An Unhealthy Obsession

by down_the_rabbithole

Summary:

You weren’t a bad person, you were just protective. You weren’t obsessive, you just fell in love easily. And if you had to squash a few bugs to ensure your perfect love story with Leon Kennedy, then so be it.

See, what you didn’t know was that someone else held similar feelings for you. And he was far, far more dangerous.

Chapter 1: Like a Bug

You weren’t a bad person, actually you would say you were the opposite. You helped people — it’s literally what you did for a living. 

You weren’t bad, you were just—

“Please, stop!”

“Shut up,” you sneered, half indifferent as you looked down at the bloody mess you had made. 

—Protective. Yeah, that was a word for it!

You were just being protective, looking out for him . He was such a nice guy — too nice for his own good. It encouraged all sorts of people to latch onto him. Including back-stabbing bitches you had to crush with your boot. Literally.

Sarah Joves was a receptionist at the RPD. The type of girl who batted her eyelashes at every man she saw and kept the first four buttons of her blouse undone — whatever, if that’s how she wanted to live her life, more power to her! What she did was none of your business.

Until she turned those beady snake eyes onto the new rookie. Latching onto him with her slithering skin, shoving her fake boobs in his face, even has he awkwardly tried to shuffle away. 

“ I don’t think he’s interested,” you’d lightly said to her, when there was still a chance to do things civilly. When you gave her a fair chance to just walk away.

But Sarah had only scoffed. “Some of them start off that way, but I’ll have him by the end of the week.” 

Her advances didn’t stop and, even if Leon’s new colleagues joked and cheered him on for scoring “such a chick”, you knew better. You barely took your eyes off of him, easily being able to read his discomfort when Sarah touched him. Maybe he laughed along with the others, but you could see his painful grimace every time she came near him.

She wouldn’t be missed.

Maybe you could’ve been cleaner — a quick stab wound or even a poison. But she had made your Leon uncomfortable, and that just wasn’t acceptable. No, you had made her death messy; dragging her into a back alley and stomping on her fat head.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Honestly, it must have been her thick skull that was keeping her alive throughout it all. Not that you minded, you were more than happy to take your sweet time with it.

It would take one final blow to end her miserable, pathetic life. 

“You really should’ve left Leon alone,” you told her, a fake sympathy in your voice as you smiled down at the mangled form.

SPLAT!

Her blood covered your face as your heavy boot crashed down, a satisfying crack echoing through the dank alley. 

 

---

 

 

No one questioned your appearance while you made your way back to your apartment. You wore all black, blood blending in and becoming nearly impossible to see against the dark fabric, especially at night. 

You walked into a hole-in-the-wall bar — near enough to the alley that you could there with ease through walking distance, but not so close that it was immediately checked for witness statements. It was a slight gamble to dump your spare change of clothes in a public bathroom, but you’d made the bag dirty enough that most people wouldn’t chance a glance inside.

The black clothes you’d used were about five sizes too big for you, swimming on your form and completely blocking your gender from any cameras. Likewise, the boots were two sizes larger than your actual feet. With your hood and medical mask, you were essentially unrecognisable. 

That late at night, no one in the bar questioned why the person with the hoodie never came out of the bathroom, letting you leave with ease. 

The hardest part was dumping your clothes — you had no fireplace in your apartment and, unless you took a trip to the sewers, you didn’t have access to an incinerator. The best course of action was to douse them with bleach and discard them in a dumpster far away from the murder site. 

Murder really was such a difficult and long process, you tried to keep it to a five person a year minimum. But, if they were flying around your Leon, could you really be blamed?

You took a tentative sigh of relief when you were finally back in your apartment, but you wouldn’t fully relax until the murder had been reported. Until it had become a cold case and you were entirely free from suspicion. When one became too complacent, that was when they were put behind bars.

Still, you couldn’t exactly recall every being this anxious in your previous antics. You were always tense after the fact, but you never had any issue falling asleep.

But tonight… Tonight felt like someone was watching you.

 

---

 

 

“I can’t believe someone murdered her.” 

“I can.”

“Jill!”

“What? She was a bitch.”

You fought back an amused smile, listening to Rebecca and Jill have their back and forth. If they noticed your quietness, they didn’t mention it.

“Still, you can’t say shit like that,” Rebecca scolded. “It’s wrong to speak ill of the dead.”

Jill only shrugged. “Not if the dead’s a bitch.”

Rebecca merely rolled her eyes, swiveling her chair back to her own desk. 

“She’s right you know,” you said to Jill, a gentle smile still on your face. “Sarah wasn’t the best person but she was still a person. We still saw her everyday and now she’s just… gone.”

“Death sort of comes with the territory of stars, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know. But Rebecca’s still new — go easy on her.”

Already the news was flooded with Sarah’s gruesome murder — every channel fixated on the violent nature of her death. Apparently, her boyfriend barely recognised her face when he was brought in to identify her. 

You practically sneered; she had a boyfriend and was making moves on Leon. 

“Whore,” you muttered.

“What was that?” Jill asked, blissfully unaware of what you said as you watched the news on the grainy tv in the office.

“Poor Sarah… So gruesome.”

You practically bounced up in your seat when twelve o’clock came, signaling it was time for lunch. But it wasn’t your sandwich you were excited to see.

Jill looked at you with a knowing smirk, cracking her neck as she stood up. “Let me guess; you’re having lunch downstairs?” 

You just smiled at her, a skip in your step as you walked downstairs to the break room. Of course, that smile was shot down when you didn’t see Leon there. Just a few other cops, along with a few Bravo team members. Most people in Alpha team didn’t have time to take their break — your hard ass captain would be more than happy to blow harsh words if you didn’t finish a report on time or if it wasn’t up to his standard. Bravo team’s captain seemed to keep his troops on a looser leash, which you could only dream of.

You were almost certain you would be given a stern talking to by Wesker at the end of the week; for the past month of your new obsession, your performance had been slipping and it showed.

Your sandwich was dry, stale and entirely without taste. Everything seemed that way without Leon; tasteless, grey, and bland. Where the hell was he?

Surely he wasn’t mourning that bitch… Your eyes narrowed at the thought. You’d killed her for him, there was no way he was saddened by her death. No possible way. He should’ve taken a sigh of relief that you’d dealt with that nuisance for him. 

Your ears perked up when you heard the door open, only to have your entire body sag once more when it was just Chris.

“Don’t look too happy to see me,” he joked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Sorry,” you said, though your low voice didn’t convince him. “What are you doing down here anyways? You never have lunch here.”

“Maybe I just wanted a change,” he supplied, sitting down next to you.

You gave him an unconvinced raised eyebrow, to which he sighed.

“Alright, I wanted to talk to you. About Sarah.”

Your heart lurched in your throat. 

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t care. You would offer them the most empathetic eyes you possibly could and gently grasp their hand. You would be supportive or interested or even confused if they pointed an accusation towards you. But Chris? Chris knew you all too well.

You’d practically grown up with Chris — going to the same school as him, going through academy training together. The two of you were childhood best friends and you’d followed him to Racoon city, eventually joining S.T.A.R.S together. 

Chris Redfield was your best friend and he had seen the hood along with the bad. The very, very bad. As in, your parents had sent you to military school for a year bad. As in, people went missing bad. As in, turning up at his house covered in mud and blood bad. 

It wasn’t long before Chris understood your feelings for the new rookie, but you’d assured him that no one would get hurt this time. That it was just a crush, you weren’t obsessed.

But, of course, when the girl who was flirting with Leon went missing, Chris’ gaze turned to you.

Perhaps there was a time where you would’ve told Chris the truth, where your tears were enough to fuel that protective urge inside of him. But you weren’t teenagers anymore and, as much as you loved him, you couldn’t guarantee that Chris wouldn’t turn you in.

“Woah, you don’t think I did it, do you?” You asked, keeping your voice hushed.

Chris immediately looked guilty. “Can you blame me? You’ve got a pretty big crush on Leon and, well…”

Guilt — you could work with that.

You widened your eyes, lowering your eyebrows as you looked at him with pure outage.

“I told you, I’m done with that… After all the progress I’ve made, you really think I’d—“ You cut yourself off, as if you couldn’t finish the sentence. “I can’t believe you.”

You barely gave Chris a moment to stumble through his words, standing up abruptly and storming out of the break room. It hurt you to hurt him, to abuse his friendship, but he just simply couldn’t know.

As you were rounding the corner, though, you ran right into someone.

“Sorry— Leon!”

Leon smiled as he looked down at you, one of his arms grasping your shoulder to help you balance and oh my god I could die happy right now was all that ran through your head.

“You’re having lunch a bit late,” you teased. “Had to have mine all alone.”

Leon chuckled (he had no right being that handsome). “Yeah, I got caught up with paperwork. I’ll have to do overtime tonight.”

“No way,” you gasped. “I have to stay for overtime too!”

You didn’t.

“Really?” He asked, face brightening.

Not really.

“Yeah!” No. 

“Maybe we could get dinner together after. Might make the whole experience less shitty.”

What lucky coin had you found? 

“That sounds great!”

And it would be… As soon as you asked Wesker to do overtime.

“It’s a date,” he said with a charming smile, which immediately fell once he realised what he’d said. “Uh, I mean, if you want it to be. I mean, we don’t—“

“It’s a date.”

You wished you had a camera to capture the blush that rose on his cheeks.

Seriously, you skipped back to the office.

 

---

 

 

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

Your stupid captain with his stupid glasses didn’t even look up from his stupid paperwork.

“I don’t see why I should pay you for overtime when your work hasn’t been efficient for a month.”

God, you wanted to strangle him.

“That’s why I want to stay late, sir, so I can get my work done efficiently,” you explained. “I’ll admit, I have a lot to catch up on and I want my work up to standard.”

There was a long moment of silence. You were about to tell him that you didn’t even need to be paid for it, before he sighed and looked up at you.

“Very well,” he finally said. You nearly cheered. “I need to stay late anyways. I can drive you home.”

No, no, no, no, no.

“No need, sir, I don’t live far.”

“I’d rather not have one of my employees wandering the streets after a woman was just brutally murdered.” 

Yeah, but I’m the murderer so I’ll be fine!

“I have a gun,” you shrugged.

“Very well,” he said eventually. “Try not to get murdered.”

“Will do!” You replied with a smile.

Did you feel bad for lying to your boss? No, not really. But, perhaps a touch of guilt did brush at your insides when you rejected his offer. Seriously, he was rarely nice and he did genuinely seem worried about you walking around on your own. If you weren’t so excited to get dinner with Leon, you might’ve turned around and said yes.

Chris eyes you guiltily for the rest of the day, like a kicked puppy that was too scared to approach you. It was a relief when he left, along with the other S.T.A.R.S members. You weren’t lying when you’d said your work quality had gone down, and you did genuinely work better when there was no one else around. You made some pretty good progress that night, nearly finishing your report, you just hadn’t thought about how tired you were.

You started to doze off at your desk, realising just how long it had been since you had a good night’s sleep. Most of your time, your thoughts were always on Leon, and that made it rather difficult to have a peaceful rest. Not to even mention how time consuming it was to plan a murder — days of research and overthinking had left your body riddled with exhaustion.

With all that taken into account, it wasn’t really much of a surprise when you woke up with your head buried in your arms. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, jolting upright to look at the clock. A sigh of relief left you when you saw you hadn’t been asleep too long; Leon would still be downstairs.

Noting that it was about ten minutes before your meeting time, you began to pack up your things when you noticed an unfamiliar weight over your shoulders. A dark coat was draped over your, enveloping you in warmth and an unfamiliar scent. You squinted your eyes in confusion; you hadn't put that there. But there was only one other person in the office and he— Damnit, why was Wesker being so nice? 

You simply brushed it off as you packed away your things. You missed the warmth of the jacket when you took it off, remembering your grave mistake to leave yours at home. 

“Come in,” Wesker said when you knocked on his door.

“I’m heading home, sir,” you told him. “Umm, thank you, for this.”

You moved to place the jacket on his desk, but he stopped you.

“Give it to me tomorrow — it’s awfully cold tonight.”

You tilted your head. “Are you sure?” He nodded, barely looking up from his work. “Thank you… Aren’t you leaving, sir?”

He sighed and, for a moment, you worried you were annoying him. “No — I’m afraid it will be a long night for me.” 

“Oh, well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” you replied gently. You were just going to walk out, but you turned around to speak to him again. “Sir? Try to get some rest. We’ll start to worry about our fearless leader if you fall asleep at your desk.”

For a moment, you swore his lips lifted in a smile. “Goodnight.”

You raced downstairs to the main hall, face all smiled and bright eyes when you saw Leon waiting for you.

“Hey, sorry — were you waiting long?” You asked.

He smiled back, dimples showing on his perfect cheeks. Seriously, he could kill with that smile.

“Nah, I just got here. You ready?”

You both went back through the East hallway, down to the basement. Honestly, it was a bit ironic, but you hated the basement area. You had to spend quite a bit of time down there, with the shooting range being there, but it didn’t make you hate it any less. What kind of place kept its morgue so close to the shooting range? 

“Nice car,” you complimented, practically swooning as he opened your door for you.

“Thanks. I think she’s pretty neat.”

“Does she have a name?” You asked playfully as he pulled out of the parking spot.

Leon chuckled. “What? No.”

“Your gun has a name,” you teased.

He rolled his eyes then. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

With Racoon City being a fairly large place, a lot of restaurants and diners were open. Leon pulled into a newer burger joint, one that you hadn’t gotten a chance to try yet. Again, you tried not to swoon when he held the door open for you.

The two of you slid into a booth, smiling gratefully when menus were placed in front of you. They didn’t just sell burgers, but they seemed to be the speciality. The whole decor of the place seemed to mirror the fifties, with the bright reds and teals and baby pinks. It had a good vibe.

“You been here before?” You asked Leon.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” he replied, leg idly bouncing to Elvis that quietly played in the background. “I actually—“

“Leon!” A grating, overly cheerful voice cheered out. You actually had to force down a groan when this girl appeared, dress in a uniform and bright red hair. It was an eyesore, really. “Where have you been? You haven’t come round in forever!”

You weren’t a bad person.

You weren’t a bad person.

You weren’t a bad person.

You just wanted to bash this bitch’s head in the table until her face was unrecognisable. You wanted the metal corner to dig so far into her eye that it reached her brain. The eye that looked at your Leon like he was hers. Shining brightly as she saw him, totally ignoring you and eating up his every appearance.

Teeth gritted, you clenched your fist underneath the table. Only when you felt a trickle of blood and Leon’s baby blue gaze turned back to you did you stop.

“What did you want?” He asked gently.

You immediately snapped out of it, telling the waitress what you wanted with a kind smile. She looked up and down with an unimpressed gaze, pursing her lips as if you were gum under her shoe.

Oh, you would show her what it felt like to be under someone’s shoe. 

You took a deep breath; as tempting as the thought was, it would be stupid to strike again so close to another murder. Leon was a police officer, after all, and he would put together that the death’s were connected to him, sooner or later.  And if Leon didn’t, Chris certainly would. An overly friendly waitress at Leon’s regular dining ending up dead? Yeah, Chris would see through that in a heartbeat.

This didn’t have to end with blood.

“You know her?” You asked Leon. “The two of you seem close.”

“Emily? I guess — she’s normally working when I come in.”

“Ahh. I think she might have a crush on you,” you teased, keeping your voice light, even as your nails dug into the flesh of your arm.

Please, for the love of god, choose your next words carefully, Leon.

“No way,” he scoffed. “She’s just nice and… And I kinda already have a thing for someone else.”

You tried to ignore the absolute shattering of your mind. It better fucking have been you. You nearly shivered to think of what you might do if it wasn’t.

“Do I know her?” You asked.

Leon smiled at you, then, cheeks tinted pink. “Let’s just say I finally mustered up the courage to ask her to dinner.”

Oh, thank fuck.

The rest of the night passed by well. Leon was so charming and funny, but so, so awkward. It was really so precious when he said something and, upon realising how it could be taken, tried to stumble his way out of his words. 

But all good things must come to an end and, eventually, the check was placed in front of you. Leon and you had a fight over it, to which he won. Just as you thought the night would pass without incident, that bitch had to pull something.

Emily practically pounced at Leon, wrapping him in a hug like she was a leech. Maybe that was how she got her hair such an obnoxious shade of red — she sucked the blood out of others.

“Bye, Leon,” she said, voice high pitched and whiny. “I’ll miss you.”

Leon looked stiff as the girl clung to him, eventually awkwardly patting her back. “Uhh, okay.” 

She stayed there an uncomfortably long time and then she smirked at you. She. Fucking. Smirked. At. You. 

You didn’t think it would get worse, but that truly was a foolish thought. When she finally got off of him, she kissed his cheek. His cheek with the perfect dimple.

Any rationality was thrown down the drain — the bitch would be missing by the end of the week.

“Maybe she does have a crush on me,” he awkwardly said when the two of you were buckling up in his car.

“Yeah,” you replied, a chuckle to match his awkwardness. “That was… weird. Is she always like that?”

“The hug and kiss thing? Nope, that’s new.”

Was she trying to “stake her claim”? The only stake would be going through her flesh, until blood was—

Leon called your name, as if he had been saying it for a while.

“Sorry, what?”

“Your address?”

“Oh.”

You told him, a pout forming on your lips as your apartment block approached. You didn’t want to get out and end the night, not one bit.

“Can I walk you to your door?” Leon asked.

Umm, fuck yes.

He kept making you laugh through the elevator ride, giggling probably too loud as you walked down the hall. Again, you felt the same disappointment when you reached your door.

“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” Leon said.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you told him. “I had a really good time.”

“Me too.”

You looked at each other for a few moments, mind roaring with the possibility of kissing him. Of hugging him. Of—

It wasn’t a decision you had to make, Leon’s arms wrapping around you and you could’ve died then. He was so strong and so warm and you never wanted him to let you go.

You seriously thought you might’ve died when his lips brushed against your cheek, heart thumping heavily against your ribcage. Was this how sleeping beauty felt when the kiss woke her up? When life was finally breathed into her lungs after a hundred years of death? That’s what it felt like — finally being alive after a lifetime of nothing. Lifelessness.

“Goodnight,” he said to you after you parted, a gentle smile on his lips.

“Goodnight, Leon.”

You were sad to see him go, but you still sighed dreamily when you walked into your apartment. You had a feeling you would sleep well that night.

Well, you did, before you walked into your kitchen and saw one boot on your table. The very boot you had doused with bleach and dumped at the bottom of a garbage bin on the other side of the city. The very boot that should’ve been burned with the rest of Racoon City’s waste. The very boot you never should’ve seen again. 

But it wasn’t alone, next to it laid a piece of paper, words written with jagged, messy writing. As if someone didn’t want you recognising their handwriting. Not that you had much time to think about that, not when the words on the page sent liquid dread through your bones.

‘I know what you did.’

 

Chapter 2: Thin Ice

“You look awful.”

“Jill!”

Maybe she lacked tact, but Jill wasn’t wrong if you looked even half as bad as you felt. Sleep was something you couldn’t even think about grasping the previous night, heart bursting with anxiety as your skin prickled, as if someone was watching you. Because someone was watching you. 

You gave the girls a tired smile that came off as more of a grimace, telling them that you’d just had a late night. When you sat down at your desk, you fought the urge to cry; you just wanted to sleep! 

The paperwork in front of you was a far off thought, mind consumed by what had greeted you last night. 

‘I know what you did.’

Someone had seen you murder Sarah. Someone knew that her blood was intentionally on your hands. Did they have evidence? Who were they? Did you know them? Fuck, you thought you’d been so careful.

A hand on your shoulder had you practically jumping out of your skin, forcing you to fight the urge to take your pen and shove it through human flesh. But it was just Jill, looking down at you with a concerned gaze.

“What’s with you? I called your name, like, five times.”

“Sorry,” you replied, voice nearly breathless. “I really didn’t sleep well last night.”

A raised eyebrow told you she didn’t quite believe your words, but she didn’t prod any further. “It’s lunchtime — you going to see lover boy, or what?”

You took your lip in between your teeth, biting down until the taste of blood spat on your tongue. Did you want Leon to see you like this? With dark purple circles under your eyes, skin pale from lack of sleep… You kind of looked like a zombie.

But did you want to miss out on seeing Leon? You looked forward to your meetings every single day, could you willingly just not see him? 

Maybe seeing Leon would put your mind at ease. You stood up from your desk with a tired groan, walking to the door of the office when—

Wesker called your last name, summoning your presence in his office. You bit back a frustrated scream; you just wanted to see Leon! 

“Yes, sir?” You asked, only popping your head through the door.

“I need you to come downtown with me,” Wesker said, gathering his things. “Barry is sick and you were the only other person active during last week’s shooting.”

Well, it was closer to two weeks. There’d been a sudden shooting at the local mall, giving the S.T.A.R.S team absolutely no prep time — it was simply a matter of who was in the area. The only three who were close enough and equipped were you, Wesker, and Barry Burton. Reports had been an absolute shit show and, now, there had to be more investigation. More reports. It was supposed to be Barry’s job to go down with Wesker to deal with the aftermath, but he was “sick” which left you. Wonderful.

“Does it have to be right this moment?” You asked him.

Wesker raised a brow. “Have something better to do?”

Yes, I want to have lunch with the love of my life.

“Uh, I was just about to have lunch, sir,” you told him. It wasn’t a lie, exactly.

“We can get lunch when we’re done,” he replied as he strapped on his holster. 

You sighed; this wasn’t an argument you were winning, not without risking your position. If there was one thing Wesker did not stand for, it was insubordination.

“Yes, sir.”

 

---

 

 

“So, you think this whole thing was planned by the mob?”

Racoon City was a big place and, like any big place in America, it had its fair share of gang and mob dealings. 

“Perhaps not planned,” Wesker explained, scrubbing through the grainy footage of the security cameras. “But I certainly think it’s involved.”

“Some kind of gang struggle?” You asked.

“That would be where I place my bet.”

Nearly two weeks and the mall was still practically dead, despite being reopened to the public. You couldn’t blame them, of course, who would want to visit the sight of a shooting? 

There were two shooters — one who ended his own life and one who had been taken in police custody but, of course, he was keeping his lips tightly shut. Another reason why Wesker thought it had something to do with the gangs; a criminal could survive prison, but he wouldn’t survive being a rat.

With further evidence and the rebuilding, as well as police detail guarding every nook of the place, it just meant more paperwork. So. Much. Paperwork. You’d seriously rather deal with an apocalypse than deal with more paperwork.

You had to admit though, you did like watching Wesker work. You didn’t know a whole heap about his past, but you knew he was experienced and wildly intelligent. He was the captain of Alpha team for a reason, after all, he was the best of the best. You certainly could learn a lot from him and, even if you felt a little bit like a puppy trailing after him, it was extremely informative to watch him.

“You think you’ll get our guy to talk?” You asked Wesker when the two of you left the mall, approaching his car.

“I’ll certainly try.” 

A part of you shivered at the thought of Albert Wesker interrogating you.

True to his word, Wesker did take you to lunch. Granted, you’d expected a fast food place or a burger joint — you certainly hadn’t expected an Italian place that practically radiated ‘ you’re too poor for this’ energy. Although you probably shouldn’t have been surprised, after all Wesker didn’t look like he’d eat a burger.

You were surprised when he held the door open for you. You had a feeling your captain was a gentleman, you just never thought his manners would extend to his subordinates. Anyone was capable of surprises, you noted when he pulled your chair out for you.

You nearly cringed when you saw the entire menu was in Italian. 

“Everything alright?” He asked over the menu, noticing the distress you failed to hide.

No.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve just told him that you couldn’t read Italian and you needed help with the menu. But there was a rather long and complicated as to why you simply couldn’t do that — not without the risk of losing your job.

When you cared for someone, you did so deeply. When you got attached, you loved them with all your heart. Sometimes you loved so deeply that you couldn’t bear to be apart from a person — that was the case with Chris.

You loved Chris, he was like a brother to you. You’d been through thick and thin together and, when you’d found out he was moving all the way to Raccoon City, you knew you had to follow. 

But S.T.A.R.S was extremely prestigious, hand picking only the best of the best. Your resumè was, by no means, lacking — military school when you were a teenager, military training for four years, a position as an infantry leader, skilled with hand-to-hand combat and machinery, a degree in forensic science — but you knew others would have better. That they’d be older and more skilled… If you wanted to follow Chris, you had to infringe just a little bit.

During your time in the military, you had done some work in communications and operations between other nations. Not for long, of course, considering you were absolutely shit at it but that wasn’t exactly what your resumè said. According to the piece of paper you had handed in at your interview, you experienced delegation with several countries and you spoke six languages other than English.

It wasn’t an entire lie; you were fluent in other languages. The part of knowing Spanish, French, and Chinese was true… But you only knew a few words in Italian and had absolutely no knowledge of Russian or Japanese. Or Korean, for that matter. Or German. Alright, maybe you said you knew more than just six languages. 

Were it anyone else, you would act confused and claim that you never even mentioned knowing Italian. They would probably feel embarrassed and never mention it again, you would walk away scot free. But this was Wesker, he remembered stuff. If there was one person you knew you couldn’t lie to, it was him.

When the waiter came, you very painfully spoke out your order. The words were unfamiliar and jagged against your tongue, and the waiter’s face told you that you’d butchered the pronunciation.

“I thought you spoke Italian,” Wesker observed with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a little rusty — been a while since I’ve had to use it.”

Yeah… he wasn’t convinced. Especially not when the meal was brought out and yours (you didn’t even know what it was — some kind of bread thing?) was covered in tomatoes. It was no secret in the office that you despised tomatoes, avoiding even the sight of them. It had become an ongoing joke in the office, one of which even Wesker had heard of. So, yeah, he definitely wasn’t convinced you knew any Italian when that came to sit in front of you.

You really should’ve just asked him because his meal looked delicious. It was a creamy pasta topped with fresh looking garnish and you were so hungry. 

When Wsker sighed, you fully believed you were about to lose your job. Instead, he reached over across the table, taking away the tomato monstrosity and replacing it with his pasta.

You tentatively looked up at him, confusion in your gaze.

“Might I make a recommendation?” He asked as he undid his cutlery from his napkin, although he wasn’t expecting an answer. “If you lie on your resumè, ensure that you won’t be caught in it.”

The smile you gave him was painful. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you lie often?” He asked, and the way he said it… Well, it was as if it was just ordinary conversation rather than your boss catching you in a lie.

“No.”

“Was that a lie?”

“It might’ve been.”

You’d like to say you only told little white lies, that you only lied when no one would be hurt from it. That was how it started but… You couldn’t exactly say that was the truth anymore. 

“Are you going to fire me?” You found yourself asking, again keeping your tone light as if it were normal conversation. Something told you begging and crying would only annoy him more.

“Hmm? Don’t be ridiculous; you’re a skilled asset to S.T.A.R.S, I’m not going to terminate your position over this.”

You could’ve taken a sigh of relief at that moment.

“However—“

Damnit.

“—I do expect you to learn Italian, and any other languages you claim to know. Take this as a lesson to better your skills.”

“Yes, sir.”

Lunch was delicious and, considering the prices, you were relieved when Wesker covered the bill. Of course, that didn’t stop you from offering to pay, even if you were glad he did. 

“It’s already late, take the rest of the day off,” he told you when you got into his car.

“Really?” You asked, half expecting him to say no and cackle like a maniac. Instead, he just nodded and drove to your apartment.

It was nearly painful how silent the car ride was, Wesker being one of those sociopaths that decided not to listen to the radio. To distract yourself, you found yourself looking at him. It wasn’t the first time that you found yourself admitting he was very good looking — of course he was no Leon Kennedy but he was still very handsome. There hadn’t been many times you saw him without his sunglasses but you knew his eyes were just as consuming as the rest of him.

You furrowed your brow as confusion struck you; was his commitment to his work the reason he was still single? You’d always used to roll your eyes and believe it was his hard-ass personality that repelled women. But outside of work, he seemed well mannered and, dare you say, charming. Maybe he didn’t crack jokes or offer heart pounding smiles like Leon, but he was certainly a gentleman.

He was tall, handsome, well mannered, and you knew he had money; why was he single? Why was there no Mrs. Wesker? 

“Do you need me to walk you to your apartment?” He asked, snapping you from your thoughts when you realised you were outside your building.

“Uh, no.”

You could’ve sworn his eyes narrowed behind those glasses. “Then please get out of my car.”

Oh, that’s why he was single; you’d forgotten he was a total jackass,

Through your rage and indignation as you hiked to your apartment, it almost didn’t register in your head that you never actually told him your address.

 

---

 

 

Maybe it was too risky to have more bloodshed on your hands, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do other things.

A week passed by without incident; no other ominous notes or objects left in your apartment, no reports made to the RPD, and no developments toward Sarah’s murder. As far as things were going, you were in the clear.

Still, someone out there knew the dark deed you’d done when you thought no one was looking, and you weren’t stupid to kill again. But Emily really was pushing your rationality.

Almost everytime Leon was at the diner, she was there. Touching him, smiling at him, taunting you as she did so. Granted, you’d only been with him again once, but watching Leon had become a pastime. And almost every time you watched him, that bitch was there too. 

She was getting bolder in her advances, to the point where Leon had to verbally express his discomfort. That he didn’t feel that way for her and he had feelings for someone else. You had, foolishly, thought that would be the end — she’d be an adult and take the hint.

She didn’t. The little bitch had kissed him on the fucking mouth.

You longed to kill. You craved to see if her insides matched the colour of her hair. To see how long she could stay conscious if you carved her open, making her watch as you ripped out her insides and fed them to her.

But it was far too risky, and you could settle for destroying her life.

You didn’t kill her, you just took money out of the till and planted it in her work bag. You didn’t kill her, you just put her manager’s diamond wedding ring in her apron pocket. You didn’t kill her, you just ensured she would lose her job and have theft on her permanent record.

Granted, you did expect the ring to be valued over five thousand dollars. Or for her manager to sue. Oopsies! 

You hadn’t expected Leon to be so upset either.

“She swears she didn’t do it.”

Why are you still in contact with her?

“You evidence points otherwise,” you shrugged, taking a sip of your milkshake.

Leon barely even touched his food, his mind seeming to be in a constant war with itself since he’d gotten the news.

“She seems like she’s telling the truth, though.”

“Leon, anyone can seem like they’re telling the truth if they’re a good enough liar.”

“But she doesn’t seem like a liar.”

“I’m sure Ted Bundy didn’t either.”

This was why you liked Leon so much; he was good. Even in the face of evidence that pointed to nothing but theft, he still wanted to believe in Emily! Ironically, he was right but he didn’t need to know that. You just admired how he wanted to help her, even if it was a helpless situation.

Leon sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Something just seems off.”

It was your turn to sigh. “The ring was in her pocket, Leon. What’d you think happened? That someone else stole it and slipped it in?” 

“Exactly!” He said, clearly not hearing your sarcasm. “God, I would give anything to see that camera footage.”

Oh shit.

You could practically feel the colour drain from your face, paling from dread and terror.

“There are cameras here?” You asked, trying to keep your voice even.

“Yeah — the owner keeps it on the down low but they’re here.”

“And did they check the footage for last week?”

“They tried but it’s all corrupted. They think it’s got something to do with the power outage that happened — nothing from last week can even be seen.”

Oh, thank god.

“That sucks.”

“I know.”

How had you not noticed the cameras? Where even were they? Wasn’t an establishment legally required to inform the public of cameras? Fuck, this could’ve gone so badly. 

Still, even if it seemed like the time to thank your lucky stars, you couldn’t fight the uneasy feeling that sloshed around in your insides. Leon was right, something about this felt off — way more than what was under the surface. 

You’d planned on inviting Leon inside for a movie but you didn’t, sending him off with a hug instead. You had a terrible feeling something was waiting for you.

Again, you were hit with a terrible horror, the kind you were far more used to submitting people to. Was this how they felt when they realised their lives were coming to an end? When they saw just what you were beneath the mask? This horror, this dread… is this how they felt when they saw that manic look in your eyes?

‘I’d recommend more caution next time.’

Taunting words paired with pictures. Pictures you could only assume were printed from the missing security. Power outage? You could scoff at the thought — someone had intentionally corrupted the footage to save your skin. But why? To what purpose? 

You groaned, deciding to think about it all later. All you wanted to think about was the fact that it was Friday and you were more than willing to crack open the wine.

 

Chapter 3: It’s Chris’s Party and I’ll Cry if I want to

Notes:

In another life, Chris is a third love interest. Alas.

You were a troubled child — obviously. Constantly getting into fights, a few instances of arrests, screaming matches with your parents. The only time you were only ever “calm” was when you had an obsession to fixate on, but even then you were extremely prone to violent outbursts.

But there were two people you were never violent around. 

Chris and Claire Redfield had never been subjected to your aggressive bouts of anger and they never would be. Especially Claire. You loved that girl, she was like a sister to you.

So, could you really be blamed when you killed the disgusting pig that tried to hurt her? 

Claire had been accepted into one of the top universities in New York, which was one of the only reasons Chris felt okay to move all the way to Racoon City. Being the protective older brother, he didn’t want to leave her all alone but she had plans to live on campus anyways. Besides, Claire was a tough girl.

But this separation meant neither Chris nor you saw Claire very much. If it was hard for you, you knew it was damn near ripping Chris to sheds. Still, even if she wasn’t technically your sister, you missed her a lot.

“Claire!” 

Which was why you were so excited to see her when she came to visit for Chris’s 23rd birthday.

“I missed you!” The girl squealed, jumping into your arms in the middle of the busy airport. “How’s Chris?”

Now, of course Chris would have wanted to pick up his little sister from the airport but her visit was a surprise. His whole birthday party was a surprise and you were very excited to see the look on his face.

He’d never admit it, but Chris loved when people did things for him. It didn’t have to be a very big thing or anything, he appreciated even the small things. He’d been looking after Claire for a long time, putting her above himself, which he was fine with but it wasn’t often that someone was looking out for him. When someone showed him that they cared, he really appreciated it.

Which was why you had to plan a surprise party for him, duh.

Chris was a bit married to his work — most members of S.T.A.R.S were — so he didn’t have a whole heap of friends outside of that, but you’d done your best to track them down (yes, you had stalked Chris for nearly two weeks to find out who he interacted with). Most of those in the RPD (aside from the people Chris didn’t like) were invited, as well as all S.T.A.R.S members. You’d also tracked down a few of his gym buddies, maybe not people he knew super well but you didn’t want it to feel like a work event.

And, of course, the main surprise was Claire. She’d taken a few days off school to fly down and you knew Chris would be ecstatic.

“I’m finally gonna get to meet this Jill I’ve heard so much about,” Claire said with a smirk as she slid into the cab.

You smirked back. “ Yep — you should see how he acts around her, it’s so fucking funny.”

“Does he do that thing where he messes up his hair?”

“ Yep.”

Claire practically cackled. “What a nerd.”

The smile on your face was easy and, for the first time in a while, your anxieties were quelled. Claire always had the effect on people — easing them, immediately making them like her. She was a breath of fresh air, her easy going nature rubbing off on even the most anxious of souls.

“What about you? Anyone of interest?” She asked.

Leon Kennedy is the love of my life. We’re gonna get married and have a house and a dog, and do couple things all of the time. We can even have kids if he wants them, and I hope they have his eyes because they’re the most beautiful shade of blue and they sparkle in the sun and—

“Not really,” you shrugged.

 

---

 

If there was one thing that could be said for both of the Redfield siblings, they loved to talk. And ask questions, even if it could get them hurt.

Seriously, you’d think Chris would have learned not to question you anymore. Most of the time, he really didn’t want to know the answer.

“Where are we going?” He asked for, what seemed, the millionth time.

“Somewhere.”

“I swear to god, if you’re making me bury another body—“

“Chris!”

“Then where are we going!”

“Hold your horses, we’re here.”

It seemed he really did think you had something terrible planned for him, face pale as he approached the door. Maybe if he’d been thinking less on what horror you could have potentially committed, he would’ve noticed that you were outside of a restaurant,

“SURPRISE!”

You swore you saw him reach for his gun — yeah, maybe you should’ve warned them against the party poppers. At least the horror quickly faded to joy.

“What is this?” He asked as he turned to you, a tentative smile on his face.

“It’s your party, dumbass. You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”

Chris barely had time to get another word out before a flash of red came barreling at him, arms wrapped tightly around his torso.

“Happy birthday, Chris!” Claire sang out.

His face immediately brightened, as if he’d never been exhausted before in his life. As if he’d never seen or experienced any horrors or military harshness. For a moment, he looked like the kid you knew before his parents died.

You wanted to give them some time to catch up (and find Leon), so you began to shrug off your coat. You put it up with the rest, distracted by a voice.

“ Damn, someone looks good tonight,” Rebecca complimented. “Is there a certain rookie you’re hoping to charm?”

“Please, I wear stuff like this all the time.”

Alright, maybe your dress was just an inch shorter than what you’d normally gravitate to. And maybe there was just a brush more cleavage sticking out, a lick too tight. And maybe you didn’t normally wear black, but it stuck out nicely against your skin tone and highlighted all of your assets.

Yes, you wanted Leon’s attention. And, if his eyes glancing at you from across the room were any indication, you were getting it.

Rebecca gave you a teasing smile before going off on her own, leaving you free to approach Leon. The entire room faded away as you looked at him, leaving nothing but him and those eyes that mirrored the sky. If you willed your legs to stop, you weren’t sure they would. Nothing could stop you from getting to him.

Although some jackass was more than willing to try.

“Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for the invite.”

You physically restrained the urge to roll your eyes, even as your jaw locked and your fist clenched at the fabric of your dress. You tried to focus on your breathing, head roaring with violence as you recognised him to be one of Chris’s friends from the gym.

He’s just being nice, you told yourself. He’s just saying thank you. No need to be dramatic.

You tried to rationalise your thinking, to reign in your rage even as a part of you begged to see this man’s blood. Maybe going back to therapy wasn’t such a bad idea.

“You’re welcome,” you replied with a tight smile. You hoped it didn’t look too forced, Leon was watching after all.

Giving him another strained smile, you began walking away. You’d thought that was the end of it. You were wrong.

Your eye twitched when his hand grasped your arm.

“I just think this whole thing you did for Chris is really cool—“

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. 

Nails dug into flesh, the pain a welcome distraction from the anger. You couldn’t react, not now — not when everyone was watching. Not when Leon was watching. You had to play nice. You were a normal, well adjusted adult.

But every rational thought shattered when you realised Leon wasn’t even there anymore. If that wasn’t a sign from the universe to not play nice, you didn’t know what was.

“I’d love to get to know you better. I think you’re really—“

With narrowed eyes you gripped the hand that touched you and you squeezed. You squeezed until the casual flirtation in his eyes morphed into a painful panic. Until he couldn’t suppress a wheeze of pain. Until you heard a satisfying crack beneath your fingers.

You pulled him towards you, keeping that same overly joyous smile on your lips. With your face not even an inch from his, you spoke to him, voice as sickly sweet as honey.

“If you ever touch me with this hand again, I’ll rip it off,” you warned, dropping his hand and watching as it fell limp at his side. “Enjoy the party!” 

A smile as sweet as sugar on your lips, matching words worth a thousand poisons. The poor man probably didn’t have a moment to register what had happened to him before you strutted off.

The frustration tugging incessantly at your heart was calmed some, quenched by the small act of violence you were able to commit. Your mother did always say that the military was perfect for you; can’t be harmfully destructive when your whole job is destruction, can you?

You pouted when you realised you couldn’t see Leon anywhere — where had he run off to? 

A hand rested on your shoulder. Your lips raised in a sneer, eyes narrowing with annoyance as you turned around. Had he seriously not learned his lesson?

You opened your mouth as you turned around, your fake smile long since gone. 

“Listen jackass-“

But your mouth abruptly shut when you saw Chris.

He looked surprised and rightly confused. “ Wow , what a greeting!”

You found yourself cringing, an apologetic smile on your lips.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“Well, I’d hate to be that poor sonuvabitch,” he chuckled before his face turned into a gentle smile. “Thank you for doing this — it means a lot.”

You returned his smile without any deceit, feeling nothing but love and fondness for the man in front of you. It wasn’t often that Chris didn’t suffer from jaw breaking stress, and if you could ease it for even a moment, you would. You were glad that he was content, happy . Your friend had been happy far too few times in his life.

“I should be thanking you for living for twenty-three years,” you told him, hitting him gently on the arm. “And for choosing to spend a chunk of that time with me. I’m really lucky to have you as my best friend, Chris.”

“Now, that’s my line,” he said with another laugh before pulling you into a hug.

Affection was something you avoided from most people — hell, touch and contact in general was. Your parents weren’t exactly the loving type and when they were, it was usually because they had fucked up. Badly. They used hugs and kisses and affection as a way to smooth over the bumps and holes they’d made in your young psyche, as if trying to brush the terrible things they’d done under the rug. As if you would forget. As if you could forget.

Regardless, it made you very, very unresponsive to physical contact. You writhed away from it — hissing with every hair stood on end like a feral cat. But even a feral, angry cat gives a few people the privilege to hear it purr; Chris, Claire, Jill, Leon (god, what you wouldn’t give to have Leon touch you). There were a few people in this world who you greatly welcomed the touch of.

So, yeah, when Chris hugged you it felt like you were home. Even in an unfamiliar restaurant, surrounded by people you would never feel comfortable around, you were safe because Chris was there.

“Thank you, I mean it,” he said again when you finally parted.

“Thank you for putting up with my shit for ten years,” you chimed back. “Anyways, you see me all the time — go enjoy your party! Go talk to Jill!”

“Look, Jill and I are—“

You were fairly sure he was about to say something defensive and denying his crush on Jill, but she called out to him and he immediately followed the sound of her voice like a lost puppy. You would’ve shaken your head if you weren’t about to do the exact same thing.

“Hey!”

Your face brightened as you turned around, the room feeling instantly lighter as you looked at Leon. Honestly, it was just unfair how good he looked in a simple white t-shirt. Granted, it was tight — really tight. Like, you could see the grooves of his muscles. And you wanted to rip it off him and—

Okay, down girl! 

“Hey, Leon!” You replied with a smile to match his. “Enjoying the party?”

“Yeah — it was so cool of you to do this for Chris.” 

I could do a lot more for you. Like—

“Eh, he deserves it. He’s pretty cool himself.”

There was a moment then, so quick that you weren’t even sure if it happened, where Leon had a look. It was subtle — it always was — and, to most people, he probably looked completely normal for that moment. But you knew better because you’d felt that look. You weren’t often on the receiving end of it, but it still welcomed you like an old friend; jealousy.

But it wasn’t normal jealousy. It wasn’t high school jealousy — two cheerleaders after the same football player. No. This was dark green, like an emerald glistening with the worst parts of a person. Angry, possessive, violent. For that moment, Leon was a mirror. 

But then it ended in the blink of an eye and you weren’t even sure if it happened at all. 

You shrugged it off; you were probably just projecting. Seeing what you wanted to see. Of course you wanted Leon to be murderously jealous, you were probably looking for things that weren’t there and your desperate mind had conjured it up. It wouldn’t be the first time your hopeful brain had manifested delusions for you.

“You and Chris seem close,” Leon observed, his tone as easy as his smile. “Are you… together?”

Any thoughts of what you probably didn’t see vanished as your eyes widened with panic. Your heart and mind raced with worry at the idea of your chances with Leon being tarnished because he thought you and Chris were more than friends.

“No, no, no, no,” you rapidly answered, quick as a gunshot. “We’re just really good friends—“

You fought the urge to bite your lip as your mind ran; did you dare be bold? Did you dare? The alcohol in your stomach told you that you did.

“—Besides, I have feelings for someone else.” Fuck, why did you say that? That’s so embarrassing. “Kinda. Like, you know, he’s—“

Leon just smiled, eyebrows raised with flirtatious interest. “Oh, do I know him?”

Oh, thank fuck.

“Let’s just say he likes naming inanimate objects.”

Leon sighed, his smile still on his face. “You’re never gonna let that go.”

“No way. Who names their gun?”

His lips lifted into a smirk as he crossed his arms. “The guy you’ve got feelings for, apparently.”

You could feel your cheeks heat as your eyes widened, your smile still on your face. How could you ever not smile when you were talking to Leon? When he was giving you all of his attention and looking at you and laughing with you and—

God, you wished he would give you his attention all the time. It felt like you couldn’t breathe when he didn’t. 

But Leon’s smile dropped when he looked at his watch and a stone of dread settled in your stomach.

“Damnit — I gotta go.”

“What?” You would’ve cringed at how whiny your voice sounded if you weren’t so distracted by his distress.

Leon sighed, forehead creasing with displeasure. You were slightly eased to know he also didn’t want to part from you, though you were certain he didn’t feel quite as terrible as you. He would never understand how big of an impact he had on you — how you craved him in your very bones.

“I’m supposed to be on night shift, some kind of training I have to go through,” he explained. “Marvin gave me a couple hours off to come to this.”

“Oh.” You couldn’t fight the pout that was on your lips.

“ But—“

Your eyes brightened; there was a but!

“—If you’re free tomorrow, we could go for a drive or something.”

“Sounds great!”

“Cool, I’ll pick you up at, say, eleven?”

You gave him a happy nod, fighting the urge to wrap yourself around him. Mostly because you weren’t certain you would let him go.

Okay — new mission, don’t get drunk so I can see Leon tomorrow. That shouldn’t be too hard!

 

---

 

 

You failed. Miserably.

In your defense, you really did try. Not hard, but there was an attempt. 

But it was Chris’s birthday, what kind of friend were you if you let him do his first shot on his own? You were fairly sure you said something along the lines of “but that’s the only one”. But then Chris wanted to do another one and you couldn’t say no, but you promised to cut yourself off after that.

But then Jill wanted to join. And then Rebecca. And then Joseph and, well, there were a lot of shots!

Perhaps you’d said you were done — that you weren’t drinking anymore for the rest of the night. But the hours bled together, mixes of fruit sloshed around with vodka somehow entering your stomach. Then Wesker had shouted an expensive bottle of whiskey for Chris’s birthday and you had to have a drink of that. Or two. Maybe three. Before you knew it, Alpha team had finished the bottle — that shit was smooth.

Next thing you knew, one arm was wrapped around Chris’s shoulders, the other around Barry’s with the entire Alpha team (minus Wesker, obviously) singing American Pie. That was when you realised something was very wrong.

It was around two, maybe three, in the morning. Most partygoers had already left, aside from Alpha team, some of Bravo team, Claire, and one of Chris’s gym friends. The same jackass who’d approached you. There was absolutely no reason both Claire and a random gym guy she didn’t even know should have been away from the party at the same time. Even through your drunken singing, you could tell something was amiss.

You dislodged yourself from the singing chain, stumbling to the bathroom and slurring out Claire’s name. She wasn’t there. The pit in your stomach grew like a sinkhole.

The next place you checked was the last place you hoped she was. Outside the restaurant, where no one could see what was happening. 

“Get off, asshole!” 

No amount of alcohol could ever cover up your anger, not entirely. A feral beast, even subdued, still had rabies.

“C’mon, I’ll make you feel real good.”

“I think she told you to get off her.”

The man froze, widened eyes that held nothing but panic turning to you. That gave Claire a window of opportunity to kick him in between his legs and get away, running behind you.

“Claire, honey, get inside.”

“Should I—“

“Don’t disturb the party — I’ll deal with it.”

Claire may not have known the extent of your… quirks as much as Chris did, but she knew enough. The silence and hesitation was telling.

“Inside — now.”

She did as you told her to, thankfully. You really didn’t want her to see you like this.

With her gone, there was no reason to restrain your anger. No need to mask the burning look in your eyes as you glared at him. You almost laughed when he had the audacity to smirk ; he really thought he could overpower a S.T.A.R.S.

“You know, girly, you really hurt my hand,” he said, approaching you slowly. “I think you oughta compensate me for that.”

You said nothing, there was no use wasting your breath on him. You barely kept your eyes on him as he continued yapping, instead distracted by the glistening of glass. You walked towards it; a discarded bottle.

This time, you kept your eyes on his now frozen form as you smashed the glass against the brick wall.

You didn’t give him even a second to register what was about to happen to him, lunging at him like a wolf to prey, ramming the broken bottle through his neck.

Some of the glass embedded in his skin, breaking off and burying its way deeper into the flesh of his neck. But that didn’t stop you, with whatever glass you had left, you plunged it into him. Again and again and again. Until he was gargling on his own blood, until he could feel the glass coming up his throat and cutting his tongue.

You didn’t know how long you were out there, time melting away. You had a black out moment, really, only realising what you had done when his broken and mangled body slumped to grimy ground lifelessly. His shirt was a mess of blood and gore, matching the crimson on your own hands — most of it his, but some of it yours. The glass — the murder weapon — embedded into your hands… There was no fixing this with a hoodie and bleach.

In the back of your mind, you knew this was a very big problem that could destroy your life. But your brain was foggy — rationality and logic dampened by the drunk of liquor and haze of quenched bloodlust. 

Future you would deal with it, all you wanted to do was sing American Pie.

 

---

 

It was exhausting to constantly clean up your messes. You truly were more trouble than you were worth.

Wesker didn’t think he took his eyes off of you for the entire night. He watched you as you brough Chris in, as you nearly broke a man’s hand in front of everyone, as you drank far more than you could handle. Wesker watched you as you watched him. That boy who couldn’t even be called a man.

It wasn’t often that Wesker felt like a fool. He wasn’t a fool — everyone around him was a fool who he could easily play. But, standing at this party while you ignored him… that made him feel awfully like a fool. He never engaged with his subordinates outside of work — why would he? It was all just a means to an end. The only reason he even entertained the idea was because you invited him, because he knew you would be there. He came for you and you barely spoke to him the whole night.

By rights, he should’ve just let you deal with your own issues. God knows he should have — it would’ve made his life far easier.

Perhaps no one else noticed you slipping out to save the youngest Redfield from a perilous situation, but he certainly did. And maybe no one else knew the kind of danger the young man outside would be subjected to, but Wesker certainly did. When the girl walked back into the restaurant alone, with her body practically trembling, Wesker knew the boy’s fate had already been signed.

He figured it would be done quickly — unnecessarily gruesomely, as you always worked, but quick nonetheless. Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. And when it was close to thirty, he grew concerned. What was taking you so long? Surely you were not so weak as to let someone with no military training overpower you.

Wesker grew sick of waiting, stalking out to the alley way to find the truth. 

Well, you hadn’t been overpowered and the man was dead. You sat against the wall, hands covered in blood and glass. Wesker sighed as he looked at the scene; such a bloody, messy death. There was blood everywhere, the glass scattered around. And— Dear god, you were still drinking! Why did you even think to bring a bottle out there?

“Captain!” You slurred cheerfully when you finally realised he was there. “Don’t mind th’ mess.”

He fought back another sigh. At least you would be too drunk to remember any of this.

Wesker crouched down by the body, face mangled so terribly — worse than your first, actually. No one would recognise this man. Such a violent little thing, weren’t you?

But this one had use — this one didn’t need to be found by anyone. After all, the organs inside of him were still perfectly functioning and he was sure William would appreciate such a kind donation.

He made a phone call and, with that, the body would be picked up and the crime scene scrubbed until it gleamed in less than thirty minutes. He really deserved your undying gratitude for all he’d done for you.

“You are more trouble than you’re worth,” he told you as he shrugged off his jacket. 

He remembered the first one he gave you. He’d been optimistic enough to hope you wouldn’t return it to him — that you would “forget” it at your home and wear it when you missed him. That you’d keep it with you to remind you of him when he wasn’t with you (even if he always was but you didn’t need to know that). 

You hadn’t; you returned it to him the very next day and he’d been forced to accept with stiff posture and an even stiffer glare. Why couldn’t you just follow the script?

“Cover your hands with the sleeves,” he instructed. 

He watched you as you did so, relieved you hadn’t gotten blood on your face like last time. Why did you have to be so messy? Not that he wanted you to stop, not at all — the way you killed was always such an interesting thing to observe. You were smart enough to know a messier death was harder to cover up but you still did it. 

How your mind worked was a secret he longed to uncover. To gently carve open your head and see inside your brain. It seemed to work so differently from his, yet still mirrored his thinking.

You didn’t argue when he bent down to pick you up, resting you against his chest as he took you into his arms with one under your legs and the other supporting your back. It wasn’t lost on him that this was his first time holding you or how good it felt. 

No one seemed to care when their captain walked in with you in his arms, informing them that he would be leaving. They wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

“Where we going?” You asked as he placed you in the front seat of his car. 

“Home,” he simply replied.

“Can I drive?” You asked, an energy popping into your veins that surprised him.

“No.”

With this new found energy, you writhed around like an unruly child, making it near impossible for him to clip the seatbelt in. He had to force a hand on your shoulder to keep you in your seat, simply so he could put the seatbelt in.

“Ow,” you pouted, rubbing at your shoulder.

“Apologies, dearheart.”

He was half worried you would unbuckle the seat belt while he was getting into the car, but you seemed docile again. You looked like you were barely keeping your eyes open.

Did he use this as an excuse to take to his home? Forcing you into a situation where you would wake up in his bed, thinking of all the things you might’ve done with him? Of course he did.

“This not home,” you slurred out when he pulled into his apartment block’s parking lot. 

“Excellent observation,” he replied drily as he picked you up again.

You obviously didn’t hate his touch, practically nuzzling into him as you slumped against his chest. But not hating was far different from liking or wanting. If it was the boy, what would you do? Would you salivate against him? Wrap your arms around his neck and go on and on about how you never wanted to let go? Wesker’s grip tightened against your flesh.

Flesh, of course, because your dress — that damn dress — barely covered anything. So short and tight that it left just a teasing amount to the imagination. The kind of dress that begged to be ripped off. Wesker would’ve been much obliged had you turned your gaze from the boy and asked. 

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” He asked when he carried you into his apartment. You shook your head. “Are you certain? I won’t forgive you if you urinate in my bed.”

He would but you didn’t need to know that. Not until you were his, at least, then you were more than welcome to know the extent of your hold over him.

Wesker did end up forcing you to go, resulting in you throwing a roll of toilet paper at him when he wouldn’t turn around. He caved, of course, impatiently tapping his foot as he waited for you to be done.

When he got you to his room, he plopped you gently on his bed before turning to his closet and picking out the first thing he found. You were already laying down, so he had to grasp you by the upper arms and force you to sit up.

“Wanna sleep,” you whined with a pout he could just bite,

“Put this on and you can.”

“No.”

He exhaled deeply. “I’ll do it myself if I have to.”

“Whatever.”

As much as Wesker wanted to rip the fabric that masqueraded as a dress off your body, he exercised restraint. He practically shivered as he unzipped it, revealing the skin of your back. 

His heart froze; it wasn’t smooth like he imagined. It was riddled with scars. Most of them old, faded over to a nearly faded white streak. But some were still deep and raised. Wesker knew these types of scars; whips, belts…  Either or really. It seemed whoever did this to you alternated. 

There was no question of how old these were, many probably dating back to your early childhood. Wesker clenched a fist as he examined the scars; your parents wouldn’t live to see the new year.

He slid the dress off of you, equally thankful and disappointed you were wearing a bra underneath. Still, even if you weren’t, he was far too distracted by his roaring anger to properly appreciate your body,

A feeling he didn’t like creeped up on him as he slid the white button up over your shoulders; anxiety. Worry. He had become even more gentle and tentative as he touched you, worried he would be a lick too rough or hurt you in some way. That he would remind you of the people who had given you those scars and you would never want him to touch you again.

“ Wesss ,” you whined out as he buttoned up the shirt, his eyes meeting yours. “ Thanksss for takin’ care of me, buddy!”

“You have no idea the things I do for you,” he sighed in response.

“You da best!” You cheered out, surprising him when you suddenly wrapped him in a hug.

He knew it wouldn’t last. Come morning, you would go back to letting the boy consume your thoughts. Still, he allowed himself a moment to indulge, briefly shutting his eyes as one arm wrapped around your waist and the other pushed your head further into him. For just a moment, he would indulge.

You really were exhausting, frustrating to no end. You obsessed over a boy who did not feel a fraction of the intensity you felt for him. Leon Kennedy would never appreciate all you did for him — he’d never appreciate your violence or your aggression or who you truly were. You killed for the boy while he gave you nothing,

And Wesker was right there, ready to offer you the same intensity. More, even. Did you not want someone to love you as much as you love them? The boy would never give you that, only Wesker could.

He knew he would get you eventually. He always got what he wanted. Even if he had to scheme, lie, steal, and kill — Wesker always got what he wanted. He would have you sooner or later, no matter the millions of mind games he had to play. He could outsmart and outlast you until you were his.

But holding you was a nice relief. For a moment, he could imagine he’d already won, that you were already his. A preview of his prize.

He gave himself a few more moments, even when you were already asleep in his arms. When he had his fill, he gently set you down and tucked you in the blankets. You looked comfortable in his bed — it’s where you belonged, after all.

Perhaps it had led to a gory mess but Wesker was glad he’d ordered the whiskey he knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. No way in hell you would be sober enough to spend your morning with Kennedy. 

 

Notes:

Yes, yes I know Wesker is really soft and probably out of character but that’s why it’s a fanfiction and not capcomloreaccuracy. If I want soft Wesker, I’m writing soft Wesker damnit!

Chapter 4: A Concerning Development

Was there anything better than sleeping in late on your day off? No! Especially not when your bed felt even softer than usual, the fabric beneath your cheek feeling like liquid comfort. You were just so warm, and something smelled amazing.

Seriously — what was that smell? Whatever it was, it eased you deeper into your limo of wake and sleep, pulling your heavy mind back to dreamland. It was familiar, comforting. Whatever it was, you wanted to put it in a bottle so you could always be so relaxed.

You sighed sleepily, just about to tip off the edge of unconsciousness…

“I’ll pick you up at, say, eleven?”

Your eyes shot open, heart lurching in your throat as your brain punched you with the memory. You shot up to a seated position like a bullet, eyes immediately flashing to the alarm clock at your bedside table, except… there was no alarm clock? 

It took you a moment to realise you weren’t even in your room, rather a place entirely unknown to you. Had you been kidnapped? The men’s shirt you were wearing said otherwise.

You wouldn’t have slept with another man, not a chance. You would have sooner ripped out your own teeth than betray Leon. Then—

A shard of rage ran through your blood, cold enough to stop the heart of any bastard.

—Had someone taken advantage of you?

It took you a short moment to find you were still wearing panties, and the relief warmed the cold anger; no one had to die. Yet.

With your panic and disorientation gone, the throbbing in your head was allowed to monopolise the entirety of your attention. You groaned at the pain of a million daggers burying into your brain — how much had you drunk? 

Still, the pain was eased by a delicious smell coming outside the room you were in. Fresh food and baking weren’t exactly smells that frequently visited your apartment, so it was even more special when you caught a whiff of it. And whatever was being cooked smelled positively divine. Your stomach grumbled, demanding you find the source of the smell before it began to gnaw on your organs. You obeyed.

There were a lot of things you expected to greet you when you opened the door: a random man. Jill or another S.T.A.R.S. A part of you hoped it was Leon.

You certainly weren’t expecting Wesker to be standing in front of a stove, void of his usual sunglasses or, more notably, a shirt. How odd it was, your usually stoic captain dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpants while he cooked pancakes. So very domestic. A part of you didn’t believe, half suspecting he was a robot who charged every night rather than slept.

Wesker had a similar hair colour to Leon so, from behind, you could almost imagine it was him. That this domestic scene was simply you waking up to your boyfriend Leon. Almost. If you squinted. 

Except, Wesker was way taller than Leon. And, while you’d never had the privilege of seeing Leon without a shirt, you knew his shoulders weren’t quite as broad as Wesker. And Leon definitely had a good body but Wesker was built. Like, super built, like—

No, bad! Leon!

“Enjoying the view?”

Yes. Yes, I am.

You cleared your throat, looking at the ground to calm the heat in cheeks before you walked closer to him.

“Sorry, captain, I’ve just never seen you without your—“ Shirt. “—glasses.”

You sat on one of the bar stools on the other side of the kitchen island, giving you a view of his side profile. Damn, he looked good in the morning. You hoped it was morning.

A gasp tried to wiggle its way up your throat, but you forced it back down. You immediately scanned the room for a clock, panic seeping into your body when the numbers read it was nearly a quarter past ten. Fuck.

You could make it, you would make it. You just had to figure out where Wesker lived, why you were there, and how to get home before eleven. Child’s play. 

“What, exactly, happened last night? I mean, why am I here?”

Really, you were restraining yourself from asking if you’d slept with him. It was a difficult exercise.

“You drank so much that you were practically paralytic,” he explained, monotonous as always. “No one else was sober, so I brought you here.”

You cringed, wishing you could go back and slap past you. How had you been stupid enough to get so drunk that your captain had to bring you back to his house? 

“I am so sorry, captain,” you told him. “And extremely embarrassed you saw me like that.”

“You weren’t embarrassed when I watched you murder Sarah Joves.”

…

Your heart shattered in your chest. Time frozen. Silence. Nothing but your blood pounding in your head. Sizzling on the stove. Wesker’s easy breathing, even as you held yours to the point or suffocation. As if he’d said nothing.

Widened eyes, filled with dread. He didn’t look at you, instead focused on the pan in his hand.

A glint of metal in your eye — a butter knife. Not sharpened, but sturdy. You wrapped your hand around it. It would do.

“What did you say, sir?” You asked, voice close to trembling.

He looked up at you then, baby blue eyes pinched with confusion. Did you see concern?

“I didn’t say anything,” he replied. 

You dropped the knife, the metal clashing against the ground as your chest heaved with its welcoming breaths. Nothing but a hallucination. You shook your head, wishing you could bang it against the counter; you’d almost tried to murder your captain over a paranoid hallucination. 

“Um, where are we?” You asked, keeping a reign on the tremble that rang through your voice. “I appreciate you helping me but I have somewhere to be.”

“Spiers Street,” he said casually, as if his words hadn’t shattered your hopes and dreams.

Spiers Street was a little past uptown, practically on the outskirts of Racoon City. In other words, it was on the rich side of town and your apartment was all the way on the other side. Fuck!

“Shit,” you breathed out. “Do you have a phone I can use? I need to call a cab.”

“I can drive you home.”

Your brow furrowed as your head tilted slightly; why was he being nice? 

Nice was never a word you would have used to describe Captain Wesker. He wasn’t a bad boss, necessarily, but he was abrupt and tactless to the point of sometimes being mean. It just seemed out of character for him to bring you to his apartment when you were drunk and then make you breakfast while offering to drive you home. Then again, he was doing a lot of out of character things lately.

“Are you sure?”

“Mmhm.” 

“Thank you.”

A few moments later, a plate of steaming pancakes were slid in front of you — a delicious scent wafting off of them that made your mouth water. You half worried Wesker would sit next to you but, no, he just stood on the other side of the counter as he ate. Almost more awkward, in your opinion.

The pancakes were insanely good. Wesker didn’t look like a person who could cook but, damn you, they might’ve been the best pancakes you’d ever had. Fluffy enough to feel like a cloud in your mouth — you would mourn never having these pancakes again for the rest of your life. Maybe you could bribe him to make you breakfast every week; free overtime for pancakes.

When you finished, you went back into the bedroom (you tried not to think about how it was his bedroom) and threw your dress back on. It was fun to wear in a heated bar, but on a fall morning? You were freezing, body trembling even in the apartment. 

Wesker took no time to notice at all, observing your shivering frame as he grabbed his car keys.

“Are you cold?” He asked.

“No, I’m shivering because I want to.”

He rolled his eyes. He rolled his eyes at you like a teenage girl. Was that why he wore his glasses? So he could roll his eyes without suspicion? 

Wesker walked back into his room and a part of you thought he was just going to slam the door and leave you to walk home. Surprisingly, he came back out with a black coat, handing it to you before walking to the door.

You stood there for a moment, utterly flabbergasted. Was Wesker actually a nice person? Was he just a dick at work? 

“Are you coming?” He snapped after you took too long.

You rolled your eyes; nope, still a dick!

 

---

 

 

“ I’m a Barbie girl in a Barbie world—“

Wesker abruptly turned off the radio.

“Hey!”

“No.”

“But—“

“ No .”

You slumped in your seat, crossing your arms as you pouted. “You’re so mean.”

“You should thank me — I’m saving your eardrums from long term damage.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I’ve heard better music from a choking crow.”

A laugh bubbled from your lips before you forced it down; he was a dick who turned off your music and you were upset at him. He was getting the silent treatment. Absolutely no conversation from you. Nada.

You were never good at keeping quiet.

“So, what, do you just constantly drive in silence like a psychopath?”

“It’s calming.”

“It’s psychotic.”

Were you probably being way too informal with your boss? Under normal circumstances, fuck yes, but appropriate had fallen out the window the minute you’d ended up in his bed. 

“I don’t like what they play on the radio,” he admitted.

“So? Make a mixtape or something.” 

Silence. Tentative, as if he was about to say something. Your eyes widened as you fought down another smile.

“Do you know how to make a mixtape, sir?”

“I—“ 

Hesitation from the ever so put-together Albert Wesker, now that was a sight. You wished you had a camera!

“You don’t!”

He sighed. “And suppose you're the expert at making these things?”

“It’s not hard,” you told him, still trying to fight back a smile. “I’ll have to make you one filled with my favourite songs.”

“I’d rather not have my ears bleed.”

You laughed again and, if you looked close enough, you could see his lips raised in a smile of his own. Maybe he wasn’t such a stick in the mud.

 

---

 

 

Why did bad things happen to good people? 

You didn’t want Wesker to walk you to your door — you didn’t need him to either. But you had to give him his coat back and you’d rather not freeze to death on your way up. Or have your middle aged neighbour judge you like she had last time.

So, you let Wesker walk you up… Where Leon was already waiting. Right outside your door. It would’ve been the nicest surprise if your boss hadn’t been right behind you. And you weren’t wearing his jacket. And didn’t look like you’d just spent the night fucking him.

“Leon! You’re, uh, early.”

“Uh, yeah… Sorry, I guess I should’ve called in advance.”

You could’ve sighed in relief — it didn’t seem like he was being weird about it. Maybe he just thought Wesker was doing a good thing, which he was! It seemed you had nothing to worry about, and this whole thing wasn’t as bad as you thought!

“It wouldn’t have made any difference — she was at my apartment the entire morning.”

What.

The.

Fuck.

You slowly turned your head to Wesker with wide eyes, one of them practically twitching as you restrained the urge to wrap your hands around his throat. 

Practically ripping the coat off, you shoved it into Wesker’s arms so hard that it would have made anyone else stumble. 

“Thank you very much, Captain,” you gritted out. “But I really think it’s time you’re going!” 

You paid him no other attention before turning your attention to Leon, telling him how sorry you were for making him wait before unlocking your door and letting him in. You offered to make him coffee, to which he gratefully accepted.

“So, what’s the deal with the captain, if you don’t mind me asking?” He asked once you’d slid him his coffee, the question rolling awkwardly off his tongue.

Oh great, now you had to tell him how wasted you got.

“I kinda drank a bit last night and no one else was sober so he let me crash at his apartment,” you explained, leaving out the parts where you slept in his bed and wore his clothes.

“I see… Did he not know where you lived?”

You shook your head. “No, he—“

Wait a minute… Wesker did know where you lived, he’d driven you home before. And it wasn’t like it would have been out of his way to drive you to your home from the restaurant, you lived close to it. So why did he—

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. You wanted to ignore it, to pretend like you didn’t hear anything so you could live in an uninterrupted moment with Leon. But he was looking at you expectantly so you, begrudgingly, stood up to answer it.

Imagine your surprise when Wesker stood in front of you.

“I apologise for the interruption but my car won’t start,” he explained.

“It won’t start?”

“Indeed — may I borrow your phone?”

No, go away.

“Sure.”

Leon and you sat awkwardly as Wesker made a phone call. You just wanted to be alone with Leon, why did everything always have to go wrong for you? 

Of course, things got worse!

“He said he won’t be able to take a look at it for another hour,” Wesker explained.

Your hand twitched at your side, missing the familiarity of a knife or a gun. How badly you wanted to just plunge a knife in his eye socket or watch as a bullet buried into his chest. 

“I’m pretty good with cars,” Leon said, his voice immediately easing the rage inside you. Softening your edges like a goddamn nail file. “Maybe I could take a look.”

When you looked close enough, you swore you saw Wesker’s lip curl up slightly.

“No, thank you.” 

You wanted to shoo Wesker away, to kick him out of your apartment and make him sit in his car. But you wouldn’t look very nice or courteous if you did that, now would you? And you needed to look absolutely perfect to Leon. So, you invited Wesker to stay, silently hoping he would decline your offer. But he accepted, and you were stuck making him a coffee too — the three of you awkwardly sat in your living room together.

“Tell me, Leon, where did you live before coming to Racoon City?” Wesker asked as he idly sipped his coffee, looking perfectly at ease in this situation.

“A little town outside of Pennsylvania, mostly,” he explained. “But I moved around for my training.”

You nodded along as if this was new information for you. If there was any information to find about Leon Scott Kennedy, you already had it. Just one of the many perks you had as S.T.A.R.S. You almost shivered to think of what Wesker had access to. 

“Hmm, if I recall you graduated at the top of your class.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A shame you have no military training, you could’ve been a stars member.” 

Leon tilted his head slightly, as if confused. “You need military training to be stars?” He asked, turning to you when Wesker answered with a nod. “You didn’t tell me you were in the military.”

Uh oh.

So, maybe Leon didn’t know quite as much about you as you did him but that wasn’t exactly your fault. Of course you didn’t talk much about your time in the military, it was gruesome! 

From the ages of 18 to 21, you served in the military and it stuck with you. Not the killing, that had come easy to you — most took their first life while in the Army you, however, had long since popped that cherry. 

But watching your comrades die? People you had just played cards in the barracks with? Watching them lose their limbs and step on landmines? Maybe it didn’t affect you as much as it should have but it still stuck with you. Even for someone like you, the military was something you couldn’t just scrape away from your soul. A permanent stain that couldn’t be scrubbed off.

Perhaps you still weren’t well adjusted but back then you were feral. You killed people that didn’t need to be killed, and you didn’t even blink when their blood splattered against your skin. Sometimes you mourn not being able to solve all your problems with a gun in your hand.

“I don’t talk about it much,” you told Leon. 

He looked almost… disappointed with your answer. You wondered if you’d done something wrong. 

Thankfully, Wesker’s mechanic came earlier than an hour but you and Leon had still missed your restaurant reservation. The reservation he had wanted to surprise you with. God, you felt like a dick.

“Is there anything else I don’t know about you?” Leon asked, trying to pass it off as a joke but you could tell he was upset.

“I’m sorry for not telling you it’s just… it’s not something I talk about. I don’t think any of the stars really do.” 

“I just, I dunno, I thought we were getting close.”

You leaned your side into the couch so you could face him.

“We were — we are. I hope we are.”

Leon leaned closer to you as well. “I hope so, too. I really like you.”

I want to marry you and have your babies.

“I really like you too.”

“You’re a really special girl, you know?”

“And you’re a weirdo who names inanimate objects.”

Leon smiled, teeth so white as he brightened the whole room. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

You smiled back at him. “Never.”

Leon inched that little bit closer, bridging the distance between the two of you as his lips brushed against yours. For a moment, it was hesitant and tentative — the softest first kiss born from blushing attraction and stolen glances. But when you responded, he deepened it, his hand finding its way to your cheek as you pulled to him. 

You opened your mouth at the brush of his tongue against your lips, moaning as it met yours. An innocent brush of lips so easily turned into a fight of passion and indulgence.

“Ow!”

Your eyes widened as you parted from him — did you bite him? Had you held him too tightly? Had you—

“Are you okay?” You asked, trying to hide your panic.

“Yeah I just.. I think there’s glass in your hair.”

“What?”

Leon winced as brushed against the place between your ear and hair, pulling out a tiny shard of bloody glass. And odd thought but you hoped it was your blood.

It wasn’t and you knew it.

“How’d this get in there?”

“I don’t—“

“Inside — now.”

A dark alley. Claire missing. A guy who couldn’t take no for an answer.

“I’ll deal with it.”

A bottle… He approached. You hit. Again. And again. And again. Until there was nothing but the sound of his own choking. 

And then—

“Captain! Don’t mind the mess.”

You could feel the colour be sucked from your face, like a leech drowning you entirely of your blood. Your heart sunk to your stomach, joining the stone of dread that sat heavily. 

“Are you alright?” 

You gave Leon a smile. “Yeah, I’m good.”

You were fucked.

Wesker knew.

 

Notes:

Just Wesker trying to seduce reader with pancakes what else is new

Chapter 5: Radio Silence

Notes:

Hi hello hello hello I made a playlist

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3JFN5t4818qW0cr86QW81o?si=a6dVWtHgQISfNcs5PghUWw&pi=a-gRHLv96yRhaP

If you wanna see the full description you have to copy and paste it unfortunately. Let me know if you have any recs.

Maybe god didn’t hate you.

You’d taken a sudden sick leave from work, claiming that you had a terrible case of the flu and that you needed a few days to recover. The reality? You were debating whether or not you would kill your boss. Or at least, try to kill him.

Had it been anyone else, you wouldn’t have even hesitated with your decision. But Wesker wasn’t anyone else — he was the S.T.A.R.S captain; extremely strong, intelligent, and skilled. You’d seen him on the field, the man was a hell of a soldier. You had no chance to overpower him. 

The element of surprise was taken from you as well. A normal person — especially a man — could always be trusted to underestimate you. When you covered your muscles, you were small enough to be unassuming. Just an innocent woman who couldn’t harm a fly. But Wesker knew better; he knew you had military training and were incredibly strong for your size. You couldn’t overpower him and you couldn’t take him by surprise either.

In short, Albert Wesker was an impossible victim. How was the butcher supposed to kill the tiger? 

But maybe Wesker didn’t know, you had to take that into consideration. Why would he take you into his apartment if he had seen you brutally murder someone? Why would he, the captain of a police department, not have you arrested after what he had seen? 

A part of you thought that maybe you hadn’t killed anyone at all but, from your investigations, the man had gone missing . He hadn’t shown up at work, the gym, or anywhere else he usually frequented. You definitely killed him.

And Wesker definitely knew. 

But there was no sign of the body either… Had Wesker had it taken in for evidence? Why would he let you roam free? Was he waiting for you to confess?

The whole thing was so frustrating and confusing but you knew Albert Wesker had to die. Somehow. You just had to figure out how to do it.

But maybe god didn’t hate you.

There had been another armed robbery at a bank, which turned into a hostage situation. There were known to be at least ten perpetrators at the scene. And who was a first responder? Wesker.

With any luck, he’d get shot and bleed out.

“Do you think the captain will be okay?” Brad asked as Alpha team gathered around the radio, tone as shaky as it always was.

“He’ll be fine,” Barry assured. “Wesker’s the toughest bastard I know.”

Which makes him annoyingly hard to kill, you thought as you huffed out a sigh of frustration. It might’ve been far-fetched to think that a run of the mill thug could shoot him dead, but a girl could be optimistic! 

The radio was an old, beaten up thing that tuned into the personal radios strapped to each officer. It was only really used in emergency situations, like when immediate action was needed. It wasn’t often that anything could be heard aside from the ominous, foreboding static that ate away at the silence in the room. Was Wesker already dead on the other side? You hoped so.

But… You didn’t like the tightness in your chest at the thought of his death. Maybe Wesker was a revolutionary dick but you were just starting to see a new side of him. A side that wasn’t completely blank and apathetic. He could be funny and he could be considerate. You didn’t exactly take joy in the idea of killing your boss.

But he had to die. 

For nearly ten years you had avoided the consequences of your bloody actions, you wouldn’t risk it all now for a boss you’d barely had a meaningful conversation with. Especially not when Leon was just within reach. You were so close to getting him — he liked you! If Wesker had to die for your relationship with Leon to blossom, so be it. As repayment, you would be an absolute menace to the next captain.

After a while, the mind-numbing static gave you a roaring headache so you went downstairs for lunch. Your sandwich was dry and bland in your mouth, the dull walls of the break room doing nothing to ease the pain in your head. It wasn’t until Leon sat in front of you that your eyes brightened.

“Leon!”

“Hey,” he greeted, a small almost sympathetic smile on his face. “I heard about the captain — how are you guys holding up?”

Terrific, now that you’re here.

“We’re braving it,” you replied. “Wesker’s tough, he’ll get through it.”

The words sounded too true on your tongue, even if you hoped to god they weren’t.

Leon chuckled softly. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of his gun. He’s one scary guy.”

You fought back a scoff; the only thing scary about Wesker was that he saw you murder someone. But before that? You weren’t very afraid of him. Sure, he was strong and skilled and looked like a mafia boss but you never felt like he meant you harm. Maybe he was just less scary to his team. Besides, how could you be scared of him when you knew he couldn’t make a mixtape? 

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” you promised, laughing slightly.

Leon looked uncertain. “Heh, I dunno, I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Wesker doesn’t like anyone.”

“He seems to like you.”

It was like someone had just punched you in the gut. Maybe if it was the sharp tone he said it in, or the fact that Wesker was probably being shot at right at that moment. Or, maybe — just maybe — it was that unfamiliar, wrong look in Leon’s eyes.

It should’ve been breezy and laughable, you should’ve been able to hit him back with a flirty “everybody likes me”. It shouldn’t have been so suffocating in its implications. 

“Everybody likes me,” you shot back. It was a harsh contrast to the flirty, easy tone you had planned. More defensive, almost shaky, like a timid Great Dane about to bite.

“Yeah, some a little too much.”

Wait a minute…

“Are you jealous?” You asked, a teasing smile on your lips.

His cheeks dusted with a light pink as he averted his eyes to the table below him. “N-no. Should I be?”

You breathed out a laugh. “Absolutely not — Wesker’s my boss.”

“Your boss who brought you to his apartment,” he said, now more serious as he looked up at you.

“I was drunk, super drunk. Nothing happened.” Aside from you murdering a man, of course.

Leon seemed hesitant to speak again, cringing to himself as if he were debating the words.

“I just…” A sigh, briefly closed eyes. He had decided against it. “Never mind.”

“Come on, tell me,” you insisted. You wanted to know everything he thought of.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Come on!”

He shut his eyes once more before he looked up at you again. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

Silence. Tentative. Nothing but the teasing of breaths.

“He wears sunglasses all the time.”

The tension was broken, Leon unable to hold back a laugh. “I mean he’s always looking at you,” he tried to explain, the smile on his face gradually falling. “He wouldn’t take his eyes off of you at the party.”

You raised a brow. “Why are you looking at the captain so much, Leon? Anything you wanna tell me?”

Another laugh — that tense silence gradually cracking each time you saw those perfect pearly whites. With Leon firmly distracted by your jokes, you rested your hands on his.

“I promise nothing is going on between me and Wesker, Leon,” you told him. Most of the time, sincerity in your voice was about as genuine as crocodile tears but it was easy to be sincere with him. “I feel nothing for him and he feels nothing for me.”

With a gentle smile on his face, you knew your reassurance was all he needed. He took your hand firmly in his and met to his lips.

“Feel like watching a movie at my place tonight?” You asked him, how on to a happier topic.

He groaned. “I’d love to but I have overtime again.”

“So do I!” You replied.

“You do?”

You did now.

“Yeah. We can have a late night together, if you’re up for it.”

And maybe you could convince him to stay the night.

 

---

 

After a day of subjecting themselves to static, worry and dread, the team was more than happy that you volunteered to stay after hours to clean up the office and listen out for any updates. 

Joseph asked something about how long it had been — nearly ten hours was the estimated response. Was the captain dead already? Apparently it had spread from the bank, almost the entire side of the city closed off from the public. Civilians and criminals were trapped alike and Barry warned the team that they shouldn’t rest easy, to expect to be called in. It was odd, to say the least, that they hadn’t already after nearly ten hours. Just how many armed attackers were there? Something felt off but you mostly brushed the thought away.

“You sure you don’t need me to stay?” Chris asked before he left, concern lacing his tone.

And risk Leon thinking something’s going on between us? I’m good!

“Nah, I’ll be right.”

Chris didn’t take much convincing to leave you, but he assured you that you could call him for anything. You sent him off with a wave.

Considering all the overtime you’d started doing to get closer to Leon, you didn’t have much paperwork to do. Leon wasn’t able to leave until about nine, but by seven you had already run out of things to do.

With the droning of the static blocking the thoughts from your brain, your eyes began to shut. Giving way to a peaceful sleep…

Clack.

You must’ve dozed off only for a few minutes, sitting up with a yawn as you rubbed your eyes. The radio had turned off… Not creepy at all. You stood up to take a look at it, hoping it had just finally died after years of usage and the office wasn’t haunted.

There didn’t seem to be—

“It’s late.”

You practically jumped out of your skin, a yelp leaving your lips as you flung around. For a moment, you prepared to get your gun out when you saw Wesker in front of you, leaning against his office door.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you breathed out, a hand over your racing heart.

He didn’t respond, remaining silent as he just sort of… watched you. Only then did you note his labored breaths and how one of his hands rested just below his shoulder. His sunglasses were gone and his hair was messy, a far cry from his usual slicked back look. Granted, he didn’t look too terrible after being in a shooting for ten hours.

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he replied, though his strained voice didn’t convince you at all. He turned away, walking into his office. “You should go home.”

You, naturally, followed him because you were utterly incapable of minding your own business.

“Did you get shot?” You questioned when he removed his hand, spying a hole in his sleeve surrounded by blood.

“A graze.”

“That is not a graze. You should be at the hospital!”

He sighed, as if he was far too exhausted to deal with you. “The bullet’s out — it just needs stitching.”

You rolled your eyes. “ Wow, it’s almost like that’s what the hospital does. So, you know, you don’t get an infection.”

Wesker did not answer you, you half expected him to order you to home. You weren’t expecting him to slide off his holster and unbutton his shirt, the doubtlessly expensive fabric dripping off his shoulders to show his perfectly sun kissed abs. Alright, maybe Leon had a point about him being scary — dude was ripped.

And maybe you could admit the bullet wound on his upper arm wasn’t exactly gruesome, but it certainly didn’t look pretty. And there was no way he would be able to use both hands to stitch it. 

His gun was pretty far away from him too. If someone came in with the intent of attacking him, he was pretty vulnerable.

Oh.

Would you ever have a better opportunity? He was right in front of you, isolated and alone, injured without his weapon. How hard would it be to simply drive a letter opener into his exposed flesh? 

But you couldn’t just run at him, could you? Maybe he was injured but he was still Albert Wesker. You could almost guarantee that the moment you displayed threatening body language, he’d go back to being alert and viscous. You had exactly one opportunity. It was time to put on the best act of your life.

You rolled your eyes as he attempted to drive the needle into his skin. “Give it here,” you told him as you approached, practically snatching the needle and thread from him. “You’re going to make it worse.”

Although you expected arguments you received none. He just sat there and accepted your demands — odd, how he trusted someone he’d just watched kill a man. Doubt filled your mind again but it was no exaggeration when you said you absolutely could not risk it.

Maybe he was just as good of an actor as you. 

He winced slightly when you jabbed the needle into his flesh at the wrong angle. You muttered an apology as you cringed. When you did it again you wanted to kill yourself instead of him.

“Seems easier if I just do it,” he bit out. 

“I’m sorry, okay! I can’t get a good angle.” 

The wound was too far down for you to comfortably see without having to awkwardly bend over, to which you were stumbling. 

Wesker huffed in annoyance and you assumed he was going to push you away before finishing the job himself. Instead, he grasped your waist and dragged you closer to him before plopping you firmly on his lap.

You looked up at him with a questioning gaze but, with how casual he looked, it seemed like you were the weird one to make a comment about it. So, you kept your mouth shut and went back to stitching the wound. The whole time, Wesker kept his arms tightly wrapped around you and you could only think of one thing; was Leon right? Was the captain attracted to you? 

Surely not, right? He’d only done this because you couldn’t see the bullet wound. But… you could’ve just gotten a chair. Or he could’ve sat on the desk. Or, you know, used one of the million other solutions that didn’t involve holding you on his lap. And you couldn’t exactly see him doing this with anyone else either — what if it had been Barry instead? Would Wesker have put him on his lap?

For a moment, you could almost convince yourself that it was just something the captain had done in a moment of exhaustion. His mind was foggy, you couldn’t exactly blame him for a spur of the moment decision. 

Until he rested his forehead on your shoulder. Literally, leaning on you as if you were cuddling. As if this was a normal thing. You swore you heard him sigh in relief, as if this was better than a soft bed after a day of hard work.

The letter opened glistened in the light, beckoning you to take it. Maybe this was the perfect time.

“You know, we were all worried about you,” you told him, hoping your voice overpowered the sound of the letter opener sliding against the desk and falling into your hand.

He simply hummed against your skin, no solid words just a simple noise. His eyes were shut, from what you could see… He really put too much into you.

“We listened to the radio all day for you…”

Just a quick slash against the throat, that’s all it would take.

“That so?” 

“Yeah, we’d be lost without you,” you chuckled out. 

Just an inch more.

“We’d all miss you terribly if you were gone, Captain.”

You were lightning fast, but he was faster. Just before the blade could reach his skin, his hand wrapped around your wrist. Didn’t even need to take his head off your shoulder to do so.

“Not tonight,” he muttered, the tiredness in his voice certainly not matching the speed he had moved. “Whatever confrontations you wish to have, dearheart, they can wait til tomorrow. Not tonight.”

Your mind was blank, nothing but the white vastness of confusion. You could barely even comprehend what he was saying — he wanted to wait? He knew you had murdered someone, knew you had tried to stab him and he wanted to wait?

“Do you need me to drive you home?” He asked, perfectly casual as he looked up at you. You tried to ignore how his thumb idly stroked your waist.

Why was he being so casual? What in god’s name was happening?

“I don’t understand—“

“Not tonight,” he said firmly. “Answer the question.”

“No, Leon’s driving me home.” The words spilled out of your mouth before you understood what you were saying.

A sneer firmly fixed itself onto Wesker’s face, as if he hated the very thought of it. As if you had just spat in his face. He had more of a reaction than when you tried to kill him. 

He stood abruptly, practically shoving you off of him as you stumbled to find your footing.

“Very well — I will see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s my day off.”

The glare in his eyes told you that wasn’t the case anymore. So much for Leon staying the night. 

He didn’t say another word to you so, as confused you were, you made your way to the door. 

“Oh, before I forget,” he told you. You turned over your shoulder to look at him, ready for whatever he was about to say. “I know what you did.”

 

 

Chapter 6: Slit Your Throat, Babe

Notes:

I LIVE

“I know what you did.” 

…

“I know what you did.”

…

“I know what you did…”

…

“I know what you did…!”

…

 

“I know what you did, you crazy little bitch!”

SLAP!

The crisp, unfaltering sound of your father’s hand against your cheek echoed through the room — a rather pathetic sound in any usual context. A slap usually is; laughable, unthreatening, inconsequential. It’s never a slap that silences a room… More like the utterly sickening site of a parent hitting their own child. There’s a silence of shock and a silence that’s necessary to process. It takes a lot for a human’s brain to process… To understand what they’re looking at. It’s a quiet type of disgust that seals words deep within our throats before they can leave.

Of course, you never processed stuff like a normal human. Maybe the wrongness inside you was genetic. Maybe it was beaten into you, or your empathy was beaten out. 

Or maybe you were just born wrong. 

“You think we don’t know? You think we’re fucking blind?” He yelled, spittle flying at your already sweaty face, heart pumping loudly in your chest. “You’re a little fucking psycho and I have to clean up another one of your fucking messes. What are you good for? You—”

His head turned to the side sharply, his jaw letting out a cracking sound that poked at your brain in a way that just felt right. 

You were thirteen. You weren’t very tall and you weren’t very big for your age but you learnt from the very man in front of you how effective a well placed punch could be. And you didn’t slap like him, you’d balled your hand into a firm fist and punched the motherfucker. 

“Oh my god,” your mother gasped out, holding her hand to her mouth out of horror — whether that was because of the bruise forming on his now fucked up jaw or she was only just realising what her daughter was turning into, you’d never know. 

“Stay there, Mary,” your father groaned out, trying to pull himself together as he rubbed his jaw. Your mother listened like she always did, taking a few steps away for good measure because you weren’t their daughter at that moment — you were just someone who was capable of breaking jaws. 

You watched with glazed over eyes as your father pulled any semblance of the man he thought he was together, standing up straight and holding his finger out. “Listen here, you—”

You grasped it, gripping it without a shred of hesitation and pulled until the creaking of his bones and a sharp hiss left his mouth.

“That didn’t sound like an apology, dad,” you said, eerily calm. Deceptively innocent. 

He grit his teeth as he held his finger, looking at you with that stubbornness that ran through generations of blood. He wouldn’t bend, even if his life depended on it. At least, that’s what he wanted to think… You longed to test that determination. 

“Do you really think I’m afraid of jail?” You asked him, your voice quiet but not scared. Soft, but the promise was firmer than anything. The warning as obvious as the sun. 

Your parents shared a look and… Well, they knew then the monster they made.
“I’m sorry,” your father said eventually… You could only guess what that apology was really for. You didn’t really care — he knew you, after all. 

He knew you.

He knew…

…

He knew what you did…

He…

 

…

“I know what you did.” 

Your eyes widened impossibly, the room encased in a silence that churned your stomach in a wrong type of way. Like a fist was around your neck, cutting off your oxygen until you could only breathe in the crushing feeling of being caught. Of not being smart enough. Of someone being smarter than you. 

Wesker didn’t just know about one murder… He knew about all of them. He knew what you did — all of it. The murders, the lies… He could have you thrown in jail for life. He could take Leon from you. He could destroy the carefully crafted threads you’d painstakingly sewn together to build this life. 

Your entire body thrummed with something you hadn’t felt in a long while — not since your father would bring out the belt to beat out the bad. You felt fear. 

Wesker could burn it all down. 

You screamed, a shrill noise that rang out in bloody murder — the kind of sound that haunts people deep in their veins, like a Banshee disorientating their prey before going for the kill. And you couldn’t deny that’s exactly what you intended to do. 

There was not a single thought in your mind but Wesker’s blood as you ran towards him, your hand desperately gripping at the letter opener in his hands as you pushed him into the wall. There was nothing but blood in your brain… It vaguely registered that he was talking, but you heard nothing except your veins rushing with adrenaline. Heart thumping. Cold metal in your hands. 

Animalistic. Frantic. Murderous. 

He hissed in pain when you dug your thumb into the bullet wound, stretching open the fresh stitches, blood dripping as you buried into the flesh. The wound grew grotesquely — neatly broken skin stretching to a torn, messy and ripped injury that would only heal into a jagged scar. 

Wesker gripped your wrist, pulling your hand away… But you latched on and when he took your hand away, you took a piece of flesh with you. A small chunk was missing out of him, your hand holding the skin and tissue, a mess of the sewing thread still trying to hang on. 

The man breathed deeply, your body pressed so close against his that you could hear his heart thumping. You had the letter opener pressed against his throat, looking up at him, his jaw clenched as he doubtlessly grit his teeth. 

“You move a muscle and I’ll skin you,” you breathed out, putting enough pressure for the blood to ever so slightly trickle down his throat. 

Wesker winced but you could hear him let out a breathy laugh, his breath against your face. He let his head fall back as he regarded you with a raised brow, as if letting this happen. You tried not to think about it. 

“Is this where you interrogate me, my dear?” Albert asked, his voice strained from the pain of having his flesh torn apart but you could hear the amusement in it as well. 

“This is the part where I kill you, asshole,” you gritted out, less than appreciative of his tone. So wrapped in condescension, like it so often was. 

He let out another laugh — two in such a short span, a real record for a man who barely ever cracked a smile. His hand came up to yours as you held the blade to his throat, but he didn’t pull it away… No, he wrapped his around yours, pressing the letter opener more firmly into his skin, deepening the slight wound that was already there. 

“Now, I think we both know you don’t hesitate, dear,” he said, his voice low. Such a far cry from the emotionless tone you always heard from him. 

“You don’t know anything about me,” you growled out, pushing the blade deeper until he started to wince. 

He narrowed his eyes in amusement, his thumb stroking the skin of your hand. “I know you kill mercilessly. Without guilt. You don’t let your victims talk.” 

You tilted your head as you clenched your own jaw. “You think I won’t do it, huh?” 

“I know you won’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned down, seemingly uncaring about how the blade dug deeper into his throat. “If you were going to kill me, you would’ve done so.” 

Your breath began to shake, your grip on the letter opener faltering… Could you do it? You’d never had to debate when it came to killing… You just did it. You always did. But could you kill Wesker? He knew everything but he hadn’t said a word to anyone, as far as you knew. He’d actually helped you on numerous occasions… Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad to have an ally. 

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.” 

You steeled yourself, pushing away your empathy. Your emotion. Your humanity. Whatever fondness you had for Wesker or he had for you. Leon was more important — your life was more important. You didn’t take risks like this and you wouldn’t start now. 

And your rage needed to be fed, after all. 

“You don’t know anything about me,” you whispered, barely a breath away from him. 

You dug the blade deeper before striking it across his throat, nothing in the room but the sound of dripping blood and his slumping body. 

 

---

 

“Mmm…” Leon moaned against your lips as you straddled him — you felt like heaven, but still he couldn’t fight the feeling in his chest. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

His words were murmured against your lips, so close as if you were trying to become a part of him.
“Of course I am,” you muttered back, grinding against his thigh as you began to unbutton his shirt. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

He let his hands hold onto your waist, still keeping you close but making you back up just a tad so he could properly look into your eyes. “Don’t you think we might be moving too fast?”

You blinked, as if trying to process his words and he felt regret flare up inside him — he probably worded that wrong. Or his tone was wrong or… 

“No,” you said after a while, kissing him again and practically pushing him down on his back. 

His head hit the pillow with a small gasp as you straddled his waist, pressing into his growing erection as you ripped off his shirt. He said your name breathlessly as you moved down from his lips to his jaw, your hand finding his belt buckle. 

“Are you… Are you sure?” He asked again, his voice strained from holding back a moan with you being so close to his cock. “I can wait if you’re not…” 

“Leon, do I look like I don’t want you?” You questioned back as you looked up at him, and your eyes held a hunger he had never seen in you before — it made him feel both like a piece of meat and really turned on. 

He barely answered before your lips were on his neck, your hand unzipping his jeans. It felt so good… He could only call out your name, his hands digging into the softness of your skin. He’d probably have to hide hickeys tomorrow but—

“Ow!”

Your body stiffened in his arms, a groan of something leaving your lips before you hesitantly looked up at him. A bit of blood dripped down your lips — his blood.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered as you gently wiped the blood on his neck with your thumb. 

His brow furrowed as he saw the guilt in your eyes, so he sat up immediately, cradling your hand in his. “Hey, hey — it’s okay, don’t apologise. It’s just a little love bite.” 

You shook your head as if you didn’t believe him. “No, it’s…” You trailed off and Leon’s eyes softened as he saw the tears in your eyes. He didn’t hesitate before he dragged you against his chest, stroking your hair. 

“It’s okay,” he said, softly again. 

Truth be told, Leon had not a single idea why you were so upset about biting him… It felt like there was a big piece of you he was missing, it always did. Sometimes, he was upset that you just weren’t honest around him. But he also knew it could take a lot for some people to trust, to be vulnerable and he could only guess you were one of those people… So he could only cradle you in his arms, providing support and waiting for you to trust him. 

“What if I only hurt you?” You asked him, your voice sniffling a bit. “I’m not… I’m not good.” 

“You’re good for me.”

You sniffled again at that, pulling back to look up at him and, as much as he hated that you were crying, he swore he could get lost in your eyes. “You don’t know that.” 

Leon just let out a small laugh, leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead. “Yeah, I do.” 

He heard you sigh, relaxing a bit in his arms as he held you against him. He let himself breathe you in… Vanilla, ink and… something almost metallic?

“Do you wanna just go to sleep?” He asked you, trying to push away whatever thought gnawed at his brain. 

“No,” you said quickly. “No, I want this. I want you.” 

Leon let out a chuckle at that, the sound easy and relaxed in his voice. It always came out easier when you were around. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I might,” you said, the words spilling out as if you didn’t mean them to leave your lips at all. Leon’s brow furrowed, panic clutching at his heart as he was about to question you but you beat him to it. “I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that, I just want you.”

That same feeling — the questioning — gnawed at his mind, at his gut. There was no word for it other than unsettling but he allowed himself to shake it off. To bury it like he always did when he was with you. 

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours as he moved his hands back to your waist. You responded immediately, kissing him back — your tongue going to his mouth as you wrapped your arms around his neck. 

Leon rolled the two of you over, leaning over you as he pressed you into the bed. “Guess we should be equal, huh?” He teased before he plunged to your neck, gently digging his teeth into your skin. You hissed in pleasure as he sucked, leaving a beautifully dark purple mark right where everyone could see it. 

He helped you sit up as you pulled your own shirt over your head, barely giving you time to throw it away before he was pressing you back into the bed. The noises you made against his lips were fucking divine, your skin and salvia sweet on his tongue. Sometimes he wondered if the sweetness was a cover for something darker underneath but, sharing a bed and his body with you, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

“Fuck…” he hissed as you pulled his cock out, your hand stroking over the sensitive flesh. 

“Thought that’s what we were doing,” you teased against his lips, your hand gently grasping his manhood. 

He rolled his eyes at you, pressing his hardness against you, his mouth drooling at the thought of getting those panties off of you. He moaned against you as he felt how wet you were. 

“You’re killing me,” he muttered, pulling your hand away to press a kiss against your wrist. 

“Yeah?” You said breathlessly, spreading your legs a bit so he could pull your underwear down. He did so, his hands shaking just as a tad as he removed the lacy thing to see that tantalizing flesh underneath. 

You arched your back with a moan of his name as his thumb circled your clit, your wetness glistening in a way that made salvia build in his mouth. 

“Need more,” you moaned and that was the only warning he got before you had them flipped over, now on top and straddling him. “Need you inside me so fucking bad.” 

“Fuck…!” He groaned out as the wetness of your pussy began to tease his throbbing tip. 

“You ready?” You asked, almost as breathless as him. 

When he nodded, he choked on another moan, your wet, welcoming pussy wrapping balls-deep around his cock. He gripped your hips as you rode him, and a part of him wondered if he was dreaming at how fucking good it felt. 

It was a haze of bliss and pleasure… The feelings coursed inside him, deep in his stomach as you pushed him closer and closer to his release. 

Still, even as Leon basked in this feeling you gave him — the pleasure, the excitement, the warmth at having you in his arms — there was a part of them that couldn’t help but fixate on your eyes. The look in them, how they were almost… feral. 

He called your name as he came, his orgasm crashing through him… Maybe he could ignore the ferality. Hell, maybe he could even enjoy it. 

Anything for you, right?

 

---

 

You woke up as a ghost of yourself.

There should’ve been pleasure, there should’ve been satisfaction. And, sure there still were those things but you should’ve been complete. But Wesker was ruining it. What you did was ruining it.

Instead of basking in cuddling with Leon in the morning, all you could think about was whether or not you got all of Wesker’s blood off your hands. When you should have been enjoying coffee with your gorgeous boyfriend, your mind could only run to how you just left the weapon covered in your DNA. How his entire body was covered in your DNA. How there were cameras that definitely had evidence of what you had done. 

How you didn’t even hide the body, you’d just… left. You left the RPD covered in Wesker's blood. The crime was fresh — there was no lying, no fixing it. You were done. It was like you wanted to get caught. 

Maybe a part of you felt like you deserved it. Maybe a part of you felt guilt for what you did. 

You waited for a phone call — for police to come knocking on your door. Anything. When it didn’t, you just assumed you’d be immediately detained when you got into work. With your anxiety clawing at your very skin, you went. You drove with Leon, feeling like an outsider in your own skin. 

You expected whispers, for people to look at you with horror. For the anger and betrayal. You walked into the Stars office, and Chris gave you a smile when you walked in like he always did — confusion scratched at your flesh like an itch that refused to be soothed. What the fuck was happening?

“Mornin’,” he said, jolly as always. “Captain wants to see you.” 

“Uh… Marini?” You asked with a furrowed brow. 

Chris met your confusion with his own. “Um, no — Wesker.” 

“What? That’s—

The door to the Captain’s office opened behind you… You turned around, ice filling your veins as your eyes widened. 

No way. No fucking way. 

“Good morning, dearheart.”

Notes:

hOPE you enjoyeedd... I know it's not the longest chapter I could've put out after so long but I genuinely just needed to get something out because I couldn't write after the last chapter for the life of me. Like I just needed to get over this hurdle and then I'll be excited to write again so I can actually progresss.

Chapter 7: Off the Rails

Notes:

Omg I'm alive?!?!

Lowkey just wanted to thank you for the patience and lovely comments. Depression has been struggling with me (and is no longer winning) and I've been experiencing schizophrenia so... yeah that's about as fun as you'd imagine.

Anyways, I'm hoping to update this fic more regularly and tried to make this chapter a bit longer for you guys.

You sat with your hands clenched in your lap and your eyes firmly to the floor, like a dog that had just been caught chewing a shoe. 

There was a suffocating silence as you stewed in your confusion and disbelief. Only the monotonous ticking of the clock broke the heavy wall of quiet.

“I need you and Chris to investigate the Southside. There’s been more talk of gang trouble.” 

Your heart paused in your chest as your forehead crinkled in confusion… Surely you didn’t hear that right; the casual tone in his voice as if it was just a regular day, the lack of acknowledgement of the previous night. Not even the slightest mention of the tiny, minuscule fact that he should’ve been dead!

“…What?” You asked slowly, your voice filled with unsettlement.

Wesker looked up from his paperwork, tilting his head as if he was confused by your confusion. “What?” 

“We’re… We’re just not going to talk about last night?” You asked and you were surprised with how easily the words came out. Your brain certainly wasn’t working easily.

Wesker put his paper down then. “Ah, yes… I apologise if I came on too strong. I was sleep deprived and injured,” he said. His words were calm and steady and, if you didn’t know any better (and did you? Did you really know any better at this point?), you would’ve said he had rehearsed them. “But, nevertheless, thank you for… helping me.”

Your mind absolutely blanked, a fog of sheer bafflement and cluelessness clouding over any coherent thought you could’ve possibly had.

What. The. Fuck.

With your jaw gaping and your mind running a mile a second, your eyes darted across Wesker’s office — searching and scanning for even a shadow of what had happened. Of what you had done. Of his blood, of a struggle but… Nothing. Just the pristinely clean room Wesker always kept. The sight did nothing to comfort you, your breathing growing laboured as your heart stuck to your throat. 

Could you have just imagined the whole thing? Were you going crazy?

Your forehead scrunched painfully as you struggled to find some semblance of deniability — to keep any ounce of the belief your own mind was not running away from you. But even as you grappled with the reliability of your own memory, it could only drift back to the cold, hard truth; Wesker was sitting right in front of you, alive and well. Whatever you thought had happened last night, regardless of how certain you were of it, you couldn’t contest the man’s continued existence. You’d only imagined killing Wesker.

“Are you feeling alright, my dear?”

“Yeah, I—“ 

Your muscles stiffened beneath your skin, every hair seemingly standing to attention as his words mashed against your memory.

“Is this the part where you interrogate me, my dear? ”

You bit the flesh of your mouth to keep your teeth from bearing; you hadn’t misremembered anything at all — you had sliced Wesker’s throat just last night. You watched the life leave his eyes and his body slump to the ground. He was dead. 

Except he wasn’t. Not anymore. 

But what could you do about it? Confront him? Cause a scene? At best, that would’ve gotten you sent home on a mental health day, and at worst, sent on an all inclusive trip to the mental ward. No thanks, you had shit to do.

You gave him a tight smile. “ Fine, captain. Southside, you said? We’ll get on it.”

 

---

 

“ Cannibals, ain’t that fun?” 

Chris’s sarcastic tone went in one ear and out the other as you looked out the window, your chin resting in your hand as you fought back the bile that was attempting to sneak up your throat. You had killed Wesker — you knew it. 

Except he was alive. Alive and well and acting as if nothing had happened. No matter how much you tried to reassure yourself of your mind, the evidence was in Wesker’s every breath. Your sanity had always been a rather shaky subject, after all.

“ Hello? Earth to dumbass, you in there?” Chris questioned sardonically. 

You looked over to him as he drove, giving him a tight smile. “Alive and ready, asshole.” 

He let out a chuckle as a half smile lifted his lips, pulling his sunglasses down on his face as he turned his eyes back to the road. 

“You look fucking stupid in those by the way,” you told him, crossing your arms as your her own eyes looked out the front window. 

“You’re just jealous.”

“I guarantee you I’m not.” 

Not even your easy banter with Chris could dissipate the sinking feeling in your stomach. Regardless, you pushed it down and kept that amused yet sarcastic grin on your face as you and he drove to the Southside of Racoon City. 

As your mind is a soup of certainties and uncertainties clashing against each other, the next words slipped from your mouth without your brain’s consent. “You ever think there’s something… I don’t know, odd about the captain? 

Chris tilted his face to give you a puzzled look without taking his eyes off the road as he asked, “who, Wesker?” 

Oh for the love of—

“No, Crunch, genius,” you bit out. “Of course I mean Wesker.” 

Chris just rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Little weird the guy’s constantly wearing sunglasses. And he can be a bit of a hardass but other than that he’s a damn good captain. Never steered us wrong, right?”
A long, suffering sigh settled in the back of your lungs but you didn’t let it see the cave of your mouth, instead biting your tongue until you could taste that pang of metal. As much as you wanted to blurt out what had happened — what you knew for an absolute fact had happened because the alternative wasn’t something you would let yourself consider — you knew you couldn’t. Chris’s loyalty was as stronger than his muscles and ran deeper than blood itself and, as loyal as he was to you, he was also loyal to Wesker. If you spilled out what desperately wanted to pour into his ears, you’d be met with nothing but disbelief and concern. 

Chris knew you, after all, much better than most. He knew the darkness your mind was capable of conjuring and he would only believe that your brain was finally running away from you. 

(Were you certain it wasn’t?)

So, you swallowed your concerns, even if you longed to share them with your best friend. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

The rest of the drive was filled with music that couldn’t quite penetrate the fog in your brain and your nails bitten off to the point of near bleeding — that anxiety that crawled deep in your gut, promising that things were worse than you thought. Warning you that they were only going to get worse. You felt trapped in your own silence. 

You barely even realised the car stopped outside the South Raccoon Street Station until Chris nudged you, snapping you out of your thoughts with a sudden jolt. 

“Jesus, you good?” Chris asked with a raised brow. “You look pretty out of it.” 

“Uh…” You shook your head as if trying to scare off the brain fog, blinking a few times to regain your composure. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well last night, I stayed at Leon’s.” 

Regret only pierced through the cloud of numbness surrounding you when Chris gave you a suggestive raised brow paired with a smirk. “Oh, really?”

“Shut up.” 

“I really hope you used protection—”

“Oh, my god — shut up!” You snapped, throwing your empty coffee cup at him, met only by his cackles as he got out of the car. You followed, grumbling about how ‘fuckin’ annoying’ he was as you unbuckled your seatbelt. 

The car door slammed shut behind you before you and Chris went deeper into the station, crossing the police tape that had been put there to block it off earlier that morning. About three in the morning was when the attack happened — there was something in the report about it being lucky the station had been so dead at that point.
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you coughed out, face cringing at the absolute decrepit smell that seeped through the whole station as you got deeper underground. “The fuck is that smell?” 

Chris was sneering too, covering his face in the crook of his arm as he adjusted to the onslaught that was the foul odour. You’d been faced with the sight and smell of dead bodies many times but this was… different, as if it had been sitting for weeks. No corpse was even in sight but you could only assume there was one when the whole station reeked of something dead that had been sat limply for weeks. When the feces had rotted and the maggots started to shit their intestines out in the decayed bowls. 

“What are we even supposed to be looking for?” You asked, voice strained from attempting to hold your breath. 

“No fuckin’ clue,” Christ admitted as he ripped through the yellow police tape that blocked off one of the train carts. “Wesker said it was somethin’ about just needing to check over the crime scene. Make sure it’s all clear.”

You rolled your eyes as you turned away, checking over the station itself as Chris investigated the carts. “Somehow I doubt the cannibal stuck around this long. I’m gonna check the backrooms.” 

Chris just gave you a grunt of acknowledgment as your boots strode against the stained pavement, soles dragging against concrete as you unlatched the door to one of the storage rooms. 

“Oh, fucking fantastic,” you muttered to yourself when you flipped the lightswitch, the bulb flicking pathetically before dying completely. With a huff of annoyance, you pulled your flashlight out, switching it on— “Fuck me!” 

Your heart stuttered, catapulting into your throat when the light of your torch landed on the body. 

Found the source of the smell. 

There wasn’t supposed to be a body, especially not one so… gruesome. You knew you needed to call for Chris but this corpse wasn’t normal; it didn’t look a few hours old at all, no, this thing was practically grey with age. 

Against your better judgment, you took a step deeper into the room, the stench enough to have your stomach churning. You bit your lip just to keep yourself grounded, only a few steps away from the body. Close enough to see its skin… the grey colour, the wrinkles, the waxy texture. The skin of its cheek looked like it was melting off, falling off the body in strips, revealing the stale blood underneath. 

This wasn’t a normal body at all. 

“Chris!” You yelled, stepping out of the room and back towards the trains. “Chris, I found a body!” 

Chris came out of the cart, looking at you with a sharp confusion as he took his gun out of the holster. “I thought Wesker said there wouldn’t be one.” 

“Yeah, well, he was wrong,” you said, taking your own gun out as you led him to the storage room. “This thing looks like it’s been dead for weeks. How—” 

Your heart was a stone in your stomach when you kicked open the door; empty. 

Not a body in sight. 

You could feel Chris’s eyes burn into the back of your skull, and you’re pretty sure he asked you something but you couldn’t hear it. Not with the ringing in your ears, like the hollow sound the brain makes after someone screams bloody murder. Your hands were trembling around your gun, that curdling feeling in your stomach now a rollercoaster of sickness and something just wrong.

You saw a body.

You saw a body. 

You saw a body. 

You saw a body. 

You saw a—

“Fuck — are you okay?” 

Chris’s question barely registered in your brain, your knees hitting the grimy storage room floor as your stomach emptied. You couldn’t even choke out a grunt of a response, your throat already gagging on acidic bile. 

If Chris saw the tears in your eyes, he made no comment on them. Hopefully, he thought they were just from the sting of the vomit in your mouth and not from the sheer uncertainty you now had in your own stability. 

 

---

 

You weren’t really there when Chris led you out of that storage room. Or when he put you in the car. You only snapped back to your consciousness on a surface level when he pulled up outside your apartment complex, your eyes still glazed over as you looked out the window.

Chris understood the state better than most. 

“I’ll tell Wesker you were feeling under the weather,” Chris said, not looking at you. Preserving at least an echo of your privacy in that moment. He didn’t ask questions. 

You didn’t say anything in response, not for a few moments at least. Chris didn’t rush you. 

“I saw a body,” you told him and, if you sounded even half as crazy as you felt, you would have been surprised he was dropping you home and not the hospital. 

Chris just put a hand on your shoulder. Comforting. Firm. Usually grounding — that day, though, it felt like a hollow reassurance compared to what you were feeling. 

“It’s okay… Just get some rest, alright?” 

He didn’t believe you. You couldn’t blame him. 

“Okay.” 

Your apartment never felt emptier and, honestly, you couldn’t decide if that emptiness was a comfort or a simple reminder that you were alone in whatever it was that was happening to you. 

I know what you did. 

I know what you did. 

I know what you did. 

Your body moved on its own before you even realised what you were doing, sliding that box from underneath your bed — you should’ve burned the boot, you knew you should have — opening the lid to look at that boot. To read that note. That jagged, taunting handwriting. 

Wesker’s doing, that you make yourself certain (could you?). Even if you swallowed down and repressed everything that had happened that previous night, it made sense for it to be Wesker; he had the power, the connections, the sheer skills to stalk and cover up murder after murder. 

You couldn’t be certain why. You had your theories but you couldn’t let yourself ponder them (not when pondering led to remembering jackets draped over your shivering shoulders and expensive lunch dates paid for without hesitation. Or drunken memories of being tucked into bed that you’d rather pretend you didn’t remember at all. Not when being pulled onto his lap while you touched him in a way he let so few do pointed to an obvious ‘ why’ you’d rather not admit to yourself. Not when you knew, deep down, that truth was probably more dangerous in its insinuation than corpses walking off on their own). 

A dress peeled off with the tenderness of handling glass, gentle hands against scarred skin… 

“You have no idea the things I do for you.” 

You shoved the box back under your bed as if you had been burned, a sharp sigh leaving you as you straightened your back. Like a cat ready to attack. All you could think about was Albert Wesker — how he’d been stalking you, covering your crimes, breaking into your home. You could only peel your eyes across your room; how many times had he been in there? How many times had he slipped in without you knowing?

You’d always lived your life as the hunter, the predator, the wolf in sheep’s clothing. But now? Now it seemed like you were dealing with someone far worse than yourself, an apex predator that had his eyes set on you, for one reason or another. 

And you felt like you didn’t even know half of what he was capable of. 

You couldn’t stay in your apartment, not when you felt like there were eyes digging into your skin. So, you shrugged off your work uniform and picked up the first thing you found on your floor before dragging your feet to the bar a few blocks over. 

It was one drink, then two. And then it was four. Liquid pouring easily into your stomach, as if enough of it could make you forget all about Wesker’s resurrection or melting corpses you may or may not have seen. Before you knew it, you were nursing your seventh drink, thinking very little of the fact that you had work the next morning. 

Eyes stuck on the amber coloured liquid that glistened in the glass, your lip curled when you realised you didn’t even feel drunk. You just felt numb. Like your life wasn’t your own anymore and was it? If your mind was truly running away from you, was your life your own? 

“Hey,” the bartender said, and it was only really at that point you noticed the place was basically empty. “Last call is in five minutes.”

Your lip curled again, disgusted that you had spent hours drinking away sorrows that probably didn’t even exist. You downed the rest of your drink in one swig. “Yeah, I’m leavin’. Just gonna take a piss first.”

The toilets were about as grimy as you thought they’d be — with flickering lights and floors covered in grime. Your eyes stayed fixed on the ground as you emptied your bladder, your brain almost filling the empty space under the crack of the door with that corpse; grey. Rotting. Wrong. 

It was a relief to finally wash your hands, though you grumbled when the soap dispenser just hissed pathetically. Empty. You sighed in resignation, using just water and attempting not to look at your reflection because you were almost certain you wouldn’t like what you would’ve seen. 

You almost flinched when the door suddenly swung open, almost expecting Albert Wesker to appear like some vengeful god to show you how to make sure someone stays dead. Instead, it was just some sweaty, middle aged guy with a receding hairline. 

“Pretty sure this is the ladies’ room, champ,” you said dryly, voice stuck in the hoarseness from your vomiting fit earlier. 

The pathetic creature actually belched, bloated with his drunkenness. “ Yeah? You wan’ show me how a lady is, baby?” 

You would’ve rather made out with the rotted corpse. 

You didn’t even look at him, just sighing deeply, reminding yourself that you had much bigger issues. “You really don’t want to test me tonight, pal. Just turn the other way.” 

The idiot only got closer to you. “ Nahhh … You wanna show me how much of a lady you are, ‘member?” 

A laugh left you then; breathy with disbelief and the threads that were holding your composure together. Finally, you turned your sharp gaze to him. You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t. There was that manic feeling in your blood, your teeth wanting to snarl like an animal. 

But a drunken man is a stupid man and he didn’t pay attention to the bloodlust in your gaze… No, he just got closer, grabbing at your waist like he owned you. 

SMASH!

He didn’t get time to register the sound of glass breaking against the impact of your fist, your bloody hand grasping one of the shards. 

“What—” 

His drunken slurring quickly silenced by a choked, pained gag as you dug the shard into his eye. Not quite hard enough to pinch his brain but enough to sting with agony. And when he fell to the ground, sputtering and splaying spit as he tried to figure out what was happening…

STOMP!

You had him kicked to the ground in a blink, bringing your boot down to stab that glass deeper. His brain turned into meat on a cutting board. 

“That was fun,” you muttered to yourself before wiping your bloody fist on your pants and walking out of the bathroom, not a worry of the DNA you’d left in the crime scene. Wesker would clean it up, after all. 

 

---

 

Wesker was as annoyingly calm as anything the next morning, but you knew he covered it up; there was no report of a brutally murdered man found in a bathroom of a bar. No police knocking down your door. It posed a grim question you weren’t sure you wanted to know the answer to; how intensely had he been watching you? 

“Who’s he talking with, anyways?” Chris asked, gaze fixed on Wesker’s office, glass walls blocked off by the blinds. 

“Some Umbrella doctor,” Jill said from beside you. “I can’t remember his name.” 

“Seems like we do a lot of missions for Umbrella these days,” he grunted back. 

You just huffed in agreement, looking back down at your computer, barely looking up when the office door finally opened for Wesker to come out with those stupid sunglasses. 

“Starling,” he said, calling your last name. Begrudgingly, you looked up at him. “In my office.” 

With a long, suffering sigh you stood up and dragged your feet towards him, just in time to cross paths with the man he was meeting with; a bit shorter than Wesker (most people were), though they looked the same age. 

“Thank you for meeting with me, William,” Wesker said politely, though you were certain there was more familiarity under the surface. 

“Of course,” the other man — William – said, turning his gaze to you with an oddly inquisitive or… knowing look in his eyes. He turned back to Wesker, a smile tugging on his lips. “ This is Starling, huh?” 

“Shut up.” 

With that confusing interaction seared into your brain, you followed Wesker into his office as William left. Wesker was speaking but all you could think about was that this William knew who you were. Your mind racing a mile a minute, that knowing look imprinted in your skull. 

You were nothing but a shell as Wesker spoke about a case. A husk as you followed him into the parking garage. All emptiness and lifelessness as you got in the car, as he drove through the city. There was a terrible silence as he parked, the car turning off and taking away the hum of the engine. Nothing but unspoken words and a ringing in your ears. 

“How long have you been stalking me?” You asked eventually, eyes still glazed over as you looked out the windscreen. 

Wesker had no reaction — no denial, no shift of discomfort, no laugh of absurdity. Just an exhale of breath. “Far longer than you believe.” 

You killed Albert Wesker. You know you killed him. You had his blood on your hands. But, somehow, he was alive and in front of you. 

But you weren’t crazy — you knew you weren’t. 

If he saw you take your gun out of your holster, he didn’t protest. And he didn’t say a word when you took the safety off. Nor did he react when you put the gun to his head. 

BANG!

You put your hand to his pulse; well and truly dead. You leaned your head on the headrest behind you. 

“Stay dead this time,” you muttered to yourself, though the cavern in your chest promised he wouldn’t. 

 

---

 

Albert Wesker wouldn’t stay dead. 

September shifted to October, leaves turning amber and beginning to fall off trees as Autumn approached like a silent shadow. But Halloween didn’t scare you, no, what scared you was how many times you murdered your boss just for him to remain alive. 

Three bullets to the chest. 

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Running over him with his own car. 

CRASH! SPLAT!

Stabbing him ten times out of pure frustration. 

Drowning him in the Raccoon City local swimming pool. 

Banging his head against his own desk until his brain was mush. 

Strangling him until there was no breath in his lungs. 

Stabbing him again.

Shooting him again. 

And again. 

And again. 

And again. 

And again. 

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Breaking into his own home and slitting his throat (you didn’t let yourself think about the pure adoration in his eyes when he wasn’t wearing those glasses). 

Thirteen times. Thirteen times. You’d murdered Wesker thirteen times in a month. Out of anger, defeat, violence, or frustration, you’d done it. And you knew you had done it — you saw the blood on the knives, after all. The dent in his car. 

So, how… How in god’s name was he always alive? How had he strolled into work that morning like you hadn’t slit his neck the night before? Acting like nothing had happened, nonetheless. 

Your mind was limply hanging on to threads of sanity, grasping with your own concept of reality as it clashed with what was in front of you. 

You couldn’t deal with it anymore, not when it was nearing midnight and you were working overtime. You sharply stood from your seat, jaggedly slamming open Wesker’s door. 

“How are you alive?” You asked, though the question was more of a jagged, feral threat on your lips. “I have killed you multiple times — how the fuck are you alive? What are you?” 

And in the face of the pure insanity radiating off of you? Wesker only inclined his head calmly. 

“What on earth are you talking about, dearheart?” 

…

There was that ringing in your ears again before you screamed . Before your lungs tore in your chest with the pure frustration you felt. You ran towards him, your hand clutching around a pair of scissors on his desk. 

“FUCK YOU!” 

The scissors landed in his stomach, blood spilling into your hand. Again. Again. And again. 

“Fuck you!” 

STAB!

“Fuck you!” 

STAB!

“Fuck you! Fuck you! FUCK YOU!” 

STAB! STAB! STAB!

You dropped the scissors as your heart thumped in your chest like a war drum, breathing deeply in exhaustion. Covered in splatters of blood as you looked down at his mangled form. 

“Stay dead this time, you fucking bastard,” you said. 

But then you heard it; the door to the STARS office opened and… God, if you could prove to someone else he was dead… You rushed out, filled with relief it was Chris. You didn’t even think to care about the blood that covered you. 

“Chris—”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he said, dropping the coffee. Porcelain and brown liquid shattering against the ground. His face was pale at your manic smile. “Who… Who’s blood is that?”

“Wesker’s!” You said, a smile of glee on your face. “He’s dead — go look at the body!” 

“Fuck… What did you do?” He said, more to himself than to you, his voice a breathless plea of… denial. Regret, maybe.

But it was fine because you’d finally prove that Wesker could resurrect, that he could come back from the dead and—

Your heart dropped to your stomach when Wesker came out, alive and well. Not a stab mark in sight. 

And what a good actor he was, looking at you with wide eyes and nothing but concern. 

“My god, Starling, whose blood is that?”

You looked up at him with pure disbelief, hands trembling as blood dripped down onto the floor. “It’s your blood,” you said, voice choking with frustration. Eyes already watery, tears threatening to spill. “You know it’s your blood… How are you alive?!”
But Wesker only looked down at you with sympathy, your ears ringing even as you heard Chris mutter out a ‘Jesus Christ’. You looked back at your best friend, eyes wide with desperation. 

“I promise he was dead,” you told Chris. “He was! I killed him!” 

Christ pinched the bridge of his nose before turning his eyes back to you, nothing but concern in them. “I love you, but you need help.” 

You couldn’t help the tears running down your cheeks, mingling with the blood on your face as you looked down at your trembling hands. 

“No… No, I killed him…” 

Those choked words turned to a small sob, your body trembling so much that you couldn’t even find it in yourself to protest when Wesker gathered you in his arms. He held you against his strong chest, gently stroking your hair back. 

“Shush, dearheart, it’s alright,” he said soothingly. “We’ll get you help.” 

 

---

 

You were fairly sure it had been just under a month, though you couldn’t be quite sure. Time passed weirdly in the mental — every hour feeling slightly longer than it should have, but every day feeling much shorter than you knew it was. 

You weren’t entirely sure what Wesker’s cover story had been but, from how the nurses treated you, you could only guessed he had told them you were suicidal. That the blood that had been on you was your own. A tragic attempted suicide at work. A stupid story, considering you had no scars, but it was more believable than the truth. 

Wesker had visited you a few times during your stay, though most of the time you said nothing to him. And, since he only spoke when you did, he said nothing either. 

There was one time, though, when you finally cracked; when you finally looked at him and asked the question. 

“Did I really kill you?” The question was dry and stale in your voice, a small desperation in your tone… Being treated like you were crazy had a way of making you feel crazy, after all. “No one’s around. No one would believe me so… Please, tell me I’m not crazy.” 

It was humiliating to beg, really, but at that point you couldn’t have let yourself care. Not when your mind was so fragile. 

“You’re not crazy,” he had said. 

A simple answer, but the answer you needed. An unspoken confirmation that only led to more questions… You didn’t ask them. 

When you were told you had a visitor, you were surprised to see Chris waiting for you, your brow furrowed as you sat down in front of him. 

“Why are you here?” You asked, not sharply just curious. 

Chris let out a small breath of a laugh. “Can’t a guy visit his best friend?” 

You tried to give him a small laugh back but it just sounded sad. 

Chris sighed deeply as he looked at you, one large hand coming to wrap around yours. “How are you holding up?” 

“As well as I can in a psych ward,” you said with a bitter snort. 

“It was for the best,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. “Wesker said you’ll be out in a few days.” 

You raised a brow at him as you considered his words. “A short trip for someone who tried to kill themselves at work, don’t ya think?” 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in something that might’ve been exasperation. Looked an awful lot like exasperation. 

“Look, I know it wasn’t your blood, okay?” He reassured, his voice rough in his chest. “You’ve always been a bit… different but not suicidal.” 

You let out another snort at that; different. That was a word for you.

“Then whose blood do you think it was?” 

“I’ve been trying to not think about it,” he gritted out. 

You rolled your eyes at his pure stubbornness. Stubborn as a boulder. “Okay. Fine. Let’s say it wasn’t Wesker’s because… Yeah, he was fine,” you admitted, knowing an apparent resurrection (much less fifteen of them) wasn’t something you’d be able to get Chris to believe. “Don’t trust him.” 

“What?” 

“Hear me out,” you said, putting your hands up. “I know I sounded batshit crazy but don’t trust Wesker. There’s something wrong with him, Chris, I promise you that.” 

“Look, I can’t just—”

“Have I ever been wrong?” And that was enough to shut him up because, much as he might have hated to admit it, you had an excellent judge of character. You were good at faking innocence, after all, of course you could pick it on other people. “I’m not asking you to do anything about it, just… Just keep your guard up, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

After a few moments, Chris sighed into his hands. “Jesus Christ — fine.” 

A small pillow of relief filled your heart, muffling the sense of dread you’d been feeling for weeks; at least your best friend still trusted you enough to believe you on this. 

“Thank you.” 

You slumped back in your chair, watching as a cart of supplies rolled by. All branded with that little Umbrella logo — you snorted again before looking at Chris. 

“You ever think about how much stuff in this city is supplied by Umbrella?” 

That got a small huff out of him. “Yeah. It’s like they own the place.” 

“Yeah…” you said, eyes turning back to that red and white logo. “ Weird.” 

Notes:

Ngl I could've probably used Leon in some of Chris' parts but its fiiinnee. You'll get more Leon next chapter.

Chapter 8: Echo of Honesty

Notes:

Bit of a calmer chapter compared to last chapter but you guys need that before shit starts to really hit the fan...

Also, just wanted to say thank you so much for all the kind comments and I want you to know that if you commented on last chapter or any of the chapters while I wasn't writing them, I've read them all and you are the ONLY reason I'm motivated to write this. Thank you guys so much and I really hope you all know how much comments mean to authors <3

It was snowing when you were finally released from the hospital; that powdery white coldness softly falling on your shoulders as you stepped into the police station. 

Considering your acclaimed “attempted suicide”, you were surprised they allowed to go back to work at all… Then again, maybe you shouldn’t have been. If Wesker wanted you close, should it have really been a shock that he could pull strings to have you back with a gun in your hand like normal? A part of you thought you were finally seeing just how deep his influence was buried, but the other part believed you’d only seen the tip of the iceberg. 

Just who was Albert Wesker, anyways? 

No odd or concerned glances were shot your way, no mumbling under their breaths about how you shouldn’t have been allowed back. No, that humiliation was something you were spared — Wesker’s doing, yet again. Chris assured you that everyone was told you had been sent on a solo mission for the month. A stupid, hollow excuse if anyone actually took the time to examine it; solo missions were rare in Stars, after all. Rarer still that you of all people would be given it when it would, more than likely, be given to a man like Chris or Barry. It was odd enough to most that there were three women in Stars. 

You tried to brush thoughts of him off as you walked through the main hall, especially when a different man should have been occupying your mind. Well, Leon had been living rent free all weekend, considering he hadn’t picked up his phone once. Even after you backed up his answering machine by leaving message after message. You even went by his apartment, knocking on his door until your knuckles started to burn. But, either wasn’t home or he was ignoring you. 

(You didn’t want to think about what you’d do if he was ignoring you…)

It didn’t matter, he wasn’t going to ignore you anymore; you marched into the West office, ready to finally see your boyfriend and—

Your body paused, like a shark smelling blood in the water… He was talking to a girl, that winning laugh in his voice. You could only see the back of that bitches head, your eyes digging into the back of her skull like burning daggers. A warning. The kind of murderous intent that would make anyone’s hair stand up. 

You could already smell her blood, already feel your hands caked in it.

But that instinct settled back down, low in your chest like a snake coiling for a nap; it was just Anderson, a detective in her fifties with a husband and kids who once baked you cookies on your birthday. You breathed deeply as you clutched the wooden railing of the steps, both in relief and to ground yourself. You’d just mistaken friendly chatter between colleagues as flirting, for god’s sake — you needed to get a grip. 

As Anderson turned away, Leon’s blue gaze found yours over her shoulder. Your heart dropped into your stomach at the same time his smile dropped from his face, and then he turned away as if he didn’t even see you. 

Oh, god. 

There was that ringing in your ears again but, this time, it was paired with a choking hopelessness instead of rage or frustration. You bit your lip to stop the tears that threatened to spill down your cheeks and your nails dug into the railing, chips of wood finding that sensitive skin underneath. 

Another deep breath. Another reminder to keep your calm. 

“Leon,” you called as you went down the steps, plastering a smile on your face. “Leon, hey—”

He was walking away as if he couldn’t even hear you. You could feel your eye twitch. 

You sped up, grasping at his arm, probably a bit too harshly. “ Leon , are you okay?” Your voice was too tight. Too sweet, like a synthetic sugar. “What’s wrong?” 

“What’s wrong?” He asked with a scoff. Bitter and disbelieving. “I haven’t heard from you in nearly a month.” 

The bile in your stomach churned as your heart pounded in your chest as his words hit you across the face. You’d been so caught up in Wesker (which, could you be blamed? The guy was coming back from the dead, for god’s sake!) that you hadn’t even stopped to think about how, from your boyfriend’s perspective, you had just up and left without so much as a goodbye. 

Your breathing was shaky, a trembling action that did little to keep you grounded now. Leon was pissed, the anger winding him up tighter than you’d ever seen him. If Wesker’s absolute fuckery cost you Leon, you’d make the bastard wish he could stay dead. 

“I…” Your voice was like a shaking worm in your throat. “I can explain.” 

For a moment, it looked like he might have just scoffed and turned away. But, of course, he was Leon — your loving, sweet Leon who was so much better than everyone else. And that compassion you loved so much only echoed in his actions. 

“Explain then.” 

You didn’t spare another moment, moving your hand to his wrist to drag him out of the office and to the dark room just under the back staircase. Empty, thankfully, thought it usually was these days after Elliot claimed to see a rat scuttering around in there. 

With another breath, you shut the door behind you and leaned your back against it — your brain needed to take a moment to conjure up a believable story, after all. 

“Look,” you said softly, taking a few steps towards him. You didn’t like how his back was still to you. “I know you’re mad—” 

He turned sharply then, as sharp as the rest of him was at that moment. “You think this about me being mad? I was worried — I couldn’t sleep.”

“Leon…”

“You just left without a word,” he accused, his hand clenching around the metal table, hard enough for you to see his veins. “I didn’t know what had happened to you. I was told barely anything and… God, I didn’t even know if you were alive.” 

You wanted to cross your arms defensively, your avoidant urges begging you to snap at him. To further isolate yourself. 

But this was Leon. 

Instead, you took another step forward, your hand covering his and, thankfully, he didn’t snatch his away. “I’m sorry,” you said, voice as soft as the snow falling outside. “Wesker didn’t give me much of a chance — I had to fly out as soon as he told me about the mission.”

You didn’t care that you were throwing Wesker under the bus for your relationship issues; he was the source of them, anyways. 

“I tried to see you the minute I got back, you know,” you said as your thumb gently rubbed circles into his hand. That, at least, wasn’t a lie; the moment you got home, you called Leon. 

“Yeah,” he murmured, looking down at the ground. “Guess I shouldn’t have ignored you all weekend… I guess I just don’t understand why you had to be gone for a month.” 

Because my boss is some eldritch terror who I’ve killed over thirteen times but no one would believe that so I got put in the mental ward. 

“It’s… confidential.” 

He scoffed again — bitter as black coffee — and snatched his hand away from under yours before crossing his arms. “ Of course . Everything feels confidential with you.” 

It was your turn to scoff, the sound less bitter and more of a cloak over your own vulnerabilities. “The hell is that supposed to mean? You know I can’t just share mission details, Leon.” 

“It’s not about the mission,” he snapped. “I feel like I know nothing about you… I mean, I didn’t know you were in the military until Wesker told me, you’ve never even mentioned your family. It feels like everything I learn about you is from someone else.” 

There was still a bitter, heavy anger in his tone. A defensiveness in his stature that wouldn’t have been easy to penetrate. But you could also see the sadness, the pure hurt at the idea you were keeping secrets from him. 

And he was right. That was the worst part, wasn’t it? He probably only knew as much about you as you did about Wesker. The secrets you were keeping ran deeper than he could have imagined and, at the end of the day, that was entirely intentional for one reason and one reason only; you were an awful person. 

“I mean, I don’t even know if you care about me at this point,” he said. “I feel like you’re always forgetting about me.” 

You couldn’t hold back the small choking sound of disbelief that stuck in your throat, your mouth falling slightly agape at that nauseous feeling in your gut. He thought you didn’t care about him? When your hands were dripping with blood all for him? 

“Are you breaking up with me?” You asked, that softness in your voice almost hiding the desperation. The echo of danger.

Leon took a breath, looking at the ground again. “Maybe I should. It feels like you aren’t even interested in this relationship.”

He looked up when you laughed; a manic, mirthless thing that sounded more strangled than anything. You probably looked like you needed to go back to that hospital. 

“You… You think I’m not interested?” You asked, your sanity more of an abstract thought than a reality. “I’ve slaughtered people for you.” 

“What?” 

You only realised what you had just said — the confession that had just slipped from your lips — when Leon gave you that confused look. You promptly shut your mouth, swallowing down the storm of emotions that wanted to spill out. 

“I… Haha…” Another strangled laugh. “That… That was a joke. I didn’t mean that.” 

There was a moment of silence, of the bridge between moving on from the situation or Leon taking a step back to question what the fuck you had just said. Or that maniacal expression on your face.

And, maybe, if you didn’t have sirens of panic blaring in your ears you would’ve taken a moment to examine that glint in Leon’s baby blue eyes. Instead, you could only feel relief when he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, as if everything was perfectly normal. 

“Dinner at mine or yours tonight?” He asked, as if the entire conversation hadn’t happened. 

You blinked once. Twice. “Yours.” 

A soft peck on the top of your head. “Sounds great.” 

 

---

 

“You’re late, Starling.”

You glared at Wesker as he called out your tardiness in front of the Alpha team. His arms crossed over his chest as he gave them a briefing on something. 

“My bad — jetlag got to me,” you said, your tone sardonic as you marched to your desk. If he wanted to pretend you were off on some bullshit solo mission, you weren’t above using that to bite him in the ass. 

“Try not to make it a habit.” 

You didn’t even try not to roll your eyes as you sat down. 

It might’ve looked like you were paying attention as he prattled on but, really, you were just thinking about all the ways you’d like to kill him. Again. Still, even through that venomous annoyance, you weren’t entirely clueless to what was in front of you; the last time you’d killed him, he had to have only been dead for a matter of seconds if he had time to cover the blood and stab marks. It was a realisation you’d tumbled around in your brain during your time in the hospital, the idea that Wesker seemed to stay dead for shorter periods of time after each death.

“Starling,” Wesker called sharply, and you only realised then that he’d finished talking. “My office.” 

With a sigh, you stood up — you were just about sick of being called into Wesker’s office.

As you got up though, you heard Joseph mutter something under his breath that caused Brad to choke on a chortle. Barry sharply nudged them both as a reprimand but not before awkwardly coughing into his fist. 

What the—

“They fuck are they snickering at?” You asked Jill, your voice gruff as your brow furrowed. 

“Uh…” Jill didn’t look up at you from her computer. “Maybe they just think it’s… strange that you always seem to be going on missions with Wesker.” 

You turned your confused glance to her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

But her awkward cough was all you needed for your face to drop; they all thought you were fucking Wesker, didn’t they? 

You wanted to be indignant, to snap at them and say you wouldn’t touch Wesker with a ten foot pole (were you certain of that?) but you couldn’t even blame them. Constantly going on missions with him, being called into his office, all the overtime and late nights. Privileges awarded to you — like talking back without a write up, strolling in late, leaving early, solo missions no one else got to go on. You might as well have been sucking the captain’s dick in front of them at that point. 

“Starling.”

Your glare as you begrudgingly dragged your feet to his office was less fierce and more like a toddler that didn’t want to go to bed. Still, even as he shut the door behind him, you very promptly rolled up the blinds to show everyone that, in fact, no cock sucking was going on. 

“Any particular reason for the lack of privacy?” He questioned as you sat down in front of him, though his tone indicated he couldn’t have cared less. 

You crossed your arms, already wanting to crawl out of your own skin at having to speak with him like normal. You’d almost forgotten how many times he visited you in the hospital, most of them just thirty minutes of silence. 

“Any particular reason you called me into your office?” You bit back, snark dripping from your words. 

He raised a brow at you, perfectly groomed over his shades. “To update you on what you’ve missed, of course.” 

Your shoulders fell when you realised the large manilla folder of papers was, unfortunately, for you. “Oh, fabulous,” you said, voice breathless with the sigh of exasperation. You were exhausted just from looking at it and it felt impossibly heavy in your hand when he passed it to you. 

You ignored how his thumb lingered on your hand for a moment too long. 

A soft cough cleared your throat as you placed the folder in your lap, looking down at it. “I’m surprised I’m even allowed to have a gun anymore with what happened.” With the lie he cooked up, but that remained unsaid between the two of you. 

“Hm? After you’ve done mission work?” 

“Wouldn’t it save us both some time if we just stopped lying to each other, captain?” You questioned, tongue running over the back of your teeth as you looked up at him. 

He merely smiled, interlocking his fingers. “Do we not both thrive on lies, dearheart?” 

You leaned back at his words because maybe he was right — you told lies as easily as you breathed. But it wasn’t exactly something you took pride in, not these days at least. 

“Can I go?” You asked, almost sharply. 

Wesker looked at you for a moment before shifting back to his paperwork in a dismissive gesture. “Indeed.” 

There was a stony type of annoyance in your movements as you stood, turning to the door. Though, you paused as your fingers brushed the handle. A moment of stillness. And then another. 

“Something you’d like to say?” 

You turned back for a moment, looking at him as you thought of all the things you knew and all the things you didn’t. The understanding that you were the only person in the station that knew he was something to fear and yet… You didn’t even know how terribly scary he truly was. You had a feeling he was worse than you could imagine.

“Lots.” 

And then you left. 

 

---

 

Leon gently unbuttoned your shirt, his hands stroking the flesh that was usually hidden. With your childhood, military experience, and even your time with Stars, you’d accumulated a collection of scars. A lot of them were too faint to see, sure, and not nearly as gruesome as many others had but… Every single one of them was a memory you’d rather not relive. 

“Bullet wound?” Leon asked gently, his finger tentatively stroking that faded graze on your shoulder. 

“Yeah,” you said with a soft laugh. “First year of military training — another recruit accidentally nicked me during firearm training.” 

“Oh, shit,” Leon replied with his own laugh. “Can’t imagine that guy lasted long.” 

“Nah, he got sent home pretty soon after that.” 

Easy laughs and ridiculous memories turned sour when Leon pulled your shirt down further though, revealing the skin of your upper arm. That perfectly circular wound there, deceiving enough to almost look harmless. 

“Another bullet wound?” He asked, looking down at you, still sat on the bathroom counter while he undressed you. 

A lie was in your throat — an easy laugh that it was just a memory of childhood chicken pox. A scar from scratching too hard. But… you’d promised yourself you’d be as honest as you could with him and, sooner or later, you’d have to explain your family to him. 

“...Cigar burn, actually,” you replied, voice thick in your throat as you looked down at your thighs.

Leon’s finger gently stroked over the scar, it had healed decades ago but you still wanted to flinch when he touched it, that memory still ripe in your mind. You’d never forget it — six years old at the dinner table, crying about something but left unheard. Ignored, like you always were because your needs and emotions had never been on your parents’ radars. Your father had just snapped , sick of your tantrum so shut you up with violence, making good on that promise of giving you something to really cry about. 

And then you’d been sent to bed without so much as a bandaid. 

It was the first time he’d ever put a cigar out on you and, though he didn’t do it too often (something about scars like that being too hard to explain and not wasting expensive tobacco) it was certainly not the last time. 

You could feel the questions on Leon’s tongue but, as considerate as he was, he didn’t ask them. Still, you figured you’d confirm what he was already suspecting. 

“My father didn’t exactly believe in positive reinforcement,” you said, a sardonic laugh in your voice. 

Leon’s eyes met yours again, his finger stilling over the scar. “Jesus Christ…” He seemed to take a moment to regain his composure before leaning down to gently brush his lips against the scar before murmuring, “I’m sorry I brought up your parents earlier.” 

You swallowed down that dryness in your throat, your hand gently wrapping around his arm to ground yourself. “It’s alright… You didn’t know.” 

When he stood to his full height, he leaned his forehead against yours in a way that made you melt… Those terrible, icky feelings that thinking of your parents always brought up were slightly soothed by Leon’s gentle affection. 

(If your parents had been so easily loving towards you during your childhood would you have grown up into something worth loving?)

“Are you… Are they still in your life?” Leon asked. 

You had to fight back a snort at that. “No… No, my father went to jail for murdering my mother when I was sixteen.” 

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Leon said, his eyes widening and grip on you tightening. 

A lie, of course, your best crafted one. You were the one who murdered your mother — it hadn’t been the first time you killed and it certainly hadn’t been your last but it was easily the most memorable. You’d done it in front of your father, made him watch as you killed her, relished in his expression when he realised he’d be blamed for it. 

He lost his money, his reputation, and his freedom in one night. Trading out expensive houses for a grimy cell. The cherry on top was his sentencing; the jury and judge might have been convinced to give him a lighter sentence… Until you took the stand, tears in your eyes, and it came out that he’d been abusing you. Enough to sour any pristine image he had and for them to throw away the key when they locked him up. 

“Were you and your mother close?” Leon asked. 

Your mother… Absolutely fucking not. 

Mary Starling had been a different kind of evil to your father; negligent to your needs since the moment you were born. Your father had, allegedly, turned into a different man after your birth and she blamed you for that entirely. He had wanted a son and you came out as a girl… The birth had been difficult enough and the doctor strongly advised that she had no more children. 

She didn’t care when your father turned to violence with you; he might have been the one to burn you with that cigar, but she still sat at that table. She saw and she just drank her wine. Just relieved he had shut you up. 

There was a reason you had felt no guilt when you murdered her, after all. 

“Not really,” you told Leon. “She, uh, she didn’t really care when my father hurt me.” 

It hurt to vocalise, hurt even more when Leon gave you that anguished look as he stroked your hair back. You were pretty sure he murmured an apology to you but you didn’t really hear it, still trying to calm yourself after talking about your parents. 

The night wasn’t sour, though, not when Leon gently dragged a washcloth over your scars in the shower. Or when he murmured about how beautiful you were against your temple. There was a reason you loved him, after all. 

And you didn’t plan on losing him. 

Chapter 9: A Dangerous Declaration

November

The morning was welcomed with a soft snow — deliciously cold enough for you to snuggle up to Leon’s warmth on your day off. 

His strong arms easily adjusted as you rolled over, moving to lazily drape over your waist as you burrowed into his chest. It was easy to fall in love with mornings like that. With him. 

“Mornin’,” he murmured hoarsely, hand gently rubbing up and down on your hip. 

You only made a sleepy sound in response as you kissed his bare chest; it was too early to talk. 

 

---

 

December 

“You don’t think it’s too soon to be spending holidays together?” Chris had asked when you brought up inviting Leon to the Christmas celebration (you, Chris, and Claire had no family aside from each other, so Christmas was spent with a relaxed day between the three of you. Like always). 

You didn’t take offense to Chris’s hesitancy — Christmas had always been special for the three of you. A way to celebrate your little family, forged in friendship and loyalty instead of blood. But, when you brought up Leon having no one to go home to either, Chris changed his tune. There was a new understanding he had, after all, and Chris knew better than most the sting of having no one to share warmth with. 

So, Claire came to Raccoon city, like the last year, and the four of you spent that cozy, relaxed afternoon together. And, maybe nothing would have ever been able to truly stitch up the bleeding wounds you all shared — so similar but so different in how they were inflicted — but it was a soothing balm. Enough to make the pain tolerable. 

“You really didn’t have to get me anything,” you told Leon as you unravelled the ribbon on the gift — though, you couldn’t hide the smile on your face. 

“I wanted to,” he said with his own grin, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. 

Your hands opened that perfectly wrapped box, eyes widening just a tad at the gold pedant inside; you didn’t normally like heart jewellery but… Well, could you have really been upset with Leon giving you his heart? 

“I love it,” you told him, even if it wasn’t particularly to your tastes. You did love it though; it was from him. 

And, as you brushed your hair aside so he could clasp it around your neck, you had a funny feeling you wouldn’t be taking it off. 

 

---

 

January 

You didn’t need a New Year's resolution, not when Leon Kennedy was your boyfriend. Not when you got to go to bed with him at night and wake up to him in the morning. Not when his clothes were all over your apartment and yours were scattered around his. 

Life felt perfect. 

But, somehow, he made it even more so — with a soft brush of his lips against yours, his fingers ever so gently tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“I love you,” he told you, a murmur of his lips against yours. 

And, as easily as breathing, you replied, “I love you too.” 

 

---

February 

“You really don’t have to—”

Pathetic protests from your lips silenced by Leon persistently, but gently, pulling your pants down. With those warm, big hands on your thighs, he gently pried them apart. 

“I want to,” he murmured. 

You let out a small, shuddering breath as his fingers gently began to drag your panties down. It took everything in you to even pretend to protest. “I’ve been working all day… I haven’t even showered.” 

That didn’t seem to deter him at all, his lips close enough to your cunt that you could feel his breath against your lower lips. 

“I just wanna taste you,” he said, voice as soft as silk but dripping with the same warmth that flooded your lower stomach. 

You couldn’t stop your hips from jolting when his lips brushed against your clit, but he just chuckled gently — gripping your thighs just that bit firmer to keep you still as his tongue dipped into your wet hole, licking a stripe all the way to your clit. 

“Leon,” you whined in both pleasure and frustration. He was being agonisingly slow but just so happened to know to touch all the right places. 

He just hummed, that sound vibrating against your pussy as his lips found your clit — just lightly sucking before his tongue poked out to prod the little bud. 

But, regardless of all your whining and moaning, Leon wasn’t speeding up his pace. No, he was savouring this and planned on taking his sweet time. Even when your fingers threaded through his hair to pull him closer, he seemed to only go slower. 

It would be a long, long night. But you already knew it would be the sweetest torture. 

 

---

 

March

“Oh, shut up,” Chris grumbled, sipping more of his milkshake. 

Jill only laughed in the booth next to him, face red from laughing at the stupid stories you had about Chris when he was younger. Leon laughed too, his arm on the back of the booth behind you. 

“I’m not even kidding,” you said, taking a sip of your own milkshake. “Neon pants. Everyday. For years. He used to give his homeroom teacher migraines.” 

Chris just rolled his eyes as he looked at you grumpily. “Yeah, yeah — I could share a few stories from your childhood, you know.” 

A snort left you then. “You could.” 

But not many of them were particularly happy. You both knew that, you could see the thought behind Chris’s eyes; his childhood stories consisted of stubbornly holding onto rat tails and ridiculous outfits (before he lost his parents, at least). Yours contained sneaking out of your house to his just so he could help you disinfect the wounds on your back. Or, hell, him playing witness to the story that had your father behind bars. 

Your childhood was a court case in waiting, not a funny story amongst friends. 

There was a heavy guilt in his hunched posture for even mentioning it, but you just nudged his foot under the table and gave him a reassuring smile when he looked up. 

You weren’t upset. 

 

---

 

April 

“Are you sure you don’t need me to drive you home?” Leon asked as you both walked through the parking garage.
“Yeah — I’m overdue to hand in my report from the last assignment so I’ll have to stay late.” 

Wesker had been a lot harder on you recently — seemed his days of sweeping things under the rug were done. Maybe killing someone nearly twenty times had that effect on people. Go figure. 

Leon sighed a little bit at that, but still leaned down to kiss your cheek. “Alright. Call me when you get home, okay?”

“‘Kay,” you replied easily before leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw. 

Work felt exceptionally dull when you made your way to the STARS office — your chair that bit stiffer, computer a tad grainier. Your eyes drooped, feeling heavier with every word you read. 

Until someone set a steaming cup of coffee, wrapped in that Moon’s Donut’s logo; an absolute godsend, you didn’t even care that the liquid burned your tongue when you immediately gulped it down. 

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said as Jill sat at her desk next to you. 

She merely leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she regarded you with an amused smile. “Thought you could use a pick me up, you’ve been falling asleep all day.” 

With the tongue burnt and your brain struck from the sudden caffeine, the work seemed a bit easier to trudge through. It didn’t stop the ache of annoyance when everyone else got to pack up for the day. You sighed as you leaned back in your chair; your own fault for not doing your work sooner. 

With no one else around, you were making good progress as you chewed through chunks of the report at a time. Still, you probably had a good hour left until you were done, and you felt due for another coffee. Your back groaned as you stood up, stretching your arms over your head until you heard that satisfying crack. 

You hesitated, though, when you got close to Wesker’s office; you hadn’t spoken to him much, you didn’t want to interact with him. It seemed the only times you interacted with him at all was when he was reprimanding you for something or other. You could have been nice… Knocked on his door, asked if he wanted a coffee but, well, you wouldn’t have murdered over five people if you were nice now, would you?

Of course, things rarely went the way you wanted them to when it came to Wesker so, just as you walked past his office, you were stopped. 

“Starling,” he regarded in that indifferent, dismissive voice that made you roll your eyes. “Come in here for a moment.” 

You bit the inside of your mouth just to keep yourself from groaning. Eventually, though, you turned to his office, standing just in the doorway. “Yes, captain?”

If he had found another bullshit reason to—

“Your time off request for June has been denied.” 

Your jaw opened in disbelief, not that he saw that with how he had his eyes glued to the work in front of him, as if you weren’t worth his time. 

“What?” You questioned as you crossed your arms, blinking a few times. “Why? I requested it last month — that’s more than enough time.” 

But, of course, Wesker didn’t even glance up at you, instead flipping through paperwork that seemed to capture his full attention. As if you were worth less than sticky, chewed up gum on his perfectly polished boots. 

“It would be inconvenient.” 

His voice, though perfectly even, was a grating sound that scraped against the walls of your sanity. Your eye twitched. “Inconvenient? For who?” 

Wesker didn’t say anything in response, not so much as a twitch of his fingers or a hint of any emotion on that stoic face. You could only scoff at his indifference. 

“Maybe I’ll conveniently contract the plague that week,” you grumbled under your breath as you turned away because fuck him. 

The sound of Wesker’s fist suddenly hitting his desk with a solid thump was a stark contrast to the icy calmness he was radiating. Your body might’ve stopped in its tracks but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of watching you turn back around to face him. 

For a moment there was nothing you, Wesker, and the tense silence filled with unspoken words between the both of you. 

All the things he knew. 

All the things you didn’t. 

“Do you truly believe that boy to be worth your devotion?” 

It felt less like a question and more like accusation — sharp enough to cut but soft enough to almost have you believe the… the grief that laced his words. A false grief, you were almost certain, but not even that certainty could stop your breath from hitching. 

Just as a shaky answer was about to leave your lips, you heard Wesker’s chair slide against the ground. His footsteps slowly moved towards you, like a hunter being cautious not to startle its prey. When he stopped he was mere inches away from you, his chest brushing against your back with every breath he took. 

You’d been close to him before — you’d been on his lap, for god’s sake — but this was different; nothing but the heartbeat in your chest, Wesker’s breathing, and the soft patter of rain outside. Wesker’s cologne was sharp in your nose with every inhale you took, the scent rich and expensive and so him. It filled every sense you had — Wesker filled every sense you had. 

It was futile to hold your breath, not when you could practically taste him on your tongue.

“Do you?” He repeated softly, and you could feel his voice rumble in his chest against your back. 

“...Yes,” you said after a moment and, had the circumstances been different, you would’ve given yourself a pat on the back for keeping your voice steady. 

“Tsk. You will tire of him,” Wesker said, his lips a breath away from your ear, his voice low as he spoke to you. Words as certain as a promise. “He doesn’t even truly know you. Your devotion is wasted on him.” 

Your movements were sharp and sudden when you spun around but Wesker didn’t look surprised at all — he didn’t so much as flinch backwards. If anything, he seemed smug as you glared up at him. 

You wanted to wipe that look off his face. 

“What do you know about devotion?” You gritted out through clenched teeth, less of a grimace and more of a snarl. “Better yet, what do you know about me? Do you think you suddenly know everything about me just because you know I’ve killed a few people?” 

There was silence again as you let the question linger, as it marinated like the annoyance that was clearly boiling in his veins, if his clenched jaw was any indication. You were playing with fire, lighting matches in an oil rig, but you didn’t care. Your nerves had been grated on and something about Wesker never failed to make you want to cause an explosion. 

To let your words truly irritate any superiority complex that ran through his psyche, you scoffed before your next words. “Your devotion is about as flaccid as your knowledge of me is, Wesker. You don’t know anything.” 

For that moment where he just stared down at you through his dark sunglasses, time crawled at a snail’s pace. You didn’t even breathe as you stared up at him, neck starting to ache from his sheer height. You actually flinched when he finally let out a sharp exhale of breath — perhaps the closest thing to anger you’d ever seen from him. 

“You believe my devotion to be flaccid, dearheart?” His voice might’ve been levelled and steady but you could see the tightness of his jaw, the way his posture seemed that bit sharper. Your breath hitched again when he leaned forward, lips nearly brushing against yours. “I’ll have to remedy that, won’t I?” 

His words impacted like a hit to the face, your brows immediately furrowing in a sharp concern. “What the fuck do you mean by that?” 

You didn’t get a chance to question him further before Wesker’s hand suddenly gripped your wrist — you snarled and struggled against him, attempting to break free but Wesker was as strong as he looked. Stronger, even. It didn’t seem like much effort at all for him to drag you to the other side of his office. 

“Wesker,” you snapped, digging your boots into the ground to no avail. “What the hell are you—” 

The cold clamp of metal around your wrist stopped the words in your throat, suddenly as stiff as drying cement when you realise what he had done; the bastard handcuffed you to his desk. 

“Wesker!” You yelled, desperately trying to get your wrist out of the metal cuff. “What the hell are you doing?!” 

He turned to regard you as he reached the doorway, one perfectly groomed brow raised over his glasses. “Remedying the complication in our relationship, my dear.” 

Your jaw dropped, following your heart as it fell to your stomach; Leon.

“I swear to fuck, if you fucking lay a finger on him—!” Your threatening screams fell on deaf, uncaring ears as Wesker locked his office door behind him. “Don’t you fucking touch him, you fucker!” 

But Wesker didn’t listen — didn’t care and that dread only filled you more when he slammed the Stars office door shut with a finality that left you nauseous. 

Leon was in danger. 

The hot claws of panic gripped your throat as you desperately struggled with the cuffs, your skin aching from the bite of chaffing. You were a caged animal; feral but forced behind bars with your own urgency. 

You let out a scream  — guttural and bloody, from the depths of your lungs where that claustrophobic feeling sat. It was all you could do to try to release that stress, to stop it from clouding at your brain. You needed to keep your wits.

Though you weren’t calm in any sense of the word, there was enough clarity now to know that flailing about like a fish out of water would do nothing. So, with sweat forming at your brow, you rummaged through Wesker’s draws — any key, any piece of metal you could use to maybe pick the lock. That frenzied panic began to claw at you again when you found nothing.

You were stupid to leave your gun at your own desk — so stupid. If you had it, you could’ve just shot the thing off but now…

The cuffs were reinforced and there seemed to be only one solution in sight. 

“Fuck my life,” you muttered to yourself before pressing your wrist down on the cuffs again though, this time, you didn’t stop when that warning pain began to tickle against your bone. You simply kept pressing. Harder. Harder.

The bones in your wrist creaked with protest as the metal dug far enough to start to draw blood, you winced as you felt the slight trickle. But that would be the least of your concerns in a moment. 

You took one final, stuttering inhale before holding your breath now that you had enough leverage… 

Another scream — this one filled with agony — left your lips as you jerked your hand down suddenly. That gruesome, sickening SNAP crisp in your ears as you whimpered from the pain. 

It was a blinding, red anguish before the shock set in. Before your heart pumped enough adrenaline into your veins before you could finally slide your trembling hand out of the cuffs. 

You gave yourself a mere moment before you swallowed down your winces and whines, the world drowned in water to you as you shakily trudged to the door. 

With your right shoulder forward and your broken wrist shielded, you rammed your body into the door. 

SLAM.

SLAM.

SLAM.

Your shoulder stung from the impact as you finally barged through the lock, though it was a numbed annoyance compared to the blinding pain of your wrist.

Fumes were fueling you at this point, your brain barely registering anything other than Leon.

Gun. Car. Leon.

Gun. Car. Leon.

The RCPD was entirely too dark as you barged out of the office, staggering down the halls to get to the exit. So dark you could barely see the stairs.

Car. Leon.

A feral scream escaped from the depths of your throat when your wrist hit the wall. You barely gave yourself a moment to feel it before you started walking again.

Car. Leon.

Car. Leon.

“Ugh… Fuck.” 

The word was more a sputter than anything legible — filled with spit and pain when you opened the doors to the outside. The rain was pouring, your shoe slipping on the wet stairs, causing your body to collide right on your wrist. 

Your small, squeaking scream was almost enough to cover the sound of another bone cracking.

CREAK. 

Almost. 

The cold, wet concrete on your forehead was almost a relief when it contrasted against the red, hot pain radiating through your body. But you had no time to ease your agony, not when Leon was in danger. 

Get up. Get up. Get up. 

You choked on your own scream when your unbroken wrist slipped, landing you right back on the wet pavement. Your bones ached. 

Get up. 

There was a sharp pain in your knuckles when you clenched your hand into a fist. 

Get up.

Your body creaked with protest as your fist played a pillar, your upper body weight entirely resting on your unbroken arm as you peeled your body from the pavement. 

Get up. 

Another choking sound. Whether it was a noise your mouth made or the shattered bones in your wrist, you had no idea, much too focused on getting the pavement beneath your boots again. The railing was slippery when you grasped it; you were as careful as you could be. 

You didn’t drive to work, Leon drove you but you were quick to a solution as you opened the metal gate — the old thing squeaking in protest. You didn’t have time to mind the sounds of an inanimate object. 

Your hand shook as you pulled the safety off your gun, pointing the barrel at someone (Civilian? Cop? You had no idea. Your brain was foggy with pain and adrenaline) opening their car door. 

“Keys,” you croaked out at their stiffened, shaking form. 

They gave little protest, handing you the car keys with a trembling hand. You felt your shoulder shove against them as you slid into the driver’s seat but then you didn’t see them at all, your brain inducing tunnel vision in the face of your urgency. 

You didn’t feel anything when you started the car. Or when you pulled out of the carpark. Or when you started the drive to Leon’s apartment. Or when you doubtlessly sped through traffic lights and speed cameras. 

There was only numbness. And the dread of losing Leon. And the numb pain of your wrist that you were doing irreversible damage to by driving. By using the steering wheel and shifting the gear stick but… Honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, especially not when Leon’s apartment building was in sight. 

If you had been in a better, more stable state of mind, maybe you would have found it weird that, despite leaving at least ten minutes before you, Wesker was only just getting out of his car. Maybe it would’ve struck as odd – concerning, even. 

But you didn’t care at that point, there wasn’t a rational thought taking root in your brain. Especially not when you pressed down the accelerator, booking it down the road until you heard Wesker ram against the car.  

There was a moment of relief, your lungs finally breathing as your heart settled in your chest; Leon was safe. Wesker hadn’t gotten to him.

But with the fear no longer lingering in your bloodstream, your heart thumped rapidly with a new emotion — rage. Your bones and blood boiled as you yanked open the door, not even bothering to slam it shut as you kept a grip on your gun. You rounded to the front of the car, ready to kick and scream and stab and shoot and anything to satisfy the hungry rage that swam in your blood—

Wesker wasn’t there. 

“An inspiring display, my dear. Truly.” 

The wind lashed at your skin with how quickly you whipped around, your feet almost losing their balance on the slippery concrete again but you steadied yourself. It was a miracle you heard him over how loudly the rain was pouring. 

Bang!

The bullet left your gun before words could leave your lips… It seemed to simply roll off of him instead of imbedding into his flesh. That didn’t stop you from unleashing another round. 

“You—”

Bang!
“Are—”

Bang!

“Completely—”

Bang! Bang!
“Deranged!” 

A hypocritical statement, coming from you, but your brain was a cluster fuck of emotions — too much adrenaline, too much fear, too much anger. Too much of everything. 

And, as usual, Albert fucking Wesker was the cause of it all. 

“Are you quite done?” He asked after a few moments, where nothing but your shallow breaths and the rain filled the tension between you and him. 

It didn’t even look like the bullets phased him anymore and, briefly, you could only ask yourself what in god’s name he was. 

“Are you?” You snapped back, though your voice was more of a scream over the rain (and the pain of your broken wrist). “Are you done tormenting me, huh? Have you finished?” 

You were finished. This guy had made you question your own sanity, stalked you, threatened you, had you put in a hospital, and now threatened to kill Leon. You were done. 

His head tilted at that — slow, methodical. As if there was not even a slight amount of true confusion in the action. “Torement you? This was no torment; you questioned my devotion, I merely thought I’d give you a demonstration.” 

A bitter, short laugh of disbelief cut through the rain as you stared at Wesker with wide eyes. “And you thought the best way to do that was to murder the man I love? You are fucking deranged!”

“Is that not what you would’ve done?” 

The question cut through your flesh far deeper than any bullet or knife ever could because you couldn’t even deny it. Had it been Leon, had he been in love with someone else, you knew without a doubt you would’ve murdered the object of his affection. 

But not like this… It would’ve been a secret, at least. You would’ve comforted him, supported him through it. You wouldn’t have told him your plans, you wouldn’t have given him any indication that you had been the killer. Not like… 

It struck you that Wesker could have easily done so, before all this at least. He was smart enough to cover his crimes, and played the indifferent act well enough to make it so you would’ve never known his interest in you but… But maybe — just maybe — Wesker respected you more than that. 

Maybe he didn’t think you deserved to have the wool pulled over your eyes and maybe… God, it was sickening and brain numbing to think that meant his feelings for you (however terrible they were) were more selfless than your feelings for Leon. 

“...So, what, you’re in love with me or something?” 

Stupid words — you knew that and he did too, but they were the only words that you could croak out. You regretted them as soon as you said them and Wesker’s bitter scoff only reinforced that urge to take them back. 

“In love?” He questioned, voice slow and dangerously low. “I feel you with every breath I take. I yearn for your skin against mine — I am haunted by the moments of affection you have so cruelly gifted me.” 

His words were a punch to your gut, the kind that you could only release a trembling breath in response. You barely even noticed his slow steps towards you, unable to hear them over the rain and his declaration. 

“I see you when you aren’t near me. I smell you with every traitorous inhale of my lungs.” He was close enough for you to see the heaving of his chest now. “My body has betrayed me with how much it craves you.” 

You should’ve stepped back when he took another step closer, now having to crane your neck just to look up at him. Your chest nearly brushed against his with every breath you took. You could feel his breath against your face. 

“You do not get to trivialize the ache I feel for down to some fleeting display of mortal affection,” his words were only just louder than a whisper but had the impact of a yell. “Not when you have dug a cavity in my chest.” 

You were an idiot — stupidity at its finest, really. 

There was no reason to do what you did, regardless of how you attempted to justify your actions. Maybe the pain and adrenaline had just clouded your vision and you weren’t thinking properly. Maybe you were just flattered by his declaration. Maybe you were still scared he might kill Leon anyways and this was a way to prevent that. 

Or maybe your heart was swayed at being loved by someone the way you had always loved others. 

It didn’t matter the reason, all that mattered was that you let your lips press against Wesker. You were the one to reach up. You were the one to take a trembling breath before your mouth covered his. You couldn’t blame this on him, not when you initiated every moment. 

Wesker stilled for a moment, shocked in a way you hadn’t seen him be before he finally realised what was happening. You figured he’d be rough or demanding but he was… endearingly gentle. As if afraid you’d shatter from a touch that was anything less than tender. 

His hands were strong and stable on your waist, pulling you closer to him before one of his hands moved up to your face. It was warm against your cheek despite the freezing rain, his thumb stroking your skin as if you were something to worship. 

Your broken wrist stayed limply at your side, but your other hand had moved up to his torso, fingers intertwining with the fabric of his shirt. 

You hated how good he felt.

“What the fuck?”

Any desire that had been ignited was extinguished immediately at the sound of Leon’s voice. You pushed Wesker away when your head turned to Leon standing on the steps to his apartment. He must’ve come down after he heard the gunshots. 

The life had been sucked out of you when you saw the look on his face; anger, betrayal, sadness, hurt. You had caused that, and the very truth of it felt like someone had hammered a nail through your eye.
When he turned back into his apartment block, you immediately tried to go after him. “Leon, it’s not what it–”

“Perhaps it’s best if you—” A pained, strangled sound left you when Wesker grasped your broken wrist in an effort to stop you. That was enough for his perfectly composed look to fracture with concern as he dropped your hand. “What did you do to your wrist?” 

You grit your teeth to try and bite back the pain as you ripped your gun from its holster. “Fuck you.” 

He didn’t get another word out when you landed a bullet to his temple… At least it seemed like some attacks still had an effect. You had no time to note that down, though, not when pain and adrenaline were the only things keeping you from passing out as you marched up the steps to Leon’s apartment. 

Leon’s door was locked, which you should’ve guessed, but that didn’t stop the swear of frustration leaving you before you started banging on his door. 

“Leon… Leon!” You yelled, attempting to halfway composed compared to the emotions slamming in your brain. “Leon, please, that wasn’t what it looked like!”

A lie. And not a very good one at that — you enjoyed it. Far more than you should have. 

“Leon, can you please open the fucking door!”

You weren’t sure how long you were at his door for, banging and yelling like a crazed lunatic. Like an insane ex-girlfriend who wouldn’t let go. It could’ve been minutes or hours of you trapped in that terrible limbo of dread and fear. 

It was only when a hand clamped around yours to stop your bloody knuckles from banging on the door did you finally tear your gaze away from the thing stopping you from seeing Leon. You felt like a feral animal when you looked up at Wesker. 

“He’s not… He’s not opening the door… Why isn’t he opening the door?” Your desperate plea to Wesker was probably the most pathetic point of your life. The way your voice croaked, the tears streaming down your face. But no one else would understand the helplessness that crawled out of your chest like Wesker. 

“You’re going to the hospital.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command in that cold, indifferent tone. And it didn’t matter how much you desperately protested, not when Wesker was already carrying you down to his car. 

Everything was numb. Everything. 

You didn’t feel like yourself when he put you in his car and buckled you up, or when he drove you to the hospital. It was like you were watching the world through an entirely different set of eyes as the doctors checked you out, as they put a cast on your wrist. 

“Was this self inflicted?” One doctor had asked, doubtlessly having seen your file. Wesker denied it, saying it was merely an accident during training. 

He asked if you would be alright on your own, you just told him to take you home in a hollow voice. He did. 

He told you not to come to work for two days. You didn’t.

 

---

 

Leon’s desk was cleared out. 

The first thing you did when you got back to work was go straight to the West office to talk with Leon, to try and mend things. But he was nowhere in sight. 

Your heart turned to a stone in your stomach when you saw his desk; name tag gone. Not so much as a pencil left on his desk. 

Your first thought was that Wesker had had him fired — that he knew he couldn’t get away with killing Leon because you would have never forgiven him. So he just pulled strings to have him fired but… 

“Kennedy? Yeah, he requested an immediate transfer two days ago,” Marvin explained when you confronted him. You couldn’t even breathe. “Irons’ was quick to approve it… Wish he was that quick with budget planning.” 

Irons never moved quickly on anything, not unless Wesker put pressure on him. 

“Did you threaten Leon?” You spat as soon as you slammed the door shut to Wesker’s office. 

Wesker merely took a sip of his coffee. “Well, good morning to you as well.” 

Oh, that made your cheeks heat with rage, your good fist landing against his desk. “Did you threaten Leon? Did you make him leave, Wesker? Are you that insecure?” 

Wesker regarded you with a raised brow, as if your words held no gravity to him. “While I am aware my honesty holds little value to you, dearheart, I assure you I did no such thing. The rookie requested to transfer on his own.” 

You didn’t want to believe him. It would’ve been easier if you could have just denied any honesty he claimed and blame him for everything again but you remembered that conversation you had after you got out of the hospital, how you asked if it would be easier not to lie to each other anymore. And maybe he hadn’t agreed but you truly didn’t think he had lied to you since then. 

But that wasn’t a comfort, it was the icy cold realisation of the truth; Leon had left you all on his own. And, for once, Wesker had nothing to do with it. 

Notes:

just want to put a note because I'm sure some of you are probably feeling really frustrated/annoyed with MC and I want to say - that's a good thing! I am not trying to write a perfectly likable character that is both palatable to the audience and characters within the fic. She is supposed to be flawed and I am certain there are times where you don't agree with her actions or like her.

I aim to make my characters as realistic as possible (obviously given the source material lol) and that includes having flaws and being flawed. I think she'd be terribly boring if she was perfectly likable and never did anything wrong or made bad decisions. MC is not good at emotional regulation even at the best of times, let alone with everything that has happened to her recently. I'm personally pretty proud of the character I've made from her (well, you, technically) and it is fine if you don't agree.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter <3