi-tool. He can figure the rest out later. Ethan is appreciative nonetheless. Most of the DSO agents exchange gifts with one another–and Claire, who gifts Chris a new sweater so that "Wesker won't steal it this time." It's a simple, green long-sleeved sweater, and Chris accepts it gratefully. He gifts his sister a new motorcycle jacket–it seems a lot of them had the idea of gifting each other clothes this year. It’s a little awkward passing clothes around one after another, but it makes for a good laugh once it’s all said and done.

     Zoe even brings a gift of her own, which she carefully presents to Ethan. When he opens the wrapping paper, he finds an old, yet fully intact cookbook. Somewhat sheepishly, Zoe explains that it was her mother's–she managed to recover it from the family estate some time ago, and when she heard Ethan had taken up cooking, it seemed like a good gift idea. Ethan may not have the best memories of Marguerite, but he knows she wasn't always the way he knew her. Eveline had made her that way. To be given something left from the caring woman Zoe's mother used to be is touching, deeply personal, and Ethan pulls her into a hug as thanks. Zoe tells him she'll have to "come by to see if his cooking's up to snuff, sometime." She never quite had the same knack for it that her mother had, but maybe he'll be able to give Marguerite's old cooking a run for its money. 

     Leon also receives a gift from Ashley: a hand-crocheted scarf. Meanwhile Luis has no physical gifts but teases Leon about having his present "back at home waiting for him." Chris rolls his eyes at the flirtatious display from Leon's partner, while Ashley shoves the Spaniard off and away from her mentor in an effort to save his dignity. While she's trying to wrangle Luis into not teasing Leon for five minutes, Leon spots a small gift tucked away near the back of the tree, and the label catches his eye: "For Leon." He can tell from the handwriting, it's from Ada. Inside the small red box is a nondescript, black flip phone, and a note that simply reads "If you need something." Looking out for him as always, it seems. At least he'll finally be able to get ahold of her easier. For now.

     Once all the gifts have been exchanged, the guests slowly begin to file out–each saying their goodbyes with hugs or waves as they exit into the snowy winter evening. Ethan finds his daughter sleeping while sprawled out on her back upon the floor. She must have tired herself out with all the excitement, so he goes to put her to bed. Finally, Chris sees the last of the guests out the door when he feels a sensation wash over him again: that light prickle along the back of his neck–the sense of Wesker's eyes on his back. He turns to find the man leaning against the kitchen counter, and, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, he approaches. "I'm surprised you stuck around down here," he remarks, stepping past Wesker to grab a glass and fill it with water.

     “Perhaps I didn’t feel like reading tonight.” Wesker trades places with Chris as he approaches, leaving the kitchen counter and migrating to the living room, where Heisenberg sits, fiddling slightly with the whatchamacallit he made for Ethan. Wesker looks down at him, then the floor before kneeling to collect the scraps left behind from all of the wrapping paper. Karl is too preoccupied to notice him for a while, but once he does, he floats a little metal trash bin out from the pantry. Wesker stares at him for his assistance, but they both return to their respective tasks unaided.

     Chris watches Wesker go about cleaning up while he stands at the counter, sipping at his glass. When he finishes it off, he joins Wesker in picking up the remains of the gift wrapping. Once everything is picked up, Ethan reappears at the bottom of the stairs. "I don't think Rose has ever conked out that fast in her life," he says as he crosses to the couch. 

     When they finish cleaning up, Chris turns to Wesker. "You said I could pick something for today's training, yeah?" he starts, walking back towards the garage door. He's made his decision. If Wesker's going to insist on still doing training even after the holiday, Chris is at least going to choose something he knows he'll enjoy. Besides, there's no shame in a little extra practice, even if it's something he's already quite good at. "There's a shooting range the DSO lets their agents use. I know the passcode to get in," he suggests.

     There’s a few moments before Wesker responds; Chris can tell he’s pondering the suggestion. “I did say it was up to you,” Wesker replies. “Very well. But do you require my presence for such an exercise?” He’s well aware that Chris practices his aim regularly anyways. What difference does his assistance make for such a skilled marksman? Unless… “Have you begun lacking in your shooting as well?” He inquires, a hint of judgement behind his flat expression.

     Chris tilts his head. "No, but there's no harm in getting feedback from an outside observer, is there?" Plus, it's a chance to prove something. Namely, to prove that despite how rusty he is with other parts of combat, Chris has never lost his skill with a firearm. It's something he's been good at for a long time, but there's no reason he can't still improve. Might as well get Wesker's input on this while he's at it.

     Wesker tilts his gaze to follow Chris as he rounds the living room to grab his coat. “There’s… not.” The hesitation in his response surprises even himself. Was he expecting Chris to take the opportunity to avoid him? To slack off? Chris is so straightforward…he’ll just do anything you tell him to. “Fine then.” Wesker stands, leaving the full trash bin to the others as he reconvenes with Chris at the door. 

     Once Chris lets the room know they’ll be back later tonight, they depart.

     Chris inputs the passkey and shoulders open the door to the range with Wesker close behind. He cases the area as he enters, eyes darting around. Nobody here. Good. Technically, there's no issue with him taking Wesker places so long as he notifies the DSO, but with as spur of the moment as this decision was, he'd rather not deal with trying to explain why he thinks he should be allowed to bring Wesker to a shooting range . Thankfully, it looks like most other agents are probably out spending the holidays with their family. Or on the job.

     Chris sets a case containing his USM-AI down on the counter and grabs some ear protection before turning to look at Wesker. "Looks like we got lucky," he comments, looking to the empty space around them.

     “Indeed,” Wesker notes, surveying the range. Any change from his usual scenery is appreciated, but being unable to use the property the same as Chris is frustrating. He doesn’t even have to ask to know Chris wouldn’t give up his gun. And imagine if someone else walked in…

     Conceding for the second time tonight, Wesker takes a second pair of earmuffs and slips them on, relocating to a bench opposite Chris’s target. When Chris looks back at him, he waves a hand for him to proceed. Time to show off what you’ve got, Chris.

     Chris takes out his handgun and loads it, staring down his target for a moment. After a brief consideration, he presses a button to send it further back, then finally levels the gun down the range. He can still feel Wesker's gaze on him, watching, analyzing, noting every tiny detail about his stance. The part of him that recalls their days in S.T.A.R.S. makes him tense up for a moment–he badly wants to prove that his skills with a firearm haven't wavered in the years that Wesker's been gone. Chris tries to push his awareness of Wesker watching him out of his mind and focus on the task at hand.

      Chris takes maybe a mere half a second to line up his aim before he pulls the trigger, and fires five clean shots through the target with practiced ease. His shots are precise as ever...except for one. His first shot strayed slightly, penetrating the target in the silhouette's shoulder rather than its chest. It might have looked intentional if not for the four other shots piercing the dead center of the target. Chris frowns at the lone askew bullet hole. Damn it. His stray thoughts earlier about Wesker's attention on him must have thrown him off.

     Chris lowers his gun and shakes his head only barely. Thinking about what distracted him reminds him to check for input. Turning over his shoulder, Chris sees Wesker again, arms crossed. He tilts his head slightly at Chris’s backwards gaze, but it doesn’t strike him as to why until Wesker removes his earmuffs. Chris does the same. 

     “Someone’s distracted.” Wesker’s tone is knowing.

     Chris huffs. "Yeah, well, it's been a hectic day," he lies. Damn Wesker. There's no doubt that Wesker knows the reality of what's throwing Chris off so badly. It makes Chris wonder just how much of his inner thoughts and feelings lately that Wesker has been able to read. And what he thinks of them. Instead of lingering on that, though, Chris turns back to the range. He takes a deep breath, puts his earmuffs back on, and swaps out the target for a fresh one. He sends it out, further this time, and steels himself before raising his weapon again. He can feel familiar, comfortable anger rising in him at himself for being distracted and at Wesker for being smug about it. Asshole . He refuses to screw up this time. Wesker wants a show? He's going to get one.

      BANG BANG BANG!

     Chris zeroes in his attention on the target in front of him, and fires. Three shots ring out this time, and unlike before, they all hit their marks. Two in the heart, one in the head. Chris adjusts his grip slightly and fires again; four more shots pierce the target between the eyes. Chris then turns his aim lower, and with a quick pull on the trigger, his last five rounds pierce the target's liver. 

     Chris steps back and rests the gun on the counter again as he brings the target forward to examine it. Now that's the aim that got him into S.T.A.R.S.. Glancing behind him, he steps slightly aside to give Wesker a full view of the target. "How's that?" He asks, voice carrying a hint of spite along with barely-concealed pride in his own abilities.

     Wesker removes his earmuffs, remaining unimpressed. “It was fine,” he says with a quiet, smirking scoff, “but real targets are rarely as stationary. Wipe that smug grin off your face and show me something better, Chris.”

     Chris glares at Wesker for a long moment before turning back to the range. "Alright, then," he answers, accepting the challenge. Frustration flares in his gut. He knows Wesker is provoking him. Fine . Chris sets a fresh target up, before pressing a button on the wall. With a whirr of activating machinery, the target begins moving where it hangs at the end of the range. Chris presses another button, upping the speed before returning to the counter and his handgun.

     He reloads, sliding in a spare magazine. He pulls the earmuffs on as he watches the target dart wildly around the range–he's following its movements with his eyes. Chris takes another deep breath to clear his head, and he allows himself one brief, spiteful glance at Wesker. His eyes linger on the other man's glare for no more than a second before they snap back to the target, and he opens fire. 

     BANG!

     One in the arm–a disabling shot.

    BANG! BANG!

    Two in the liver. 

    BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

     Five, straight through the head. 

     The target darts sharply to the side, but Chris's gun follows it almost as though connected by a wire. BANG! One round between the eyes. Chris adjusts his grip, eyes tracking the target as it twitches to the left before speeding off to the right–an attempt at a fake out, and one that fails. BANG! One of the holes in the head gets bigger. BANG! BANG! Two more, right in the gut. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Four bullets pierce the throat. 

     Chris watches the target carefully, eyes intense and serious–the way they only ever get when he's really focused, or on a mission. Determination shines in his expression as he tracks the target's movement. He's studying, anticipating... Finally, after a second's pause, he aims his handgun down the range, whips his head around to look Wesker dead in the eyes with a flare of intensity...then whips his gaze back to the target, makes the slightest adjustment to his aim, and pulls the trigger. 

      BANG!

     The bullet collides with the metal clasp holding the target to the rest of the apparatus. The rig continues to move, but the target falls, floating down to the floor of the range. Chris sets the gun back down, silently walking over to the button and turning off the target movement. When he turns back to Wesker, he raises his brows and smirks. "That more like what you were expecting?" He asks, his question bordering on a growl.

     Wesker sets his earmuffs aside as he stands and crosses the aisle. “Yes, that was much better,” he says that seriously as he comes to stand beside Chris in his lane. Hand on the counter, he stares down the abused target laid tattered on the floor. Dead, many times over. 

     Chris feels the weight of Wesker’s hand land on his shoulder. That glove blocks the temperature, but it still feels warm to the touch. “Well done,” he pats him on his shoulder. “You were right. We did get lucky. If others were here, I wouldn’t have the pleasure of watching that performance all to myself.” He laughs, only slightly. Wesker’s hand pulls away, as does he, turning toward the exit. “I think we’re done here.”

     All at once, that warmth from Wesker’s hand against his shoulder spreads like a wildfire through his body. It takes a concerted effort on Chris’s part not to lean into the unexpected touch at the sensation. Wesker’s touch should feel uncomfortable, unsettling, but for some reason, Chris almost finds himself wanting to chase it once it’s gone. It leaves a phantom weight on his shoulder, one that brings him a far greater sense of satisfaction than it probably should.

     When Wesker’s words hit him, that warmth threatens to nearly melt Chris where he stands. He ends up having to place a hand on the counter behind him to catch himself as his knees threaten to give way. The heat spreads through his body like a wildfire, all at once, followed by that invigorating, feel-good sensation that seems to occur every time Wesker praises him. He’d almost forgotten how profound of a feeling it was, and now, it threatens to make him fall apart right where he stands. Chris shudders, an action he tries and fails to suppress, and hopes Wesker somehow doesn’t notice. Chris can feel his face heat along with the rest of his body. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why does he react like this? Why does it feel so good?  

     Chris’s brain is racing, trying to process and coming up blank. He breathes heavily, trying to steady himself, but his grip nearly falters on the counter. For a long moment, he simply stares, eyes alight with that satisfied, eager look from his youth, before he blinks hard, trying to get a grip. How does Wesker manage to do this to him? Why does he have this effect? Why does Wesker’s praise still make Chris’s brain light up like a Christmas tree even after all these years?

     Some part of his mind calls out with a name for the reason. Chris shoves that part away. He’s not nearly ready to confront that concept right now, as he’s barely managing to keep his legs from turning to jelly. It shouldn’t feel like this. Wesker is his biggest enemy, his longest-running nemesis. Chris, for what feels like hours but is probably only moments, just grips the counter and huffs out breath after breath as he tries to keep his composure while that fiery warmth shoots through him.

     Stood by the door, Wesker turns back to see Chris hunched over the lane’s counter, quivering with unanticipated excitement. Chris looks like he’s having a stroke…should he do something? He’d certainly be blamed if Chris was hurt while he was the only one around, even if the hurt came from within. 

     Wesker huffs, stepping back across the aisle where Chris is immobilized. He speaks to him casually from behind: “Are you coming?” But Chris fails to react. Peculiar, even more than his typical behavior. Stepping closer, Wesker finally gets a good look at his face. Frozen in uncertain shock and completely flushed, Chris stares at the counter, unseeing. It’s clear as day…he’s completely out of it. This debilitating reaction won’t do. And this was because of something he said? Perhaps he should refrain from speaking positively if it disturbs him so thoroughly... Sentimental idiot . Wesker rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers in front of the other man’s face. “Chris,” he calls in an urgent whisper. “Snap out of it.”

     Chris nearly jolts as he suddenly jerks back to reality. His eyes snap to Wesker, immediately hyper-aware of the man’s close proximity. Chris almost stumbles back in both surprise and embarrassment. Shit. He saw that. He doesn’t want to have to explain what just happened to him, the sheer rush of endorphins that flooded him at the praise and physical touch. It would be mortifying. It’s already awkward enough being in such close proximity to Wesker right now, after his…reaction. God, there’s something seriously wrong with him.

     “Sorry,” he manages, using his hands on the counter to straighten himself up. Hoping that Wesker won’t pry further, Chris turns to put his gun away in its case, and to try and quell the heat still lingering in his body. He can still feel that phantom sensation on his shoulder—and he tries not to think about how much he’s mourning the loss of that touch. Is he really that desperate for affection? That a slight touch and a few words from his worst enemy did that to him?

     Chris is so caught up in his thoughts that he heads straight out the door in a hurry. Unsteady steps carry him in an even pace with his thumping heart. It isn’t until his hand reaches the cold knob of the closest exit that he gets the nerve to look up at Wesker again. 

     He finally turns over the shoulder he wasn’t able to earlier and finds his gaze travels down an empty hallway. Empty… no, where is he? Chris’s head darts around, checking down alternate pathways for where he could have gone. The hallway he just came from? Empty. The opposite hallway? Empty. Shit, shit. Where is he?

     Running back down the hallway, Chris’s footsteps resonate loudly in the empty building. He keeps his head on a swivel, looking for any sign of Wesker. He nearly skids as he comes to a stop at the door to the shooting range, and throws the door back open—finding Wesker inside. Thank God.

     “Gave me a damn heart attack–” he grumbles as he glares at the blonde from the doorway. He’s being put through a whole rollercoaster of emotions today, it seems.

     “Mmm…second one tonight?” Chris spots those glowing eyes through the temples of Wesker’s shades. He hangs their earmuffs back where they came from and hums a coy snicker at Chris’s disheveled state. “Not used to praise, Chris? How depressing.” He looks to the side at his nemesis, a smirk growing on his expression. “Perhaps that should have been your special training tonight,” Wesker suggests mockingly. “Good job, Chris . Who’s a good boy, Chris?”

     Chris grits his teeth as another flood of endorphins hits his system—although it’s somewhat undermined by a sudden surge of fury that wells up in his gut at the mockery. Chris just barely manages to keep himself from stumbling. Damn it. Even when disingenuous, Wesker’s praise has a profound effect on him. And Wesker knows that. Chris glares daggers at the man in frustration, trying to push down the flush that threatens to creep onto his face. 

     “Shut up,” he growls out, turning away and moving to help close up the rest of the shooting range. In his haste to get out of the situation, he’d forgotten—which is probably why Wesker stayed back. That, or it was just to fuck with him. 

     Chris pauses as that thought crosses his mind. 

      Both. It was probably both.

     Wesker’s head follows Chris as he bustles around to check each of the spots he already cleaned and closed. Arms crossed, Chris soon has to reckon with the fact that Wesker’s already done all there is to do here, and there’s nothing to keep him busy. Bastard. He can’t even give him a minute of reprieve?

     Brows furrowed, Chris’s lips are twisted into an uncomfortable sneer—one that twitches and adjusts under the constant tension in the expression. He’s using that face as a mask, unfruitful in his hopes that Wesker will let it all go. When his grimace meets Wesker’s smirk, the man places a hand upon his hip, staring at Chris and all his discomfort. “Thorough, aren’t you? That’s a good quality in a soldier.”

     Chris turns his head aside, looking away from Wesker pointedly. He re-gathers the case with his handgun and turns towards the door, trying to keep himself together. He’s not ready to confront any of this right now. As always, Wesker finds new ways to get under his skin. His head feels like it’s spinning, with the flurry of conflicting emotions and thoughts warring in his mind. 

     “Yeah, well I didn’t just get to where I am by punching shit,” he shoots back. He needs to get out of here, get them back to the house—not just because he’s always wary about bringing Wesker anywhere, but also because the longer this goes on, the more his former enemy will just continue to be a smug asshole about it. Chris turns to look over his shoulder, expression still full of frustration and an undercurrent of anger. “We should probably get back,” Chris points out, sure Wesker knows he’s trying to deflect.

     Satisfied enough for now, Wesker lifts a gloved hand toward the exit beyond them both. He may be silent, but that grin on his lips eats away at Chris. This time, they actually leave together, making it home without any more delay.

Chapter Text

     The house smells sweet this morning. The saccharine smell of morning breakfast fills the air: Maple and vanilla. Wesker needn’t look up from his newspaper to correctly identify the source. Pancakes, buttery and filled with sugar. It’s enough to make the entire place feel warm. This atmosphere… Living with the Winters household has been an interesting experience to say the least. While living with Chris is another matter entirely, Ethan’s family unit is so deeply loving at points that it gives Wesker heartburn. Urgh… And then there’s Karl and his gloating– “My darling husband” this and “Our lovely family” that. It only elicits a reaction from him because it annoys him, however Heisenberg will always take it his own way.

     Wesker huffs and folds his paper, flipping the page from one to the next. What does Karl expect of him when spewing such nonsense? Envy? The thought makes him exhale a disdainful chuckle. No time for that though, as a constant tugging from a little grip against his pant leg finally turns grating enough to gain the mastermind’s attention, so he looks down.

     It’s Rosemary standing there just beside his chair. Once she has his attention, Rose clambers up onto the closest seat, sitting on her knees so she can look at Wesker with an innocent smile. She shows no sign of the usual mild wariness that some of Wesker’s other housemates carry themselves with around him. Then again, she’s also two years old. It’s not as though she really understands the reality of what Wesker’s done in his past. 

     “Hi,” she greets him with a grin. “Papa said that next week is Va…v-val….Valentime’s Day!” She says with only a small amount of struggling, sitting back on her heels. She’s a fast learner, for a child. “Are you and Uncle Chris gonna do anything for it?” Rose asks, eyes wide and alight with curiosity. There’s no doubt that Ethan and Heisenberg probably have plans of some kind. 

     Chris, meanwhile, lays asleep still on the couch, back turned to the conversation happening just a short distance from him. He’ll most likely be up soon, given the man’s fairly consistent schedule born of years of military service, but for now, he’s out like a light.

     “Me and Chri—?” Wesker lowers his paper, baffled to say the least. He glares across the table at Heisenberg, who’s working on some sort of complicated gizmo, bits and pieces all over the place as usual. He catches his gaze rather quickly. “What have you been telling this girl?”

     A corner of Karl’s mouth curls up, his eyes peering over his round sunglasses. He looks coy as he laughs, but he shakes his head as he assures the other man: “Nothing ‘cept the truth.” It’s true he sometimes likes to gossip with Ethan’s kid about the little excitements he gets in his mostly dull life here in this house. Wesker’s unlucky that he’s been the most interesting house guest he’s had since he woke up in his basement. And his and Chris’s soap opera lifestyle is far better than anything he could ever find on television. Things just turned out this way. Rose is too young to know any better. 

     Wesker growls a sigh through parted lips, looking back to the girl beside him. “What has he been telling you, child?”

     Rose giggles and covers her mouth with her hands. She looks over her shoulder at Heisenberg before turning back to Wesker and shaking her head with a grin. “Secret!” she declares mischievously. “Papa said no telling!” From somewhere in the kitchen, Ethan chuckles to himself.

     Ugh. They’re in on this together. Wesker isn’t sure what he expected. It seems the innocence of a child does not outweigh her loyalty for her father. “Rosemary, next time you want to learn about either myself or your ‘uncle Chris,’ why don’t you come ask either of us?” ‘Don’t believe any of the gossip Karl spreads,’ is what he wants to say next, but he knows the command would only confuse the child. Exhaling his annoyance in another huff, Wesker lifts his newspaper like before and returns to his reading.

     Finally, Chris starts to stir from his place on the couch. He sits up, stretching out his arms and his legs, rolling his shoulders—one at a time, working out the stiffness in each limb. He’s finally getting used to training regularly again, which means he’s waking up sore less and less at least. 

     As he blinks his eyes awake, the smell of Ethan’s cooking drifts in from the kitchen, now a familiar staple of his morning routine in living here. He never thought he’d become accustomed to this, but four months of living in this house has certainly allowed him time to adapt. Speaking of adapting, his eyes fall on Wesker, briefly, where he sits and reads. That’s the biggest thing he’s had to adapt to—living with his former enemy. Yet, despite all the odds, he’s managed it. Their truce certainly made it a lot easier. It’s odd to think that it would feel off for Wesker to be absent. It’s equally odd to think that he’s such a staple of Chris’s life in this house. At first it had felt unnerving knowing such a dangerous man that he has such a personal history with was living with him, but now, while that danger has never fully gone away, it’s almost grounding to have Wesker around. If nothing else because it’s a constant. 

     Chris sits up from the couch and moves to join the others at the table just as Ethan finishes making breakfast and setting out plates for everyone. It’s oddly domestic– despite the fact that their household consists of the world’s most dangerous bioterrorist, a walking mold colony masquerading as a person, his two year old daughter, an eccentric inventor with ferrokinesis, and a scarred and seasoned soldier.

     Heisenberg’s the first to greet Chris this morning. “You’re up late, Redfield.” The metal in his hand creaks against his screwdriver, but he releases it to thumb his hat further back onto his head. “Albert working you like a dog?” Wesker glares over the top of his glasses and newspaper, but doesn’t feed into Karl’s goading with a response.

     Ethan chimes in as he sets a plate in front of his partner. “It’s definitely paying off,” he says with a long look at Chris’s arms. His eyes are slightly widened, like he’s noticing something he hadn’t about the agent until just now. “You look ripped ,” he points out. Chris already had a lot of muscle mass, even when he was horribly depressed and out of practice, but now that he’s been training daily? Ethan definitely believes the whole ‘boulder-punching’ story now . Toned muscle is clearly visible where it almost starts to strain against the fabric of his clothes, especially in his arms. 

     Chris shifts in his seat, a little self-consciously. He hasn’t really taken much time to consider it, but Ethan’s got a point. Wesker’s regimen for him has been intense and rigorous, but it’s definitely getting him back in peak fighting form. At this rate, he’s liable to end up in better shape than he was even in his prime. As much as he may not want to admit it, Wesker’s training has arguably done more for him than any other training he’s done on his own or under other instruction—it speaks volumes to how well his former captain knows him and his fighting style. 

     “Feels good to be back in shape, at least,” Chris replies, resting his elbows on the table. “Can’t deny the results,” he admits only a little bit reluctantly with a sidelong glance at Wesker.

     Sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose, Wesker’s eyes are plain to see for Chris, who meets his gaze with little effort. The sharp curve of his light brows complements the low hang of his eyelids, and Chris can’t help but notice it. These little inconsequential details…they began plaguing him a while into his workouts with Wesker. Now, it’s all Chris can do not to lose his train of thought to taking in the details. But… it’s only Wesker that makes him like this…

     “Indeed.” That low, coarse voice of Wesker’s snaps Chris back into the moment. It almost sounded like he was responding to his thoughts. But… no , it was about the training. Since when did his voice stop sounding menacing and start sounding… What's the word…? Alluring? God, Chris can’t believe he’s thinking like that this early in the morning. What is up with him lately? Maybe it’s all the time he’s been spending with Wesker. Maybe he’s pent up.

     Managing to tear his eyes away from taking in all that is Wesker, Chris turns his attention to the breakfast laid out before him. Ethan does nearly all the cooking in the house, and he never fails to impress. With little fanfare, Chris digs in. 

     Halfway through breakfast, however, the uneventful morning’s peaceful air is disturbed by a knock at the door. Confused, Ethan leans around to look towards it before raising an eyebrow at Chris. Generally speaking, anyone who wants to visit has to talk to the DSO first—and typically, Chris is informed. He hasn’t mentioned anything about someone coming by today, though. Which means it could be something serious—or Chris just forgot to say something. 

     But Chris seems just as surprised. His eyes grow suspicious, and tension bleeds into his posture as he stands and goes to the door. A quick glance through the window reveals Leon standing at the threshold, rather than a lost civilian or possible threat, which is a slight reassurance until Chris realizes that Leon normally would have told Chris he was coming by. If he’s here now, it’s urgent. Which can’t be good. 

     Uncertain, Chris opens the door to greet his friend. “Leon? What’re you doing here?” He asks. He knows something’s up, that much is clear in his expression as he eyes the other operative dubiously and welcomes him inside from the cold February air.

     “Hey, Chris,” Leon steps inside, a hand running through his hair. “Yeah, thanks. Sorry for the short notice, guys. Or… the lack of notice. Thought it’d be better to come by and give this to you in person.” Rosemary hops off of her chair between her dads and runs over to the door where Leon is, fork still clutched tight in her little hand. Leon laughs at her sudden appearance and ruffles her thin blonde hair under his hand. “Hey, kid. Why don’t you go find that toy I got you last time? You taking care of it?” Rose nods energetically and runs off to her toys. When she’s gone, Leon leans in closer to Chris so he can speak in a lower tone. “It’s about your next assignment.”

     Chris's eyebrows shoot up. "Next assignment? They're actually sending me back into the field?" he replies, astonished. It really shouldn't come as this big of a surprise, all things considered. The DSO sent him that work out equipment for a reason, after all. It was inevitable they'd want him back in the field eventually, given his experience, but Chris had almost completely forgotten. Maybe they decided that it would be fine to allow Chris to not have to supervise Wesker 24/7? The mastermind has been generally cooperative, and he seems to have more or less accepted his new living situation, but what if Chris going out on missions again is finally the opportunity he needs? 

     Regardless, there's not much Chris can do about it. If the DSO wants him on missions again, then an order is an order. Why Leon was sent to deliver this, rather than having Chris report in person, though, is concerning. Whatever this is, it must be something major. Dubiously, Chris accepts a file that Leon passes to him and takes a seat on the couch. He sets the folder down on the coffee table, and, with a grimace, removes two documents from within. The first appears to be a standard mission briefing–nothing he's not used to seeing, but what does catch his eye is a name across the front of the first page: 'Specialized Response Unit (SRU)'. That makes Chris give pause. Typically, his mission briefings mention the Hound Wolf Squad on the front or just him and a relevant partner operative. Whatever this 'SRU' is, he's not familiar with it. A quick glance at the other document reveals the same name across the front, although the front page gives slightly more information than its predcessor's. It's a file detailing a strike team. Presumably, the one for whatever this mission is. Maybe the Hound Wolf Squad is working with some extra operatives, this time?

     Opening the squad detail document, Chris scans it critically. It's formatted the same way the DSO writes all of their personnel squad detail files, but it's when he reads the actual details of the squad that he feels a chill take hold of his body. His stomach drops in both shock and dread as he reads to the end. There's no way. No way in hell the DSO thinks this is a good idea. He double-checks, triple-checks the folder, but there's no denying what's written out before him. It's not a mistake. The names of the squad members are listed clear as day, and among them is the one name he hoped he'd never see on one of these documents.

      They want to put Wesker in the field.

     "Leon. I'm giving you ten seconds to tell me you're shitting me," Chris grumbles out, staring dumbfounded at the document in his hands.

     Leon shakes his head at Chris, flicking his fingers against the file clutched in Chris’s hands. “Does this look like a joke to you?” He sighs, leaning back from his hunch over the back of the couch. “Why am I always the middleman between these kinds of things…?”

     Chris can’t help but see the expectant gazes from the dining table he just stepped away from. Ethan and Heisenberg stare over at them curiously. Even Wesker’s head is turned their way. Fuck . He’s gonna have to tell them, isn’t he?

     Chris scans the file again. Right there, in black and white, are the names. Himself, of course, designated as squad leader, but below that is Ethan, Heisenberg, and unfortunately, Wesker. He punches the coffee table in his irritation, and Ethan shouts in protest as the wood threatens to give way under Chris’s considerable strength.

     Actually reading the file in further depth gives him more insight—mainly, why on earth Director Reyes could possibly think this is a good idea. Even Chris has to admit the man has a point. The preliminary information in the file explains that with the increasingly widespread bioterrorism impacting the world in the many years since Raccoon City, the idea was proposed to put together teams of especially skilled people and B.O.W.s to handle threats too dangerous for normal human operatives. It’s not an idea Chris is a huge fan of, obviously, given the reason he left the BSAA in the first place, but at least there’s clearly no intention on the DSO’s part to make B.O.W.s—rather, to use B.O.W. operatives already willingly under their jurisdiction. And there’s no denying that all of them are extremely capable at handling and disposing of bioweapons— especially Wesker. He understands why they want him on the team, but…is it really worth the risk? Even if it’s to prove they can trust him…what if they are proven wrong?

      Groaning, Chris grabs the mission briefing. “There’s no telling what this could do, you know that,” he complains to Leon. At least they’ve included a clause that Wesker isn’t allowed to operate separately from Chris—he can keep an eye on him.

     Chris flips through the mission briefing with a scowl, still frustrated, although his expression shifts a bit as he reads the details of what they’re being sent to do. Now that’s interesting. Their target…there’s no denying Wesker will be interested in this. He’d have a personal investment, in fact. Maybe that’s what the DSO is banking on. That, and his truce with Chris. Looking over his shoulder again, Chris sighs and stands from the couch. Documents in hand, he walks to the table and unceremoniously places them down atop it. “Ethan, you’re gonna need a babysitter,” he says with a brief look towards Leon. “They’re sending all of us,” he explains, entire body wound tight with tension as he slowly, pointedly, looks at Wesker. “All of us.”

     Ethan grabs the file first, thumbing through it slowly as he reads it alongside his partner. Wesker folds his newspaper at all the commotion, glaring sideways at Chris and at Leon. He uses his forefingers to press up his shades. “As much as I want to leave this house, I have no interest in playing the DSO’s little games…”

     Leon folds his arms right back, raising a hand for Chris to stop before making a fuss at Wesker. “Just check the file. You’ll see why you’re included at the bottom.”

     Wesker exhales, snatching the file away from Ethan’s clutches. There, under the preliminary information for the mission briefing is the name of a founder of Umbrella: Brandon Bailey— a man Wesker personally disposed of nearly a decade ago. “He’s…alive?” Wesker inquires under his breath, though the outrage isn’t lost on Chris. He can see the telltale signs of Wesker’s temper—his clenched fists, his gloomy scowl. His anger rivals Chris’s own, but this isn’t a competition. 

     Leaving the file on the table, he pushes himself up to his feet and smoothes out his already-perfect hair. “How soon?” He asks without notice. 

     “How…?” Leon repeats. “You’re accepting?”

      “Need I repeat myself?” Wesker shoots back, straightening the collar of his button up. 

     Leon sighs, looking aside as he wracks his brain. “A week, I think. Yeah. This is a week of notice. Chief gave it to me today, so—”

      “Quiet.” Wesker commands. He doesn’t raise his voice, but his tone is scathing. The others need not meet his icy glare to see the danger in his warning. Therefore, the room falls silent. Wesker presses the fingers of one of his hands onto his temple, thinking, seething. “Leave,” he says, looking at Leon. “And have them move up the date. As soon as possible. ” 

     Chris stares at Wesker, shocked. He knew that his former enemy would be interested when he heard Bailey was involved, but this is really something else. He’s not seen this kind of fury from Wesker in a long time—and it makes him shudder a little. At least he’s on board, Chris thinks. 

     “Someone’s eager,” Chris remarks, though the scowl still hasn’t vanished from his face. “We need the time to prepare, though. I’ll need to gather all my gear, for one thing,” he points out. “And we don’t know what sort of arrangements the DSO made. It’s possible they can’t get us on location any sooner,” he points out, grabbing the files and looking them over again. At least the mission is fairly simple: investigate an abandoned Connections experimental site, eliminate any B.O.W.s, recover what intel they can, and try to find a lead on where Brandon Bailey might be. But he can’t help the heavy feeling of dread that still settles in his gut. 

     Chris hasn’t fought alongside Wesker since their S.T.A.R.S. days. Some small part of him jumps at the opportunity, lights up with excitement and anticipation at fighting beside his former captain once more, but another, more seasoned part of Chris is anxious at the thought. After all, he’s seen Wesker in the field— with his bioweapon-provided abilities, and he’s seen him on the other side of the fight. There’s no telling how Wesker might act out there…or how dangerous such an arrangement could be. He’ll just have to trust the mastermind (as terrifying as that thought is) and hope that their truce holds out. He does admit that he is curious to see Wesker in action, again, though. There’s really nothing like it.

     “Fine, okay,” Leon gives in. “I’ll see what I can do and keep you posted,” He replies promptly to Wesker’s order and Chris’s input, taking it as a suggestion he’ll have to convince this mission’s supervisors to get on board with. Though, he doesn’t look happy about having to be the one to relay it or about following Wesker’s command. “Chris, text me,” he says, stepping away. “I’ll get back to HQ. Oh, tell Rose I said bye.” Ethan agrees, and Leon gives a wave to the rest of the guys. He leaves with an uncertain expression to match Chris’s before heading back out into the cold.

     The room is left quiet after Leon leaves, all except for the eventual tap, tap, tap, tap of Rose’s feet as she runs back into the living room, a mountain of plush toys in her arms. She looks all around for Leon, but even with her obscured view, she’s only stopped once Ethan steps in to let her know Leon’s already left. 

     Wesker doesn’t speak another word, leaving for the garage soon after the girl reappears. His gaze never passes Chris, but the soldier doesn’t need it to know that something bad is about to happen to something in the garage. Shit, his sandbag!

     Chris runs off into the garage after Wesker, not wanting to risk any serious damage to anything—or anyone, in the man’s rage. He sees Ethan offer him a sympathetic look as he exits, but focuses in on his objective at hand as he steps into the garage/makeshift gym.

     Wesker is standing further into the garage when Chris enters behind him. It’s so quiet in the room that Chris can hear his deep, labored breathing. It’s the sound of a man trying quietly to soothe his deadly rage, hidden only by his turned back and dark shades. 

     He stands with a hand on his hip and his head hung down into the fingers of his other hand. So many thoughts must be racing through his mind, but Chris can only imagine what it all must entail.

     Chris steps closer, warily watching Wesker’s posture. “Let me guess,” he says, eyeing the man before him, his tone serious. “This is about Bailey, isn’t it?” He folds his arms. “I saw your hit list. Back in Africa.” 

     How Brandon Bailey managed to survive is still a mystery, both to the BSAA and the DSO, Chris knows that much. All things considered, he’s one of the few founding members of Umbrella still kicking—Wesker made sure of that. It’s understandable why Wesker’s so livid about this. He just has to hope the man’s anger doesn’t jeopardize everything. Wesker’s never been one to do so, but Chris knows just how deep that anger can run.

     Wesker doesn’t turn around, but he drops his hands after Chris is done talking. “What do you think?” His fingers are tense and twisted, curling between tightly clenched fists and open palms. His words are rougher, his tone low and indignant. Chris can’t help but feel it strange seeing this rage pointed elsewhere.

     Chris sighs and lowers his arms to his side. “Look, none of us really know how he made it out,” he explains. “At least now we have a chance to track the bastard down. I want to stop having to deal with him and his lackeys, too.” Chris walks aside to his box of personal belongings, rummaging through it with an intent determination. He pushes aside old trinkets from his sister, clothes he no longer fits into, and more than a few sets of dog tags. He knows what he’s searching for, knows exactly where to find it, and he’s silent as he searches for it, elbow deep in miscellaneous keepsakes. He takes a breath as his fingers close around his target, before pulling out the S.T.A.R.S. photo from the depths of his little box full of memories. He considers it for a long moment, before he speaks up again. “And besides, there’s probably nobody more capable for the job,” he admits.

     By the time Chris has finished speaking, Wesker’s bitter sneer has quelled into a smaller, harder to define expression. The tell Chris needs to understand what he’s thinking must be in the eyes, but it’s too dark in this dim garage to see through his sunglasses. 

     It is only after a moment of staring that Wesker responds. Speaking is what gets Chris to realize that expression he missed. It’s… confusion. “Are you…consoling me?”

     Chris tosses him the photo. “Call it what you want,” he answers. “You want him dead. And now you have a chance to make it stick this time,” he points out. “We need information out of him, but after that….” Chris leaves the implication unspoken in the air. He knows how deep and personal this grudge runs. He’s felt that kind of anger before, himself. The man before him is living proof. 

     “As much as I think the DSO have absolutely lost their minds for allowing this…” Chris stands upright and turns to face Wesker again. “I know what you’re capable of. And I know why you’re invested in this.”

     Wesker stares back at him, lips parted as he ponders it all. The mission, the team up, everything. Chris’s turnaround to acceptance is rather quick, isn’t it? Appalled at first, but no complaints? Makes sense for a soldier. Nice and obedient. However, Chris has always been the rebellious type. It makes his acceptance right now all the more remarkable. He wants this. That’s the only answer for Chris’s behavior. 

     “You speak of your shock, yet I don’t see you arguing for a different set of comrades,” Wesker remarks. “Or circumstances.” His arms remain folded across his chest, his expression flat and serious. Chris could have left the house the moment he read that document. Hell, why didn’t he? “What is going through your mind, Chris?” He asks what he’s thinking aloud.

     Chris turns aside, walking over to the bench to take a seat. “A few minutes ago? That I think Director Reyes is out of his mind,” he answers, staring straight ahead. He rests his elbows on his knees, turning his head to look at Wesker. “But right now? I’m not completely stupid. I know what you can do. I know how badly you want to take Bailey down,” he reiterates. “And I know what fighting alongside you is like.” 

     Chris turns his eyes ahead of him again. “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet who knows virology like you do,” he continues seriously, “and I know how effective of a fighter you are. There’s no one better for the job, really.” Chris stands again and turns to face Wesker. “But, I know that’s not what you mean.” 

     Chris meets Wesker’s eyes. “Could call it nostalgia, if you want,” he supposes, his gaze drawing near the box of memories. “Or you could call it a show of trust.” In a way, it’s both. And more. Chris understands the DSO’s want to figure out if Wesker would cooperate on missions. Having the skill, experience, and knowledge of the world’s most infamous bioterrorist on their side would be invaluable in their fight against B.O.W.s. And on the other hand, Chris does find himself missing the feeling of fighting beside Wesker, of operating as a team with a man he used to trust with his life—someone who he knows can make the critical decisions in the field needed to succeed. He’s found himself longing for that kind of surety again, for the thrill of fighting by his side. Not to mention, if their truce holds even out in the field?

     Well…maybe it gives Chris more of a reason to trust in the man. And even if he would never admit it, he… wants to be able to have some degree of trust in his former captain again. Not just for his past’s sake, but for…the sake of his own convoluted feelings. He doesn’t know that he’ll ever be able to fully trust Wesker, but…it would be nice to be able to know that they’re capable of fighting things other than each other. He doesn’t expect to ever stop fighting the other man completely, but it’s something that would certainly help him feel better about their situation.

     Wesker hums, smiling slightly. “Hmm, so you trust me.” Exhaling a little laugh, his finger taps idly against the crevice where his arm is folded. “Chris, allow me to be frank with you. This life bores me.” Four months in addition to however long he recalls in his purgatory is taxing to say the very least. “Never have I been so idle, so devoid of purpose. There is only so much one can do day by day to keep oneself busy in the face of such tedium.” Shaking his head, he buries a look of irritation at the mention of his domestic plight. “You’re lucky I find you entertaining, Chris.” Their gazes meet again as he mentions that, and even without speaking it, Chris knows the line that comes next: Or else I would have escaped long ago.

     “This mission…” Wesker proceeds, gloved hand reaching his chin as he mulls over the situation. “Don’t consider for a second that I’ll become a loyal dog of any organization; not yours, nor anyone else’s. I’m going on my own accord. As you’re well aware, Bailey and I have…unfinished business.” His cold and tactical tone is briefly overshadowed by a menacing one, but that’s neither here nor there. “Do you understand?”

     Chris folds his arms, staring at Wesker in silence for a long moment. He’s figured out by now that his presence is a factor in Wesker’s continued life here. He knows that much, at least. Although he does wonder what it is about him that Wesker finds so interesting—whether it’s just pissing him off or something else entirely. 

     Chris also knows Wesker better than probably any other person on the planet. Hearing his words doesn't come as much of a surprise—it’s obvious that without a personal investment, Wesker would have no reason to go along with this. It finally gives him something to do, yes, but his personal grudge against Bailey is a much bigger factor. Chris knows he can’t expect Wesker to suddenly change, and frankly, if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t want him to. It wouldn’t feel right. 

     Chris huffs, stepping forward to bring himself face to face with Wesker. “I do,” he answers, finally. “And I don’t expect anything different,” he adds, a hint of a knowing smirk finally breaking through his otherwise serious look. He leaves his expression open, all his thoughts obvious on his face—he knows Wesker will be able to read them.

     To all of that, Wesker exhales, his shoulders finally releasing their stiffness. “…Good.” Puzzling what to do next is another matter entirely. He supposes training Chris will pay off in this respect, as well, should he be beneficial in Bailey’s demise. No , Wesker thinks, a smirk spreading across his lips. He already has been.

     That reminds him, “Knowledge is paramount in field work such as this. Chris,” his head snaps to the soldier’s, and whatever space lay between them, he makes up for with a few steps. Hands clasped courtly behind his back, Wesker looks down at Chris from an upturned nose. “I’d like to read the relevant DSO files on this matter.”

     Chris sticks his hands in his pockets. “I can try. Can’t guarantee what they’ll let me give you,” he replies. An informed Wesker is a dangerous thing, indeed, but this…might be something he’d actually be able to do. If it’s just the file on Bailey himself, at least. Plus, he knows how effectively Wesker works with the right information at his disposal.

     “Very well,” Wesker replies, nodding curtly. “I shall anticipate it nevertheless. Now, come,” he commands, rolling up his sleeve. “Let’s spar.”

     Meanwhile, Ethan sits on his bed, the files Chris left behind in one hand as he fidgets anxiously with the other. The sound of his prosthetic fingers brushing against each other are almost deafening against the otherwise tense silence of the bedroom. His eyes scan the page before him—almost frantically. February 9th…of course they’d pick that day. Of course they’d choose the date his mostly-peaceful life fell apart. Again. And now they want him to go out there again, to have to deal with god-knows-what in the middle of god-knows-where. Sure, he has the experience, but it’s not exactly something he thought he’d spend his life doing. 

     Ethan sighs, flipping to another page. There’s no rest for him, it seems. Even while dead twice over and mostly mold, his life can’t just be…calm. It’s not like he really has a say in the matter, but it’s not going to stop him from being stressed about it.

     Heisenberg’s in the room as well, having followed Ethan upstairs after telling Rose to play in her room. He’s sat beside Ethan, hands on his knees as his mind shuffles through methods of comfort like he’s flipping through scatter notes. Unlike his partner, Heisenberg isn’t exactly appalled by the DSO’s request, but this might just be because he lived so long under deadly and dangerous circumstances in the village. All that being said, what’s in the forefront of his mind is Ethan, not the mission. He couldn’t care less about the organization’s little assignment. 

     “Hey,” Karl says quietly, a hand meeting Ethan’s shoulder just to give a little shake. “You look like you’re thinking too much. We’ll be fine,” he reassures, taking off his sunglasses. “Sniffing around an old, abandoned lab’s child’s play. Sounds like a task too simple for any one of us.”

     Ethan meets Karl’s eyes, letting out a small breath of relief. He’s right. If the lab really is mostly abandoned, then this shouldn’t be too complicated. In fact… “Why do you think they’re sending all four of us?” He ponders aloud. “A few rogue bioweapons are a problem, yeah, but…Chris has handled worse on his own. I’ve handled worse on my own. We all have. Why do they need to send all of us? Seems like overkill.” 

     Ethan shakes his head, setting the file aside so he can clasp his fingers together in his lap. “I don’t think I can talk them out of sending us out there, but…maybe I can convince Chris to let us just be…backup, or something. Really doesn’t seem like a job for four people.”

     Karl pauses with a word hanging in his mouth at that rebuttal. He looks aside, then back to say, “I hadn’t thought about getting out of it.” That makes him smirk a bit beneath his beard. “We go with them to the location, but stick back and leave the fallout to Redfield?” Heisenberg snickers a little at the idea, then wraps his arms around the front and back sides of Ethan’s torso to pull him closer. “You’re bad,” he murmurs laughingly, kissing the other man’s neck between his words. “I like that.”

     Ethan laughs and leans into his partner’s embrace. “Really, now? I never would have guessed,” he smirks back, poking Karl in the side. “In all seriousness, though, I’m sure they don’t actually need all of us on-site. Probably. We can always drop in and save Chris’s ass if he gets in over his head,” he points out. Although, he thinks on that for a moment before adding, “Or if Wesker gets fed up with him first.” Ethan laughs a little and shakes his head, grinning wide at Karl.

     “I like that plan,” Karl smirks, replacing his sunglasses from the nightstand. “Call it a vacation and I’ll like it even better.” Humming a giddy chuckle, Karl whispers into Ethan’s ear a few more things they can do with all that free time away.

     Ethan laughs again, louder this time, and throws his arms around his partner’s neck with a fond little eye roll. For now, Ethan leaves the files on the nightstand to hand off to Chris later. 

     Much sooner than intended, the day has finally arrived. At both Ethan and Wesker’s request—Wesker out of sheer desire for urgency, and Ethan out of a desire to escape bad memories—the date of their deployment was moved up by a few days. Chris stands in the garage making final checks over his equipment, their extra supplies, everything, while his housemates—and newfound squadmates —make their own last-minute preparations. Well, most of them. Wesker, unlike the others, stands against the wall, watching Chris’s movements with a critical eye. Chris can feel that gaze on his back, as always, but doesn’t acknowledge it, instead zeroing in on his current task. Even if it’s been ages since he was in the field, that kind of training becomes instinctual after some time. The knowledge of an impending mission has put Chris into a serious, focused state, and, all things considered, he’s managed to make all their preparations very efficiently. 

     Once he’s certain everything is as it should be, he calls the others together to head out to the DSO’s branch HQ—where there’s a plane waiting for them. After some last minute checks, and a goodbye to Rose and Leon, the group is soon in the air and on their way to South America to face their first mission as a team.

    While the flight to South America is fairly uneventful, the landing is anything but. Almost as soon as they step out of the plane, Heisenberg is immediately awe-struck with taking in the scenery, enough that it manages to distract Ethan from the task at hand as well. Chris has to practically herd the both of them (albeit mostly Heisenberg) out of the airport and through the city proper. It’s quite a bustling metropolis, but they don’t have time to admire the environment or the action. They’re here on a job, damnit, and Chris hustles them through town to their safehouse for the time being as fast as possible, despite the excited chatter of the engineer following him. By the time they reach their destination, Chris is sweating from a combination of the effort, and the surprising heat–despite it being February, the air is warm and the sun is unforgiving as it beams down on them. It’s only once they’re indoors and reunited with the modern wonders of air conditioning that they get any relief.

     “At least there’s an elevator,” Ethan remarks as Chris hauls a box of equipment into the bedroom single-handedly. Their safehouse for this mission is a comfortable one at least, a far cry from some of the ramshackle camps and hideouts Chris has sometimes been forced to stay at before.The room is nice, one of two that the DSO managed to reserve for them at a nearby hotel. The beds–two of them–are neatly made, there’s a bathroom with a surprisingly large shower, and a large window overlooks the city below. From what Chris was told, they essentially have the whole building to themselves—but the DSO put them on a high floor anyways, just in case. Ethan stands in the doorway to the bathroom, hands in the pocket of his jeans as he watches Chris pop open the crate and look over the items inside. 

     Most of the gear provided is Chris’s. The DSO refused to risk giving Wesker any weapons, and Chris said he wouldn’t really need one anyways. Ethan’s gear is fairly bare-bones as well, just his handgun, knife, and a flashlight. And Heisenberg…well, he has his hammer, and there’s going to be no shortage of metal anytime soon. Since they were flown out on a private DSO aircraft, they didn’t exactly have to go through airport security. Thank god, because Ethan doesn’t think any of them would be able to explain Heisenberg’s hammer to the TSA. He shudders as he imagines it. 

     The room they’re currently standing in is under Chris’s name, but it’s assigned to him and Wesker. Ethan and Heisenberg have the room next door—and the DSO were kind enough to give them one bed, instead. Not the two of them would have made use of a second one, anyways. For now, they all gather in Chris and Wesker’s room, as the final portions of their supplies are hauled in with some help from the Hound Wolf Squad—who while not directly accompanying them into the building, are supposed to watch the perimeter of the lab and make sure nothing gets in or out on the mission later.

     After his and Karl’s chat in their bedroom, Ethan later ran their suggestion past Chris, who conceded to the request after some prodding. It wasn’t easy to convince the team overseeing their mission at HQ to agree as well, but he made it work. Ethan and Karl will hang back at the hotel for now, as they wished. Chris already knew he would be spending most of his time alone with Wesker on this trip anyways, but…seems like they’re going to be even more alone together. He doesn’t know whether he likes it or hates it. 

     Hound Wolf Squad’s got their backs and that’s reassurance, at least. It’ll help him rest easy, even if sharing a room with Wesker will not. It’s not even the same as sharing a bed, and yet it still gets to him. God, why does he always end up in these situations? At least if they’re sharing a room, Chris will be able to keep an eye on the other man. As if he doesn’t do enough of that already. 

     Wesker and Karl stand by the hotel window, chatting quietly as they gaze between the blinds Karl has fingered apart. The city below is far busier than their quiet northern town. Cars and buses roll through the streets before them, the neon lights of the city dancing along the slick metal of the passing vehicles. Karl’s never seen such a metropolis. 

     “If you’re so excited, then go,” Wesker suggests easily, a huff escaping him from the difficulty Heisenberg is having with his deliberation. 

     “It’s…as simple as that…?” Karl replies, mind clearly elsewhere, upon the city. 

     “If you two are not going on this mission, then at least find some worth in this relocation. You came all the way here.”

     “Yeah…” Heisenberg mutters, stroking his beard. “Yeah! It’ll be a date!” He sticks an excited finger into the air and spins around, leaving Wesker behind at the window where he begrudgingly sighs at the peculiar man. “Winters! C’mere, you!”

     Ethan chuckles and walks over to his partner to meet him halfway. Meanwhile, Chris stands from his crouch and looks to Wesker by the window. He gives a small wave to dismiss the rest of the Hound Wolf Squad, before silently walking over to stand beside the blonde. 

     While Ethan and Heisenberg are preoccupied with each other, Chris speaks up, side-eyeing Wesker. “Can’t say I ever thought we’d end up in this situation,” he observes. To be fair, he also never thought Wesker would come back from the dead, but Wesker is nothing if not unpredictable. Here they stand, former allies, turned enemies, turned begrudging housemates, turned temporary allies again after all these years and everything they’ve been through. Years of conflict between the two of them and others bring them to now. It feels surreal.

     “For once, we agree,” the other man replies, his head tilting slightly backwards to Chris. “It’s peculiar, the thread of fate. Who it binds,” he says seriously, gaze pointed back between the blinds. “But I never believed in such superstitions…”

     Chris scoffs a small, breathy sound as he looks out the window. He’s not really one for ideas like ‘fate’ or anything, either. Especially in his later years. A younger Chris, starry-eyed and hopeful, might have believed such things, once, but his experiences wore that down with time. 

       If fate is real, though…? Chris chances a glance towards Wesker again. Then maybe that explains a lot.

     Chris hooks his thumbs in his pockets. “Almost reminds me of old times,” he remarks. Almost. Those times were years ago. They’re different now, and the wound of Wesker’s betrayal still stings, even long scarred-over as it is.

     Wesker isn’t one to reminisce, but for Chris, he’s made an exception. Not that most of his recollection of past times with the other man weren’t for any reason other than renewing his grudges, but he can’t deny that their training is more akin to their few good memories than the bad ones. That’s what Chris means with his simple statement, he knows. It reminds him of when he was a younger man. Even despite his age, Chris remains softhearted. “I’ll be sure not to leave you to the dogs again, then.”

     Chris cracks a small smile, raising an eyebrow. Now that’s a memory he recalls vividly. Even now, years later, it still strikes him as odd—how Wesker had saved him, then. The machinations of Wesker’s brilliant mind are still sometimes a mystery, even to Chris. Nonetheless, it’s one of the few memories of that incident he looks on fondly—a memory of the captain he used to trust with his very life. 

     “Well, not that I think you’ll need it, but I’ll watch your back too,” he replies, turning around to lean against the windowsill.

     Wesker exhales a quiet laugh to match Chris’s unintentional grin. “Appreciated.” He plans to make the most of this assignment.

     Morning comes around quicker than Chris feels it ought to have, though that might have been due to his anticipation. By the time his eyes flutter open, he’s quick to find Wesker awake nearby, dressed and ready. He appears poised and powerful in his battle suit and harness, even if his holster remains empty. He is efficacious in communicating his danger in his reclining body language alone, and it makes Chris wonder jokingly if the bioweapons will be scared away by his glare on its own. 

     The suit he’s dressed in—that black, armored mesh, the rolled sleeves, the harness… it’s not the same, nor a replica of the suit Wesker wore during their fights in Africa, but it’s damn similar. He’s still surprised DSO agreed with this request of his better than the one about the Bailey files. Wesker wasn’t exactly pleased with the heavily redacted information he was allowed to thumb through. Said something about having to find out for himself; Chris isn’t sure he wants to know what that will entail…especially when he said it like the obvious threat it was.

     Chris takes a long look at his former enemy. The blonde flips through one of the files they were given, re-reading it in the silence of their room. The battle suit the DSO equipped him with, like his old one, hugs his frame, showing off the lines of lean muscle that make up his regenerated body. It’s genuinely unsettling how similar the outfit is. How much it makes Chris think of that mission, the one where Wesker had met his end. He just has to hope the same doesn’t happen this time. 

     Chris shakes his head to clear his thoughts. There’s no time for dwelling on the past right now. He has a job to do, and reminiscing won’t get him dressed and ready to go any faster. Hauling himself out of bed, Chris grabs his own gear from where it rests upon a nearby chair and disappears into the bathroom. 

     When Chris re-emerges, he’s adjusting the straps on his vest. It sits over an olive green, form-fitting combat shirt, not dissimilar to the uniform from his BSAA days, but with darker shoulder accents and the DSO’s logo on the sleeve instead. Between his own attire and Wesker’s, Chris can’t help the flood of memories that pass through his mind of their shared past, but he pointedly puts those thoughts away for later, again. Instead, he rolls his shoulders, re-learning the feel and weight of his gear against him, before he moves to the crate with the rest of their—well, his —equipment and pops it open to retrieve his weapons.