"Cap'n," Chris spoke, alerting the man who was writing furiously at his desk to his presence.

Albert Wesker's hand paused. Chris straightened his upper body at full attention, expecting his captain to look up at him with his sunglass masked gaze and usual countenance of mild annoyance.

The scratchy drum of pen upon paper began again and continued for another uncomfortable half minute or so. Chris shifted in his spot. Did...did he not hear him? His mouth fell slightly agape, his next words never forming as Wesker set down his pen and looked up at him with an unreadable expression.

"Redfield, to what do I owe the pleasure so late into the evening?" Wesker folded his hands in front of him, his chin resting on his knuckles as he gave Chris a look of consideration. In the dim light of Wesker's office, Chris didn't notice at first, but his familiar sunglasses were absent. In their place was a pair of thin framed reading glasses perching at the end of his nose, revealing a strained set of steel blue eyes. Chris briefly wondered why he didn't keep more lights on.

"Uh, there's a man in the front looking for you," Chris said, thrown off by Wesker's almost relaxed composure.

"And does this man happen to have a name?" Wesker asked, an eyebrow perking. The unsaid question being 'why should he care?'

"A William Birkin, sir." That caught his attention. Wesker's hands immediately unclasped. Within one dexterous movement, the reading glasses were off and replaced with his usual sunglasses. He stood attentively, and without another word, walked passed Chris and out the door.

Chris watched Wesker's receding back, leaving him in his office. Chris looked around momentarily, then to Wesker's desk. His reading glasses glinted in the lamplight where they had been set neatly upon the stack of haphazardly placed papers he had been scribing on just a moment before. Chris was curious, but turned his eyes away, an eerie feeling washing over him. It felt wrong to be in the captain's office alone. Merely standing in his personal space more than a moment necessary felt like an invasion of privacy. And Albert Wesker was a considerably private man.

"Guess it must be someone important," Chris wondered to no one in particular. He left the room promptly, shutting the door behind him and following the captain.

"I'm a very important and dignified scientist!" Birkin flailed, his glasses almost tumbling off his face in an undignified manner.

"Listen here, I don't care if you're President Bill Clinton, you can't just waltz your quacky ass in here and demand to see the boss," Barry ground out. It'd only been five minutes and he had had enough of this pretentious quack.

"A-a quack!?" Birkin stuttered, "I'll have you know, my work is at the forefront of virological research!"

"Alright okay, pal," Barry nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes, "I think it's time for you to go. Can someone get this loon out of here before I do it myself?!"

"That won't be necessary, Burton," Wesker said, walking into the room, "Unfortunately, that would be my loon."

"Al!" Birkin shouted, hopping over the desk like an overtly exuberant madman.

"Hey, you can't just-" Barry began, grabbing for the man's collar. Wesker stuck out a hand lazily, palm up towards Barry, signaling him to let the man be. Barry immediately halted, trained to follow the captain's every order.

Everyone in the S.T.A.R.S department front office watched in abject horror as the disheveled man ran towards the captain, almost tripping over his dingy lab coat in the process. Wesker grunted as the man made contact and threw his arms around him. Wesker swore he heard one or two people gasp.

"Man, is it good to see you, Al!" Birkin said sincerely, patting Wesker roughly on the back. Wesker stood rigidly with his hands still folded behind behind him, letting the hug run it's course. In the meantime, the room had gone still, watching the scene play out before them. Jill's pen rolled off her desk, falling to the floor with a few loud clacks in the now silent room. She did not go to pick it up.

Birkin finally released Wesker from a full embrace and clasped him by the shoulders at arm's length. Birkin was only half a foot smaller than Wesker, but compared to Wesker's all encompassing presence, he looked a tad too crushable for comfort.

As Birkin gave him a crooked grin, Wesker slowly looked down at him, unhooking his hands from behind his back and reaching towards him. This was it, half the room thought simultaneously. This is where they were going to witness Captain Wesker commit homicide. They all expected it eventually, honestly.

"William," Wesker began tiredly, grabbing on lightly to his lab coat and eyeing a conspicuous stain on the pocket with muted disgust. "why are you wearing this old thing?"

Birkin fully released Wesker. He pursed his lips and looked down at his wardrobe, seeming to just now notice it's atrocious state. He looked back up with an expression of embarrassment. His hand reached up to the nape of his neck as he nervously strung his hand through his shaggy, dusty blonde hair.

"Come on, man. You know it's become a comfort object at this point," Birkin laughed, the statement coming out less as an ironic joke and more like a sad truth.

"Right." Wesker resisted the urge to sigh. He couldn't even begin to wonder how old that thing was, and, frankly, he didn't want to.

Wesker looked around the room, taking in the sight of everyone staring at the two of them in confusion, curiosity, and an appropriate amount of shock. This time, Wesker did sigh. He was absolutely fucking exhausted and this was the last thing he expected tonight. Hell, this was the last person he expected, as well. There was a pregnant pause as Wesker soaked in a moment where he could be in a room full of his subordinates and not hear their constant chittering.

"Hey, uh, I kinda gotta talk to you If you're finished up doing that whole menacing silence thing, Al," Birkin interrupted his thoughts. Moment gone, Wesker thought.

"Right," Wesker said again, "Office," he commanded simply.

"Office," Birkin repeated, looking around at the couple of closed doors within the room, "Where is the office-oh, probably the one that has the big sign with your name-oh, and you're already going, alright noted. Following along," Birkin rambled, having to quicken his pace to fall in step with Wesker's long strides as they both went into his office.

As the door closed, Birkin's next nonsensical words were cut off, and the team was left without even a hint of an explanation as to what just happened. Jill slowly retrieved her pen from the ground, looking around to anyone who could supply an answer.

"God damn, I think I just near shit my pants," Barry said, gracefully cutting the silence, "Anyone ever see the boss act that nice towards anyone?"

"If that's what you call nice," Jill answered, looking just as flabbergasted as him.

"Nice for Wesker, Jill," Barry insisted.

"Alright, you have a point," Jill replied.

"I think tolerant would be the word you guys are looking for," Chris said, adding his two cents into the matter. The few in the room nodded in agreement.

"Just who let that guy up here, anyway?" Chris asked, tearing his eyes away from the captain's door.

"Probably one of those idiots from down stairs. The rollers are always happy to send trouble our way," Barry grumbled

"Well, if the captain knows him, how much trouble can he be?" Jill rationalized.

Barry let out a small gruff, unconvinced. From the little time he spent speaking with the guy, the answer he came to was too much than he was worth. Barry hated pretentious people like that, and when it came to Barry, it was near impossible to get back on his good side once you've seriously ticked him off.