A/N: Okay, people I feel like this needs a disclaimer. 1-Claire only sort of makes an appearance. 2-This is almost more prologue than anything else. 3-Wesker may be a little on the OoC side due to the fact that he is still human and thinking like one. Same rules apply as they did to Nightmare Revisted-you want more I need a combination of 10 favs, reviews, and/or alerts. Otherwise I'll just write more and let it collect dust on my computer.
Wesker knew that he was an obsessive man. He wanted things done a certain way-papers stacked neatly in order of importance cross referenced with deadlines, uniform with immaculate creases pressed in with an iron and loose threads cut, reports written legibly with matters of most importance in the beginning details clearly listed. Mixed in with the need to obsess was the patience. It was the reason he was able to do things that others considered impossible. Time was not something that he really paid attention to, though even he had limits. It was this limit that he was reaching now. His office was separated from the open design of the rest of the S.T.A.R.S.' offices, but he kept his door open. He had learned the hard way that while his unit was more than willing to give one-hundred percent while in the field, they did not feel the same when it came to doing their paperwork. If he closed his office door he would leave to get a cup of muddy water looking, turpentine tasting beverage that passed for coffee in this place, and find Chris playing pong, Jill blindfolded and picking open a lock with Barry and Frost holding a betting match over how fast she could do it, and Vickers trying to sell multi-colored rabbits' feet to Bravo team. With the door open, he had a view into the room which meant that they would concentrate on the endless stream of paperwork the bureaucracy of a police department produced and therefore return to the productivity demanded in order for him to meet his deadlines; otherwise he really could care less what they did as long as they produced when the time came. That was not what had tested his patience. No, paperwork was as natural as breathing to him at this point and he expected a certain amount of disregard for work from his team. No, what was bothering him was a 4"x4" picture of a smiling young woman in leathers leaning against a softail Harley that sat on the corner of Chris' desk and the phantom taste of cherry lip gloss.
The blonde looked down at the pencil he had snapped in half before growling lightly and throwing the remains in the trash can under his desk. It made a faint clacking noise as it joined its other mutilated brethren. She had given him a taste and left. Granted, it had been at the hands of an overprotective brother. It had taken a week to get rid of the bruise on his lower jaw and he shuddered as he thought of the endless fawning from the secretaries. The other officers had been easy to deal with, just glaring whenever anyone asked until they got uncomfortable and dropped the subject. The secretaries has seemingly decided that he had gotten it doing something heroic and were determined to use it as an excuse to get into his pants. But none of them had been her-that odd blend of fire and innocence wrapped up in a lovely young shell. But even if he wanted to ignore the fact that pursuing her would result in losing one of the best members of his team, Chris had been very clear in the frequent news updates he gave his team members; she was still in high school. That meant that if someone found out he wouldn't just have to deal with Chris attempting to beat the shit out of him, but he would likely lose his job at the police department and that meant his cover. Not to mention the respect he was carefully cultivating from the members of his team. He inhaled and closed his eyes. All this stress just from one kiss, one fucking taste of the forbidden. And he knew that was part of why his obsessive nature was fixating on her. She had been nothing more than a way to taunt Irons up until that second Chris had punched him in the jaw and told him without words that he couldn't have her. Wesker always got what he wanted, but this need to possess was dangerous to the goals he had set for himself. Deciding that he was not going to get any more work done here with his need to stare at her picture he grabbed his jacket and keys. Maybe some time in the labs would help. Sleep he didn't even want to contemplate.
William Birkin had known Wesker longer than likely anyone else on the planet. The two of them went back to the days where they had been researchers in training and killing their mentor had solidified whatever the two of them had into an unbreakable bond. Which was why he had two beers sitting on the single unused lab table, cooled in the liquid nitrogen refrigerator, white steam rising from them and tops popped off. Wesker had taken leave of the lab once he had realized just how close Spencer's collar had come to choking off his air and the fact that he had not just ventured down here-he came on occasion to make sure William had not died from lack of food or some such- once but five times this past week told him that something was very much bothering him. William had an idea of what it was that was bothering him. So he was unsurprised when he heard the swish of the automated door and the measured gait of combat boots on the polished antimicrobial flooring.
"I must be becoming predictable, William," Wesker said as he picked up the longneck bottle and watched the other man scurry around putting up the more delicate pieces of equipment. The other man shrugged and leaned against the metal fridge after swiping his own drink.
"No more than you've ever been," the lab coat wearing man said before taking a deep swallow of the Sam Adams. Wesker sighed and rubbed his temples with one gloved hand. William watched the motion, his sleepy overworked appearance covering up a sharp, observant mind. He would not have survived their world without it even as he felt the paranoia seeping in too deep. He wondered how long it would be before he and Wesker were at each other's throats. "So, why haven't you gone after her?" he asked as the silence dragged out and he decided he had had enough of the blonde's moping without moping. The blonde's head came up sharply and he looked at the other man for a second. Had he developed the power to read minds between the last time had seen him and now? Was that the power of his new virus? "Don't look at me like that, Albert. We're too much alike, you and I," he saluted his companion with his beer. "We're obsessive men. One day our obsessions will most likely kill us, but that is neither here nor there. No, I knew it had to be a woman because your work with T has been satisfactory as of late-you said so yourself. Work with the team you're setting up in the police department is coming along if slow. Which left me with your other appetites." Wesker raised one eyebrow as he leaned against the lab table that was bolted to the floor. He had never had the joy of being the subject of William's considerable observation skills. It was a very good thing neither one of them actively meant the other harm. The resulting clash would likely tear Umbrella to pieces not to mention the outside world.
"Do go on, William," he encouraged one hand gripping the table behind him the other raising the beer to his lips. The researcher felt a little bit of the tension in his body leave him. There had always been a chance Wesker would not like what he was saying or decide that he knew too much. That would result in his death more than likely. William had no interest in combat beyond building better organic weaponry. He'd likely pay for it one day.
"With the way you're acting she must be out of your reach, though I find that hard to believe," William offered him a smirk. He knew too well just how much of a lady's man the other could be when he put his mind to it. He had once feared leaving Annette alone with him until Wesker had expressed his full lack of interest in the woman. Apparently, he felt some kind of honor was due whatever their relationship was and he had no intention of poaching William's single attempt at a love life. "Is she a co-worker? A member of your team perhaps? The wife or relative of one of them? Hmm?" The blonde took his time in answering him, carefully considering just how much information he was going to give him.
"She's seventeen," he stated flatly and a piercing whistle split the air followed by barely contained sniggering. "I fail to see how this is funny."
"It's rich, Albert," William stated using the hand holding his beer to wipe away the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "You, the man who can have any woman, held back from your current obsession by your other obsession-work. I do believe they call this irony." Wesker made a face.
"Ha ha," he said taking a deeper swallow of his beer. "You're not the one who has to see her every day when you go to work or hear about every little damn thing she does because her brother worships the ground she walks on. You'd think he was her father." William quickly sobered up from his laughing fit and frowned. He knew how dangerous unchecked obsession was. That was the reason most serial killers got caught. The police put the heat on and they tried to bank the obsession, stop themselves. The longer they held it in the darker and deeper that well of obsession became until they could no longer control it at all. This team member was unknowingly taunting Wesker and he couldn't do anything about it without revealing the obsession. It would only be a matter of time before the other man snapped.
"Damn it, Albert," William said running his hand through his already disheveled hair. "What are you going to do about this?" Wesker shrugged and downed the tail end of his beer.
"What can I do, William?" his voice was thick with weariness on the subject. "There's nothing I can do without compromising the situation."
Wesker knew that he was dreaming. It was the only way that his situation made sense and then again that was using the word loosely. He was sitting in his living room and it wasn't the one of his current apartment. It was the one from back when he first started working in the labs and Umbrella was desperate to keep him-all black leather furniture and dark polished hardwood. There was even a fire in the huge marble fireplace he never used. But that was not what clued him into the fact that he was dreaming. No, that was the figure sauntering her way towards him clad in nothing but one of his dress shirts which she hadn't even bothered to button. The sight was more than enough to heat his blood especially when she sat on his lap and looked at him from under her eyelashes radiating the innocence he wanted so desperately to crush with his own two hands. She leaned up and kissed him, her lips soft against his own slightly chapped ones. He raised one hand so he cupped the back of her neck and was in control of the kiss, the other snaking under the dress shirt so that his fingers splayed on the warm, soft skin of her back and pulled her closer. Here, in his dreams she wasn't the seventeen year old sister of his unit's marksman and he wasn't a spy for Umbrella. Here he was an obsessed man with the object of his obsession in his grasp. And it was like a drug-the high glorious as it rushed through his veins from being in control and in possession. He licked the seam of her lips and tasted cherries even as she opened them making that little helpless sound that haunted him. It went straight to his groin, the hand on her back gently guiding her hips to roll against his even as he plundered her lips. She was his and he would teach her exactly what he wanted. She would not know anyone else. Ever.
She had one hand fisted in the fabric of his uniform shirt and he didn't care about the fact he was wearing it or that she was wrinkling it at the moment. She was rolling against him in the rhythm he had set without his guidance now and he slid the hand that had been on her back across her stomach before dipping fingers down. The patch of curls was coarser than her hair against his fingers but he didn't care as that was not what he was seeking. He let her pull her head away as his index and pointer finger found her wet heat causing her to let out the most beautiful keen. A keen that sounded oddly like his alarm clock. He frowned but before he could do anything, he was thrust out of the dream and into the world of the living. Eyes snapped open to look at the red digital letters as the electronic screech played itself out. He smashed the off button with more force than needed and sat up stifling a groan. He had woken up in the same condition he had every morning since that damn Halloween party. He let out a growl of frustration as he ripped the sheets off his body and glared down at the part of his body betraying him. It wasn't just typical morning wood either. That he could take care of with a cold shower and remembering the footage he had been forced to delete of Annette and William and drastic misuse of lab equipment. No, with this he was forced to take matters into his own hand like some sort of hormonally driven teenager-something he had thought he had managed to skip altogether. To make matters worse there was only one way he would cum now, too. He had to imagine those eyes looking at him, her body clasped around his, his name leaving those damn lips in despair as she cried out the name of the man who owned her. This, he decided as he made his way to the bathroom, was getting fucking ridiculous.
Reviews for Paralyzer cause this is sort of a sequel to that one-shot.
Ultimolu: Chris is the perfect combination of big brother and dad. Which makes me wondered just what he would do if he knew where Wesker's thoughts were…
AlarataraWitchIce: Here's more without being more and perhaps the start of something. Well, see when I get done with the Code: Veronica book. It is giving me all sorts of evil ideas.
Naoko Suki: Your review made me very happy. I like the idea of them meeting in some off the wall way earlier on in Chris' career. Course she's going to haunt Wesker for the rest of the time now. You can always ask for more, btw. You're more likely to get it if you ask.
Lime Ricky: Glad you loved it. Here's the more in its own prologue like form.
DS: More cherries and more story!
Olabelle: I like looking at the psychosis that made Wesker into our lovable human race killing tyrant and that's mostly where this came from. When he becomes inhuman Wesker he's not going to have that self-control switch. Afterall, a God always gets what he wants.
Project X: More and the starting of perhaps a new fic. Still think it's a little short, but then again it wasn't supposed to exist at all.
AdaWongTN: Wesker actually made rumblings about the punch and I had to talk him out of firing him. If he did that there would be no mansion incident, ya know? There should be a sprinkling of humor to this one too.
Krylancelo: It said that Chris had been with S.T.A.R.S. for two years and Claire was 19 during the Raccoon City outbreak, which would make her 17 went they met. Don't worry, age is something time takes care of.
Ehehehehe: Glad you liked it once motive got introduced. I hope Wesker doesn't seem too out of character in this. I tried really hard to express the combination of things that made Wesker fixate on her.