Chapter Text
You're not sure what the time is, or how long you've been working. The hours all seeming to blur together. At first, you thought it was just a simple cold, and then it lasted a week. Then, two weeks. Now, it's going on three and you think you've just been getting worse. Your body aches, your head hurts, you're snotty, congested, you have a godawful wet cough, and you've been suffering on and off with a fever and weakness over the past few days.
Yet, work waits for no one, and you're sure your boss would have your head, so you have to show up. You've been moving sluggishly all day, still trying your best to power through as much as humanly possible.
As the day starts to wind down, you find your strength has waned completely. Your coworkers tried to get you to go with them to get some drinks when you got off, but you disagreed—opting to do paperwork. Both sounded like bad ideas, but you're sure if you went out there trying to drink and hang out you'd probably end up having to be dragged home.
Now, you're fighting to keep awake as you do paperwork at your desk, and as far as you're aware, only you, your boss, and your boss' boss are still at the station. You'd never liked Chief Irons, he's always felt slimy and creepy to you, like a wolf in sheep's clothing. And Wesker, your boss, isn't much better but he's never given you this…look that makes your skin crawl. He's not the kindest man in the world, but he does his job, and he does it well.
The words on the page in front of you are starting to blur together, your head too heavy to hold up. Your fingers shake as you write, and you can barely remember just what you're writing about.
You set your pen down, and rub your hands over your face. Sitting there for a few moments with your eyes closed. You've got most of your work done, all that's left now is to tell your captain, and go home. You stand from your chair, swaying a bit, before you start towards his office.
When you come upon it, you stand there in the open doorway for a moment. He's staring down at paperwork, his brow furrowed. He doesn't have his usual sunglasses on—which is a shock in itself. You suppose it's a foolish thought, he wouldn't have them on inside or at night. There's a furrow between his brow, and his hair is only slightly unkempt. You suppose that's probably from running his hand through it, a habit you notice him doing when he thinks nobody's looking. His lips are set in a firm line, downturned ever-so-slightly. In the warm lighting he looks…well, a bit like a painting. Almost too beautiful to be real.
"Speak, instead of just standing there with your mouth agape," he doesn't even look up from his papers, his words a level command.
"Sorry sir, I-" you clear your throat. "I finished my paperwork, and just wanted to let you know that I'll be leaving for the night. Unless you needed anything?"
When he does finally look at you, he holds a hand out, an expectant look on his face. You step forward, handing him the paper. Your fingers briefly brush against his, and if he notices, he makes no move to show it. He places the paper on his desk with the rest of his papers.
"You're free to leave. Though, I would suggest a cup of chamomile tea when you return home," he says, glancing back down at his papers.
"Sir?"
"For your throat, and that cough," he explains.
You cheeks warm a bit. You hadn't even think he'd noticed. "Thank you for the suggestion."
"You're welcome. I'll see you in the morning."
You nod, wordlessly heading back to your desk to grab your things. You're quick to throw your bag over your shoulder, and start heading for the main door.
The building is quiet, nothing but the sound of rain falling outside, and the occasional low rumble of thunder. As you start down the steps, the dizziness that's been floating under the surface all day, threatens to overtake you. You're almost all down the steps when your legs give under you.
You don't just fall backwards, but instead you fall forwards, hitting the rest of the stairs on the way down. You groan when you reach the bottom, your body aching even more now, and your vision is still swimming.
You can faintly hear someone calling out to you, can register a large form in front of you. Is that…? "Chief Irons?" You mumble, squinting up at him. He disregards you as if he doesn't hear you, and attempts to lift you. You cringe at the feeling of his hands on you, and it doesn't seem like he's trying to help you in the slightest. "I can…get up on my own," you grab ahold of the railing, and try to push yourself to your feet.
"Quit fighting," he grunts out, his grip tightening on your arm. It feels like agony to your already extremely sensitive skin, and you cry out. "I'm trying to help you."
You don't know what he wants from you, but you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.
You hear him before you see him, the sound of his shoes hitting the steps behind you, and his cold voice. "That doesn't quite look like help to me, Irons. I've got them from here."
Captain Wesker.
Irons seems to bristle, opening his mouth as if he wants to argue, but instead releasing your arm. He grumbles to himself as he marches out the building. You sigh in relief, touching your fingers against the skin on your arm—you're sure it'll bruise later.
There's a beat of silence.
Then another.
Finally, Wesker speaks. "Did he injure you?"
You hesitate, before shaking your head. He hadn't injured you, per se. But, what he did, didn't particularly feel great. "No…no sir."
He hums in acknowledgement, looking down at you. You swear you see it for a second: the slightest slip in his expression. Concern, perhaps? You don't really know, but his face almost looks softer for a moment.
"Do you need assistance in standing?" He asks, moving to stand next to you.
You nod, giving a soft "please."
He sighs, pulling you up from the floor, holding a steady hand against your back. He does a quick scan over your body, his lips pulling downwards in the smallest frown. "You fell down the stairs, yes? How did this happen?"
He's asking as if he already knows.
"Just…I got dizzy, and my legs gave out. I promise, sir, I'm fine-"
"If you are going to speak to me, do not lie to me," he says sternly. "I know the signs of illness. You've been pushing yourself past your limits, and recklessly, still decided to come to work."
"I'm sorry," you're quick to apologize, noticing the obvious discontent in his voice.
"You're a mess, is what you are. There's no way you're going home, or driving in this, not when you can barely stand on your own two feet. I have no interest in playing nursemaid, so make this easy for the both of us, and come with me."
You nod, mumbling a soft "yes sir." He doesn't move until you attempt to take a step, your legs shaking under you again. Your luck appears to run out, as your head lolls forward, and you go slack in his arms.
His reflexes are quick, and he catches you before you fall again. You can faintly hear him curse, as he moves to lift you in his arms.
"You're a problem," he mutters, and you can feel him start walking. Where, you're not sure.
In any other situation, you'd be mortified. Letting your Captain see you this way, letting him carry you like this.
He smells nice, you note, even through your congestion. Like whiskey, amber, and sandalwood. Woody and smoky, yet there's also a softer, fainter undertone of…cinnamon? It's warm, he's warm. You want to bury your nose in the crook of his neck and use him as a human blanket.
He sets you down on a plush surface. A couch, you presume. Your eyes dart around blearily, and, sure enough, you're in the break room. He adjusts you so there's a pillow propping you up, and pulls a blanket over you. His hand is cool when it touches your forehead, and you let out a pleased sigh.
He lets out a displeased noise. "You're running a fever. I'd estimate somewhere around 102 degrees, you're lucky you're not worse off. Fevers this high are dangerous. Unfortunately, there's no proper medical equipment here, otherwise I would check your temperature properly. You need to rest."
"Yessir," your words slur together a bit.
"I'll…I'm sure we have some sort of washcloth somewhere, I'll be back. Don't move, that's an order," he shoots you a pointed look. The look on his face show that he's wary about leaving you alone, but that he has no other choice.
Through your haze, you register him walking away. Everything hurts and you can't get comfortable. The blanket feels rough on your skin, but you can't get warm.
You can feel a cough tickling in the back of your throat, and it sends you into a coughing fit. You bow forward, clutching at your chest. Each cough making you gasp for air.
You try to push yourself off the couch, searching for water in your delirium. You can't even take a step, your body slipping off the couch and onto the floor. You just feel so weak.
Your voice is hoarse, and croaky when you try calling for Wesker. "Captain?"
No response.
So, you try again. "Captain?!"
As if on cue, he returns carrying a washcloth, and a bottle of water.
"I thought I told you to remain where you were?" You can hear the exasperation in his voice. "Tsk, you're normally not such a poor listener. It seems the illness has clouded your judgment."
He sets the water bottle down on the coffee table in front of you, helping you back onto the couch. You grasp onto him weakly as he guides your head back on to the pillow. He pulls the blanket back up onto you, and pulls up a chair next to you, taking a seat. He takes the washcloth in his hand, and dabs at the sweat on your face, then lets it rest on your forehead. His hand goes to cradle the back of your head, as he lifts you up slightly to let you grab a drink of water from the water bottle. Then, he carefully lowers your head back down onto the pillow.
He watches you quietly for a moment, his gaze feels critical, and you can't help but squirm a bit under it. "If your fever is not better in a few hours, I'll have to take you to the hospital. In the mean time, you should rest. Understood?"
You open your mouth to reply, and he gives a look that immediately shuts you up. "Simply nod or shake your head, don't use your voice, that would be foolish."
You nod slowly, pursing your lips in thought.
"Sir?" You rasp, and you see him raise a brow.
"Yes?"
"Thank you for earlier. I don't know what the Chief was doing, but…I was scared…he wouldn't let me go," you admit quietly.
His expression darkens at the mention of Chief Irons. "The Chief is…a corrupt man. He saw you in a weak state, and wanted to take advantage of you. He's a collector of fine things to put on display, and you were likely to be the next if I had to guess. It's no matter however, he won't be in power much longer."
The way he says it is finite, and you shiver. How Irons had treated you tonight left your skin crawling, and you know that you won't be able to see him the same anymore. Yet…the way Wesker is talking, he sounds like he has a plan for the man. One that does not end in his favor. You should be scared…concerned, maybe? Instead, his words bring you a bit of comfort.
"You should not have been at the station to begin with. You should have been resting in your own bed. Instead, you're here," he shakes his head, continuing. "That wasn't a smart decision."
"'m sorry," you mumble, your lips curling downwards in a frown.
"Save your apologies. It's already done. Now, all that matters is you get some rest."
"Yessir."
You shut your eyes, clutching the blanket a bit closer to yourself. You don't know when you drift off, but under his watchful eyes, you feel…safe.
When you awaken your head is spinning, and you feel even colder than before. The room around you seems different. The lighting a bit harsher, and there's more sound. You glance around the room dazedly.
"Where…?" You mutter, your brows furrowing together.
"You're in the hospital," a voice from beside you says. You look over and sure enough…
Wesker.
Your throat feels as dry as a bone, and when you open your mouth to speak you let out a wet cough. Which, yet again, sparks another coughing fit.
His hand smoothes over your back, and you twitch ever-so-slightly at the touch. You vaguely register his voice telling you to breathe. It takes you a bit to finally stop coughing, and you feel out of breath when you do.
You notice his hand still resting on your back, his thumb brushing over your spine. It's comforting in a way you weren't expecting. He grabs a cup of water from the bedside table, and tells you to open your mouth. You do so, and he brings the cup to your lips.
"Drink. Slowly," he orders, watching closely as you take small sips.
"Good," he says when you're done. Placing the cup back down on the bedside table. "I'm sure you must have questions, however I'll get the basics out of the way. Your fever never let up, and you weren't waking up, so I brought you to the hospital. You've been in here for roughly half a day. The doctors said you have bronchitis, and are treating you for such. They said you can be discharged if your symptoms are improving after today. But, you will have to stay away from work for at least a week, and no strenuous activity either."
You fiddle with the sheets, glancing down at the blanket pulled over you. It's a flimsy little thing, barely keeping you warm. You can't help but crave human contact, like the way you were pressed against him earlier. You feel cold in a way no blanket can fix.
"You're lucky it's not worse. How long have you been letting this go on?"
"Um…" you search for words nervously. "Three weeks."
You can see his jaw tighten, and his fingers clench around the arm of the chair. He looks like he's restraining himself from getting upset. Or, even more upset. "That was incredibly reckless. You could have put yourself, and your colleagues in danger. Especially if you had passed out on call. Don't let that happen again."
You chew on your lower lip, averting your eyes. "Sorry, sir."
He sighs, and you can see him debate with himself for a moment, before reaching forward and grabbing ahold of one of your hands. His fingers trace along it, and he lets out a small grumble. "They did a poor job inserting this IV. Is it hurting you?"
You almost want to laugh at the sudden change in his expression, and the conversation. "No sir, just itches."
His lip twitches slightly, and you swear you can see a hint of amusement in his eyes. "You can drop the formalities, dear."
"Uh, then what do I call you?"
"Albert," he says simply.
Albert? His name is…Albert? It's such a non-threatening name for such an imposing person.
"Don't tell the others you know this, however. Especially Redfield. He likes being a thorn in my side. If you do? Well…I'll have to take care of you," his voice is so deadpan you'd almost believe him, if it weren't for the way he chuckles afterwards.
Perhaps the fever really is getting the best of you. Did he just laugh? Are you hallucinating?
"Yes, si-" you catch yourself before you say it. "I promise not to tell them."
He places your hand back on the bed, before standing. "Good. Now, I really do have to be going. I need to get some rest before my shift. However, I'll be in tomorrow to transport you home. The others will handle your workload until you're able to do so. And, I'll take care of Irons, so you don't have to worry about that. Just focus on recuperating."
"Sir?" He shoots you a look. "I mean…Albert?"
"Yes?"
There's so many things you want to say, so many things you want to ask. But you don't. You can't. At least not right now. "Thank you."
"Of course," he gives a short nod, only glancing at you briefly before exiting the room.
Your mind is running with the past 24 hours. Your boss has shown you vulnerability you weren't expecting to see from him. Was it just because you're sick? Or…
You shake your head. He couldn't. He's merely being courteous. The thought that he could care for you feels foolish.
You're being foolish.
The day has been too much for you, and you barely last ten minutes before drifting back off into a state of unconsciousness. Warmed by the thought of the man you call your boss, and the way that he's been treating you. How he was kind enough to transport you to the hospital. Despite the fact that he's probably just as exhausted as you. And, the promise he made to take care of Irons, even if he didn't have to, makes you feel safe.
You can ponder on your feelings for him, and wonder what he feels for you in the morning. For now, you need rest.