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“Here’s the deal, Wesker. We kept you alive, and in return you’re going to be useful to the BSAA."
Chris' words echo through Albert’s head as he paces around the small jail-cell-turned-studio-apartment that the BSAA opted to keep him in. It's quaint, but Albert has lived in far worse conditions. He could've been cut a much worse deal--he could be dead, for starters. The realization of how close he'd come to truly being snuffed out sobered him more than he thought it would. Secondly, he at least gets to keep doing research, even if what he studies is kept on a short leash by the BSAA. He's really more of a Hannibal Lecter-style consultant at this point, when the idiots don't know how to handle a new weapon. The apartment isn't bad either, even if privacy is a luxury he isn't spared.
And, of course, he still gets to see you.
Granted, he can't touch you, given the thick glass that separates you when you visit, but he sates himself with your visits. It's not the same as before, when you were always at his side, his most beloved experiment, but this is... fine. It has to be, because anything else would mean losing you forever, and he's not sure he could survive that. Besides, you visit every day, so he can rest easy most nights knowing you're okay. That Chris isn't pushing you too hard, that you're not injured, that nothing he did is negatively affecting you.
So, you can imagine the stress he's under when you haven't come by in nearly a week. He replays the last time he saw you vividly, exactly 5 days ago, the way he mentally traced the scars littering your body from his experiments, the way his stomach twisted with something frighteningly akin to guilt. Had you finally decided he wasn't worthy of forgiveness? That what he'd done was too much?
His eyes shut as he ceases his pacing, leaning against the glass of his enclosure, running through your last visit for anything wrong. The way you’d blown him a kiss on your way out, and the way he’d made a show of pretending not to catch it. The brief flicker of pain in your eyes stings even worse now, but you’d still told him you love him and that you’d come back the next day.
Jesus, he feels like a prick. He’s not quite sure when he developed something as trivial as a conscience, but it’s got its hooks buried deep in his ribs, pulling painfully until he feels sick from it.
There’s an echoing slam of a door down the hallway, his eyes snapping open at the sound. His pulse spikes with the hope it’s you as he spins to face the sound, nails biting into his palms. Heavy boots pound against the sterile tile, the cadence panicked if he didn’t know any better.
Chris rounds the corner, looking like he just got hit by a truck. Dark circles are under his eyes, his brow pinched with stress, chest rising and falling heavily like he ran here. Albert is tempted to prod him about it, but the way Chris is looking at him with a mix of wary pity and fear gives him a sinking feeling whatever has him in such a state affects them both.
“She’s missing.” The words come out in a rush, like Chris had been rehearsing what to say and lost it at the last moment.
Albert goes perfectly still, ice rushing through his veins. His voice comes out steady enough, but there’s a razor-sharp edge to it. “How long?”
“A couple days, I think.”
“You think?”
Chris grimaces, the guilt in his expression belying the fact he’s been torturing himself over this. “I got a text from her on Monday saying she’s sick, and that she wouldn’t be in. I didn’t think anything of it, but Jill stopped by her apartment this morning and the lock was snapped. She wasn’t there, and none of us can get ahold of her.”
Albert lets out a slow breath, stepping back until he can sink into a chair, his eyes glazed over and a million miles away. It’s odd, the way he feels like he can barely breathe—black vines of panic forcing their way down his throat, a feeling he’d never experienced except when he thought he truly was dying.
Do you mean so much? That the thought of losing you is akin to death?
“Do you have any leads?”
“No. Sherry thinks it might be someone from Umbrella, given… your relationship with her.” It lands like a javelin, the implication that this is his fault, and he might’ve felt better if Chris had just took out that flashy gun of his and shot him instead. “Do you have any ideas?”
Albert runs a hand over his face, thinking through who could possibly still be active. Most of his former Umbrella compatriots are either dead thanks to him, the corporation itself, or their own hubris. The list is shrunk even further by narrowing it to those who would dare touch something of his. Still, the list is longer than he’d like, and the lack of an immediate answer has him feeling like he’s fumbling in the dark.
“…Not immediately.”
His head snaps up at the sound of the door to his cell opening, the cool air of the hallway hitting him full force.
“We’ll need your help to find her,” Chris starts, jaw stiff. Albert opens his mouth to say something—a statement of gratitude? A sarcastic jab? He’s not sure, but Chris cuts him off before he gets the chance. “I put my neck on the line to get you out of here, Wesker. Don’t make me regret it.”
Albert is used to not sleeping, but this is on another level. It’s been a little over a week since Chris let him out of confinement (though he’s still not allowed to leave BSAA headquarters), and he hasn’t really slept more than an hour at a time since. He’s on his umpteenth cup of coffee, his fingers twitching against the side of it as he pours over surveillance footage in the city, desperate for any sight of you. The cameras at your apartment were out of service—doesn’t the BSAA pay you enough to live in a nicer complex with thorough security?—which leaves the painstaking task of checking every street, business, and home with a camera. And, of course, since no one except Jill bothered to check on you, they have no idea of the actual time you went missing.
A notepad beside him has information scribbled across it, a short list of former Umbrella employees he’s narrowed it down to. None of them are up to anything scrupulous nowadays, and all three of them had a direct issue with him. Underlined, and his primary suspect, is Dr. Victor Gideon. He always hated Spencer’s preference for Albert, and refused to acknowledge that being the golden child was more like being a bird stuck in a gilded cage. If anyone was going to torment Albert years after the fact, it would be him.
Gideon owns a ‘care facility’ now, which is such obvious bullshit he has no idea how the BSAA hasn’t kicked the door in already. He has a feeling the BSAA is fracturing, the resources at his hands not being what he’d expect from an international agency, but he can scratch at that later. Right now, he has to plan a little visit to Rhodes Hill.
You wake with a start, drenched in sweat and delirious with dehydration. You don’t recognize where you are, bright surgical lights glaring down at you from the ceiling, making your headache even worse. Leather straps around your wrists and ankles dig in, keeping you in place on a cold surgical table. You fight down a wave of panic as you squirm as much as you can, catching sight of the pricks in your arm. A transfusion bag hangs above you with your name on it, and your stomach sinks with the realization your blood was taken.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
A hypnotic voice rings out from behind you, and you thrash in an attempt to see its source. Heavy footsteps echo until the man reaches you, a rotten hand carding through your hair. You flinch away, flashing your teeth, and the hand is removed quickly.
“Who the fuck are you? Where am I?”
The man leans over the table, the lights creating a halo around his head that makes it hard to get a good look at his face. You can make out major details—glowing eyes against black sclera, a snake-like tongue, black and purple veins visible through the semi-translucent gray skin. Sure, you’ve seen worse, but given the vulnerable position you’re in, your stomach twists into knots of fear all the same.
“You don’t recognize me?” A forked tongue darts out almost playfully. “Dr. Victor Gideon. Please try to relax, darling,” he coos, saccharine in a way that sets off every instinctual warning bell that millions of years of evolution has instilled in you. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Bullshit. You don’t tie a girl up for tea and biscuits.” You wince when he just laughs in response, ice-cold fingers trailing over the line of your throat. “Why- Why am I here?”
He smiles, revealing rows of uneven, sharp teeth, the metal plating on them catching the light. “You’re… special. After everything Dr. Wesker has done to you.” Your stomach drops at the mention of Albert, your eyes widening.
“What-” The hand at your throat clamps down around your jaw, preternatural strength keeping your head in place as his free hand slides over your cheek in a disturbingly affectionate way. His fingers crawl up to your eye, pinching your lids and pulling them back, nails close to scratching the fragile lenses. You freeze, lungs shuddering with more fear than you’d like to admit.
“Your DNA is truly something special.” It’s as if he’s talking to himself as he peers at your eyes. They’re opalescent from the experimentation, shards of color glittering under the harsh artificial light. “So… unique. Why, I could tear these pretty eyes out right now, and they’d grow right back, wouldn’t they?”
Panic makes your pulse hammer hard enough to make you nauseous, your breathing ragged against his forearm. “And,” he continues, leaving your eyes alone in favor of forcing open your mouth, two fingers hooked around your upper and lower teeth like pliers. He’s careful to avoid your secondary row of teeth, the bone jagged and needle-like. “You’re quite the weapon, I’ve read. The BSAA should really make their combat reports harder to find.”
You twist and attempt to bite, but he’s strong enough to keep your jaw pried open easily. “Now, now, none of that,” he tuts, as if you’re simply a disobedient dog, before letting go of your face.
“Why am I here?” you repeat, voice small with fear.
His hands rest on the table at either side of your waist, leaning over you in a way that makes you feel like a pinned insect. “Dr. Wesker always wanted to create a new ‘dawn of man,’ right? I think I’ve discovered how.” Something manic and dangerous glitters in his eyes, one of his hands settling over your stomach. “A child with the nemesis parasite, and your… enhancements. We could create a whole new life form.”
Your mind narrows in on the word child, adrenaline making the world around you slow down. It’s like your senses had been dunked in syrup, leaving them muted and unfeeling as your mind races over the meaning behind his words. “No,” you breathe out despondently, breaking out in a cold sweat as your fragile mind processes his intentions. Sensation floods back into you, too much all at once, the lights too bright, the buzz of equipment deafening, the touch of his skin vile. You thrash and scream, doing anything you can to get his hands off you. “No, no! You sick son of a bitch, get your fucking hands off me!”
Gideon laughs at what he sees as dramatics, leaning closer to you to trace his unnaturally long tongue over your throat, tasting the fear on your skin. The sensation makes you sob in revulsion, and you move without thinking, twisting your neck to take advantage of his closeness and sink your teeth into his cheek. You don’t have enough leverage to really dig in, but it’s enough to make him reel back with a snarl. His flesh tears as he pulls away, the jagged wound seeping blood as he glares down at you.
“Fine,” he growls, any hint of that soothing facade he was using on you long gone. “We’ll do this the hard way.”
You writhe and scream again as he grabs a syringe from behind him and puts your arm in a death grip, stabbing it into your skin. The liquid in it burns viciously as he shoves the plunger down, and it works immediately, sedation dragging you under. The last thing you see before you go out completely is him storming out of the room, likely to patch up that lovely little injury you just bestowed upon him.
“You’re sure this is the place?” Chris peers out the windshield at the towering care center, brow furrowed as he notices the lack of lights from the windows. “It looks abandoned.”
“I’m sure. It’s public information that Victor owns this place.” Albert’s tone comes off a little too dry, and if the circumstances were any different, he’d laugh at the way Chris mocks him when he thinks he isn’t looking. He sort of resents the BSAA for sending Chris, of all people, with him, but the logical side of him recognizes the benefit. Both of them want to see you home safe, as opposed to him being stuck with some random soldier who doesn’t even know who you are.
Rain falls heavy against the pavement as they get out of the truck, adding to the eerie sensation the center gives off. The main entrance door gives easily, striking them both as odd that it isn’t locked.
“Wesker, I’m telling you, this place is abandoned—”
Chris’ voice falls off sharply as they step into the silent main hall, coppery liquid squelching beneath their boots. The hall looks like something out of a Terrifier film, gored corpses littering the tile, blood seeping into the grout. Torn flesh hangs off each body, decomposing organs showing where skin and muscle had been ripped clean off by teeth. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize this as an outbreak, given the mottled infection littering the bodies, and the suspect groans and snarls from down each wing.
Albert tips the head of a body up with the edge of his boot, letting the flickering lights above shine down on it. His mind briefly conjures up the image of you like this, and his stomach rolls with nausea. “T-virus, looks like.”
“What? How? Raccoon City was completely decimated.”
Albert gives Chris that dead-eyed look over his shoulder that makes him feeling like a twenty-year-old rookie again. “You don’t think one of Umbrella’s former researchers could have recreated it?”
He can feel Chris rolling his eyes the second he turns away. “Alright, whatever. You check the east wing, I’ll check the west?”
Albert doesn’t respond, just turns on his heel and disappears down the east hall.
Your limbs feel heavy as you slowly come back to consciousness, drifting in that warm, mindless space between sleep and wake. You don’t quite remember where you are, lingering sedation leaving you half in a dream. It feels so real, the hand combing through your hair, the touch gentle and affectionate, like you’re something to be prized. In your half-asleep state, you think it’s Albert, your head tilting to seek out more of that steady touch. Your mind casts back to a time when you were always at his side, your head in his lap while he worked, his voice soft as he reads off whatever he was working on, just to give you something to doze off to. You swear that’s what’s happening now, even if something feels… wrong.
“Wake up, darling.”
You whine, shifting away, content to stay in your dream. “Wanna sleep, Al,” you mumble, words slurring with sleep. A booming laugh echoes above you, dragging you further away from the drifting memory.
“Al? How cute.” The hand in your hair tightens and pulls, slamming you back to reality with a scream. Florescent lights blind you, the table below you hard and cold, the air reeking of antiseptic. Sharp plastic digs into your cheeks uncomfortably, a crudely fashioned muzzle covering your mouth as recompense for biting him earlier. Your eyes pop open and everything rushes back to you the second they land on Gideon, his face far too close to yours. You jerk away—or, try to, but his hold on your hair keeps you in place.
“I hate to ruin your nap, but we must get started.”
Your stomach drops at his words, his hand leaving your hair in favor of running up your thigh, your muscles twitching away as much as they can under your restraints.
“If you touch me, I’ll cut your fucking head off,” you snarl, desperate to hide the panicked wobble in your voice. “God help you if Albert finds out.”
He laughs again, manic and cruel, his black nails biting into your thigh viciously. “Your husband isn’t going to come save you, you ridiculous girl. The BSAA isn’t going to let him off-leash any time soon. Now…” His hand drags up your leg, nails slicing through denim and the soft skin beneath, making you cry out. You kick and scream helplessly, suffocating as you realize how stuck you really are, bound and muzzled like a prisoner.
Gideon’s cold fingers slip under your shirt, and your chest constricts so tight you can hardly breathe. You will yourself to think about anything else, about your home, about Albert, anything other than what’s happening right now. Faintly, you think you hear footsteps, heavy and quick just outside, but surely-?
A bang echoes through the room, loud enough to disorient you and make your ears ring. Your eyes flinch shut, and you feel something slick splatter across your face, the smell of copper flooding your senses. A panicked scream tears from you, nearly suffocating on your own blind terror. When your eyes open again, you almost throw up—Gideon stands there, half of his head gone. Chunks of gore and skull stain your shirt and skin, but he simply stands there for a moment, his remaining eye darting around dazedly. It finally stills, fixing on you, and his body collapses all at once, slamming into the floor with a heavy thud.
Fingers wrap around your wrist, undoing the muzzle and binds, and you scream again, thrashing in the direction of the unknown assailant.
“Shh, shh, it’s me.” The voice sounds familiar, deep and soothing to your panicked mind. He grabs onto your waist as you throw yourself off the table, steadying you and forcing you to look at him. It takes you a second, eyes adjusting painfully to no longer having those surgical lights glaring down on you, and you all but sob when you recognize the face in front of you.
“Al?” Your voice cracks, bone-deep relief hitting you so hard your vision swims.
“It’s just me, dearheart. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, brushing some of the gore from your cheek. His arms wrap tight around you when collapse into him, his grip being the only thing keeping you upright as you cry yourself hoarse into his shoulder. It’s the first time you’ve really been able to touch him in over a year, and you cling to him like a second skin. He’s not much better off, combing his fingers through your hair and holding on to you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear into thin air.
You pull yourself together enough to get your feet back under yourself, your whole frame shaking as you look up at him. “You- You’re here.” You sound like you almost don’t believe it, his hold on you tightening in response.
“Of course I am.” He’s ditched those ridiculous sunglasses, letting you see the heavy emotion in his gaze, crimson irises dark with desperation. “There’s not a force on earth that could stop me from finding you.”
You don’t hesitate to kiss him despite how disgusting you feel right now, shaking hands fisting in his jacket. Warm fingers wrap around your own, holding your hand against his heart while his other hand cups the back of your neck, keeping you steady against him. You part only when you need air, your breath shuddering against his chest as you collapse back into him.
Chris rounds the corner, gun drawn and ready for a fight. He deflates with relief once he sees you, laughing when Albert tugs you closer to himself when Chris tries to touch you. You’re dimly aware of what they’re saying—something about another outbreak, a new version of the T-virus—but you’re so out of it you don’t really absorb any of it.
People and sirens fill the building’s front courtyard, the BSAA and DSO eager to fight over who gets to investigate the care center. Albert shields you from the circling sharks, snapping at anyone who gets too close as he marches you to Chris’ truck, settling you in the passenger seat. It’s warm and quiet, soothing to your frayed nerves.
“Are you alright?” His carmine gaze flutters over your body, circling back to the tear in your jeans.
You shrug, lips curling into a wobbly smile. “Yeah, I guess. Just… shaken up.” You brush your knuckles over his cheek, the warmth of his skin seeping into you. “I missed you.”
He tilts his head into your touch, something heavy and complicated marring his features. “I should’ve been there. They’re going to put me back in that cage when you’re—” His mouth clicks shut, a growl reverberating in the back of his throat.
“I’ll be okay.” Maybe not immediately, the idea of going back to your apartment alone making your stomach twist with fresh nerves, but you don’t want to worry him. “I’m a tough girl.”
He smiles, shaking his head, patting your flank affectionately. “You are. It’s the only way you can put up with me.”
“Wesker!” Chris’ voice booms across the courtyard, making you both jump. He waves him over, and you weakly grab onto his bicep. Hot tears sting your eyes suddenly, lungs shuddering. You don’t want to let him go, no matter how much you know you have to.
Albert’s jaw loosens, eyes lost as he struggles with what to say. Vulnerability never came easy to him, but you solve the problem for him, pulling him into another kiss. It’s soft, but tinged with desperation, like you don’t know when you’ll be able to kiss him again. If ever.
“Bye,” you whisper against his mouth, barely choking back a whimper.
“Come see me tomorrow.” It’s his turn to sound broken, needy like telling him no could kill him. “I need to see you’re okay.”
You nod, and Chris yells for him again, his muscles tensing beneath your hands. He presses one more kiss to your trembling lips and steps away, leaving you ice cold despite the warmth of the car. The door shuts and you lean against it, exhaustion hitting you hard as the adrenaline seeps out of you all at once. You struggle to keep your eyes open as you watch him walk away, eventually losing the battle, his silhouette haunting your dreams.
Chris looks tired when Albert walks up to him, him and a handful of DSO agents purposefully separated.
“Your issues will have to wait.” Albert knows he’s in no position to be giving orders, but old habits are hard to break. “You need to take her home so she can rest.”
“I’m gonna stick around, figure out whatever the fuck is going on here. You take her home, would you?” He nods towards the truck, pointedly ignoring the way Albert’s brow furrows with confusion.
“I need to go back to the facility,” Albert grits out, hating that Chris is making him say it. “Don’t taunt me, Chris. She can’t wait around while you dick-measure with the DSO.”
A pair of keys almost hits him square in the face, making him flinch back as he snatches them out of the air right in time. The way Chris is looking at him knocks him off-kilter, gray eyes reluctantly amused. “Go home with your wife, Wesker. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Chris turns and walks away before Albert can say anything else, leaving him standing there, rattled by something dangerously close to gratitude—for Chris, of all people. The first rays of sunrise peek over the horizon as he walks back to the truck, bathing you in soft golden light. You’re fast asleep against the door, exhaustion finally getting the better of you. The sight makes something fundamental to his core soften, hope settling deep in his bones in a way he hasn’t felt in decades.
Maybe things can be different.