Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Resident Evil. A quote in this story can be found in the lyrics from "Live to Tell" by Madonna. However, this is not a songfic!
Halcyon Days
Albert Wesker stood at the corner of a bakery while the sun gleamed behind the concrete building and marked it with a golden outline. He leaned on the wall and plucked a jelly donut from the paper bag. If he was going to wait, then he might as well indulge himself in the charms of fresh dough and raspberry filling. Wesker bit into the donut and checked his watch. It read 7:02 A.M.
A faint crunch against pavement echoed down the empty street as Wesker popped another jelly donut in his mouth. He snapped up his head and saw Chris walking towards him with two cups of coffee in his hands and a newspaper stuffed under his arm. Chris then placed the cups and newspaper on the roof of his Ford Expedition vehicle while he fumbled for his keys. Wesker strolled to the passenger door while Chris reached into the car and unlocked his side.
"You're late," Wesker said and rolled up the paper bag, stuffing it under his seat.
"By two minutes," Chris replied, grabbing the coffee cups and newspaper and placing them away. He closed the car door and buckled his seat belt. "The clerk had to grind the coffee beans first. It couldn't be helped."
"I suppose so," Wesker said, reclining into his seat like a cat. "That clerk should be fired for his failure with time management."
Chris turned the keys in the ignition as the engine started up and merged into the main street. He paused at a stoplight and checked over to see what Wesker was doing. At the moment Wesker fiddled with the knob for the radio, until he reached the station that played classics from the 80s. Chris chuckled and returned his focus to the road. Wesker spent his college years surrounded by catchy beats from Michael Jackson, Madonna, and Queen. Chris guessed it grew on him.
"And now we move from the King of Pop to one of our lovely ladies who sure knew how to rock a cone bra," the radio host said through the broadcast. "Sit back and enjoy 'Live to Tell' by none other than Madonna!"
"Ah, from her True Blue album," Wesker said, then crossed his arms and nodded. "Excellent choice."
"I'm sure," Chris said, signaling to get onto the freeway which headed towards the Arklay Mountains. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and listened to Wesker hum Madonna lyrics to himself.
Chris thought of interrupting Wesker to ask him who was the college roommate that introduced him to Madonna, but stopped himself. Wesker tapped his fingers on the window kindred to the beat that resonated through the Ford Explorer. To disrupt him now would be rude. Chris accelerated his speed while the singer repeated the chorus one last time before it faded away:
"A man can tell a thousand lies
I've learned my lesson well
Hope I live to tell
The secret I have learned, 'till then
It will burn inside of me…"
Chris gripped the steering wheel for a second. It was just a song. But sometimes he wondered how much Wesker hid beneath the surface.
"Chris!" Wesker snapped his fingers in front of his face, causing him to jerk backward.
"What did you do that for?" Chris snapped. "A move like that could have ended in a car accident!"
"You were dazing off for a moment," Wesker said, "when I was telling you I'm pleased with your choice in French Roast. How can I expect you to be on your guard during a mission if you can't even focus on a simple conversation about selecting prime coffee beans?"
"Coffee beans are more important than avoiding a head on collision? Okay then!"
"Your eyes were glazed over, like you were on drugs."
Chris laughed and shook his head. "I can assure you, Wesker; I don't do drugs."
"Good," Wesker said, flashing a smirk his way. "Imagine all the paper work I'd have to fill out if you mistook civilians for criminals while under the influence."
"Oh stop it," Chris said and grinned. "You know I'm the best marksman out there, even while high."
"That you are."
A few minutes passed by with nothing but Depeche Mode breaking the silence. Chris flicked his eyes to Wesker, who had his eyes closed. He then returned his gaze back to the Arklay Mountains which were more prominent on the horizon now.
"You know, it's February 21st," Chris said, peeking over at Wesker again. "That's a week after - "
"I told you, I don't celebrate that holiday," Wesker said, nestling further into his seat. "It's just a gimmick to market flowers and sweets to the gullible and desperate."
"Well aren't you a shining ray of sunshine this morning?" Chris said, taking a chance to ruffle Wesker's hair to pester him awake. Wesker shot back up, startled. "Besides, I thought you were a capitalist."
"I am," Wesker said, looking at the window and tapping the glass lightly. "But I will never endorse that holiday. One of the origins includes a beheading. How romantic."
"Protesting about it won't change how the rest of the team feels," Chris said and shrugged. "We were lucky that Jill brought chocolate cupcakes to work last week."
"Yes, how could I ever forget when Enrico smeared pink frosting all over the carpet?"
"It was a drop the size of a dime."
"It was a destruction of property."
Chris held in his laughter. Sometimes Wesker could be so dramatic over keeping things orderly. He signaled to get off the freeway and onto the side road winding up the Arklay Mountains.
"I hope you brought sunscreen," Chris said, heading up the road surrounded by pine trees. "The weather forecast predicted blue skies for today."
"I lathered some on before I left my apartment. But if you need any, here," Wesker said, reaching for the sunscreen bottle in his bag under the dashboard and placing it in a cup holder.
"Thanks," Chris said and nodded, then turned back to the road. It didn't take long for them to find a parking space. Chris pulled over to the side and parked in an empty lot that displayed a view of Raccoon City below. They grabbed their belongings and went down the lone dirt trail that had a sign next to it, reading, "Meadow Clearing, 0.5 mi".
After reaching the clearing, they set up preparations for lunch. Chris placed a checkered blanket over one of the wooden tables while Wesker pulled out a box of matches and pieces of paper to start a fire at the barbeque grill.
"Thanks for starting it up," Chris said, walking towards the grill with a packet that contained two T-bone steaks. "I'll take it from here." He shook a bottle of honey-barbeque sauce and put some of it on the steaks before placing them on the grill. Wesker went to the clothed table and arranged the plates and utensils. He then took out the newspaper they had brought with them and started reading.
"Umbrella went up in stock today," Wesker said, skimming the paper. "Must have been that new drug the FDA approved to spark such a rise."
"Hmm." Chris grabbed the steaks with a pair of tongs and put them on a large plate, then made his way over to Wesker. He served them both steak and sat down on the bench. "I'm not sure we need another drug pushed on us by Umbrella."
"Probably not," Wesker said, grasping for something in the cooler, "but that wouldn't stop Umbrella in any case." He pulled out a bottle of Hershey's Syrup and poured it onto the steak until it created a small pool of liquid chocolate on the meat. He cut a piece off and dipped it into the syrup, unaware of Chris staring at him with his mouth open.
"I bought that honey-barbeque sauce because of your preference for sweets."
"It needs whipped cream," Wesker said, stroking his chin. He then reached back for the cooler when Chris flicked his hand.
"What was that for?"
"You are treating that steak like it's an ice cream sundae!"
Wesker paused for a second then crossed his arms. He titled his head to the side and let out a sigh. "I guess I'll refrain from putting on any more condiments for now."
"It's a miracle your teeth haven't rotted out yet," Chris said, shaking his head. He took a bite of his own steak and revealed a smile.
"Despite my penchant for sweets, the management of my dental hygiene is very important to me," Wesker said. "Besides that, I stand a better chance at evading gingivitis than the average person."
"Oh okay."
"Yes," Wesker replied, not picking up on the sarcasm, "and one day others will be able to enjoy high concentrations of sugar content like myself."
"I'm sure they will," Chris played along. They went back to their steaks and after a few more bites Chris reached for the newspaper on the table. When he held it within reading distance, he gasped at the headline.
"WHERE IS WENDY ANDERSON?" the title read in bold print. Chris read further.
"It was a bright, sunny afternoon in Raccoon City when fifteen-year old Wendy Anderson decided to take a day trip with a group of friends to the Arklay Mountains. Nearly two days ago, the unsuspecting teens entered a clearing 3 miles off the main trail to have their picnic. And for the next few hours, the group enjoyed games of poker and chicken-curry sandwiches. Everything seemed normal, until they heard a strange noise coming from the distance.
Wendy and her good friend, Garrett Parks, decided to check it out while the rest waited in the clearing. Thirty minutes passed by in silence when the rest started to get scared. They went in search for the missing two, and wouldn't recover anything until seven hours later.
'It was almost dusk when we had to call it quits,' Susan Taylor said. 'We were running out of water and food. We needed people who knew what they were doing to help us search for them. When we reached our car, that's where we found Garrett.'
Garrett Parks was reported to have been covered in blood with a few slashes on his upper back and shoulders. He was curled up into a ball and shook back and forth. And he only said one sentence over and over:
'…They took her…they changed her into one of them…'
'It was like something out of a horror movie,' Susan said, still having a bit of shock on her face. 'I can't believe she's gone…'
Garrett Parks was later taken to the hospital that night to be treated for wounds caused by an unidentified source. When he is in proper condition, police reported he will be held for further questioning.
The search for Wendy Anderson is still ongoing as friends and family keep hope that she will return."
"Only fifteen-years old. How sad," Chris said, placing the newspaper back on the table.
"It won't give her family any peace in trying to find the girl," Wesker muttered. Chris perked his head up.
"You never know. There have been a few cases where they've found people reported missing."
Wesker laughed and leaned in forward where Chris could spot the lines under his eyes. "Chris, trust me. Anyone reported missing in Raccoon City is gone."
"So who makes sure of that?" Chris asked, gripping the side of the table with one hand. "Umbrella?"
Wesker smiled, and his eyes glistened for a fleeting second. "Could there be another culprit?"
"So why doesn't anyone do anything about it?" Chris asked, pressing his fingers harder into the table. "If so many people know how rotten Umbrella is, why do people in this city just sit here and do nothing?"
"To do so would be foolish, Chris. A single few challenging the largest pharmaceutical company in the world about their ethics? The only result would be a charge of slander against the people who did."
Chris frowned. Of course Umbrella would pull that kind of trick to save their skins.
"Besides, Umbrella is a titan that won't stay around forever. Like Cronus, Umbrella believes itself to be the most supreme ruler out there. And also like Cronus, it will chew out those it perceives as small to maintain its power and squash any threats. However, it's only a matter of time before Zeus comes around to claim the throne."
Wesker reclined back and folded his arms while Chris looked thoughtfully at him. It was just like Wesker to parallel something in the world to mythology. He once related the myth of Orpheus failing to retrieve his wife from the underworld to people in S.T.A.R.S. who have trouble listening to instructions properly. Anything was possible with that man.
"So who is Zeus in this scenario?"
"Who indeed."
Chris sighed and went back to finishing the remainder of his steak while Wesker folded up the newspaper and placed it in one of the bags. Chris was about to take one last bite but felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't think too much about this, Chris."
"Yeah…" Another hand grazed across his back and both went to work in massaging his shoulders. He closed his eyes and felt one of the hands rub his neck.
"I think it's about time we headed back to the car," he heard Wesker's voice breathe in his ear.
Chris didn't know why Wesker preferred their flings to take place in his Ford Explorer of all places. Perhaps it was the faint music from the 80s playing on the radio that reminded him of make out sessions in college. Or maybe it was the cool breeze from the air conditioning blowing across their exposed skins. But as Wesker buried his face into Chris' neck, he forgot what the reason behind this might be.
As things were coming to a close and both were short of breath, a sharp tap on the glass met their ears. Chris looked up to see a man around his late thirties with shaggy, light-brown hair and adorned in a lab coat looking down at him in disbelief. Wesker was shifting around, and Chris guessed he had spotted the strange man too.
"Unbelievable," Wesker snarled, starting to pull up his trousers.
"Why is he wearing a lab coat in the middle of the woods?" Chris asked, raising his upper body to get a closer look at their new guest. Wesker reached for his shirt and put it on with haste.
"Stay here! I'll be back soon," Wesker said, getting out of the car and slamming the door shut. Chris searched for his own clothes to dress back into. Changing quickly, he spotted Wesker and the other man standing together at the beginning of the dirt trail. Wesker pointed at the stranger and seemed to be yelling at him, but they were too far away for Chris to pick anything up other than muffled sounds. When Chris was fully changed, he opened the car door and headed towards them.
"What's going on?" Chris asked tersely. His eyes shot from Wesker, who looked like a cat with its fur puffed out, to the stranger whose mouth hung open.
"Chris, this is my…cousin."
Chris raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Really?"
"Yes, his name is Alex Wesker. You see, Alex gets very needy and doesn't understand the meaning of personal space. He wanted to talk to me about his promotion at work but refused to wait until I returned home. So he drove all the way here to tell me."
"What Alex doesn't realize," Wesker said, gritting his teeth, "is that today is my day off. And I would prefer spending this day with people not tapping on the window when I am having a private moment."
"Wesker, this wasn't something that could wait -"
"Yes, Alex, I'm sure your new salary is wonderful. But now I must return home with Chris. You can fill me in on the details later."
Wesker wrapped an arm around Chris and walked back with him to the car. Chris turned his head for a second to see Wesker's cousin stare at them livid. When they reached the car and entered inside, Chris buckled up while Wesker raised the passenger seat back into its sitting position then sank into the seat.
"He didn't seem too happy," Chris said, starting the car.
"He'll be fine in a few hours after getting a hug from his daughter Sherry," Wesker said, buckling his seatbelt.
"Well…okay then," Chris said, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the winding road.
The ride down passed with not a word spoken between the both of them, and only Tina Turner sang through the speakers. Chris shifted awkwardly in his seat and signaled to get onto the freeway. His eyes flickered to Wesker then returned to the road. Wesker had his arms crossed so tight they made him look like he was in a straightjacket.
"Chris?"
"Yes, Wesker?"
"Where do you see yourself in ten years?"
Chris rubbed a hand on his neck and shrugged. That was a question left for final high school essays and job interviews. He peered over at Wesker who was gazing at him fixedly.
"Well, to be honest…I don't know. I don't think anyone does. I'd like to travel, and maybe get out of this city. I've never been the kind of guy that stays in one place for long."
Wesker's mouth twitched into a faint smile. "Neither have I."
They listened to hits from Cyndi Lauper, Bon Jovi, and R.E.M. on the freeway and exchanged talk of a new case they were being given, along with the delights of blueberry pie and Mozart's dirty secrets. By the time they reached Wesker's apartment in Raccoon City, they had already debated whether the moon landing was real.
"Are you coming up?" Wesker asked, collecting his things.
"I've got to run a few errands first. But I should be done sometime around seven."
"Alright," Wesker said, reaching in the bag of jelly donuts and offering one to Chris. "It's the last one. You might need a sugar rush to energize you."
"Thanks," Chris said, taking a bite out of the donut.
Wesker opened the door and slid his legs onto the pavement, but paused before standing up.
"People say they love each other all the time and don't mean a word of it," Wesker said in a voice so low Chris could barely hear it. "If it's there, then you don't need a holiday to validate it."
He then rose up from the edge of the car seat and shut the door. As Chris pulled away, he saw Wesker climbing up the side stairs in his rearview mirror.
"Happy Valentine's Day," Chris whispered, leaving the apartment far behind.