A/n's: So. What we have here is a challenge I came across while writing On the Devil's Left. (I was actually introduced to it by ff dot not author Luxor Nautalis in her piece, Unchained Melody. Great stuff. If you're an Alice x Claire shipper, you definitely need to check it out.) What you do, is take 50 random words and then write one sentence to go with each one, but, thing is, I don't think I can write on sentence about anything, much less Wesker x Mooch, so I threw that rule out the window. ;) That said, I'll be posting these in two batches (i.e. 1 – 25, then 26 – 50).
I should point out that these aren't written in any specific order, rather instead just as inspiration hit. That said, they are all set post OtDL. (And it probably goes without saying, they are all Wesker/Mooch related.)
Forgive me the "seven seconds" joke in #6 – I couldn't help myself. X) Internet cookies to anyone who can guess which game (and thankfully not movie) character is being referenced in #17.
Finally! As always, I hope you enjoy.
Warnings: Violence, sexual situations, swearing, and minor gore.
The Lost Moments
Part one
"In the end, I decide that the mark we've left on each other is the color and shape of love. That unfinished business between us. Because love, love is never finished. It circles and circles, the memories out of order and not always complete."
-Sara Zarr
01. Games
The first time she challenged him, he sent her to the dictionary with a smug, sharkish smile, and she returned, tinged pink with flustered embarrassment; the sting of it was enough to hold her tongue through the "abatjour" and "cacoepy" that followed, but when "spagnoletti" hit the board she could sit quiet no longer.
"Oh, now you're just making shit up."
02. Time
Time had become a slippery thing since the end – clocks dead and useless when the electrical grids shut down, calendars worthless and outdated at the end of that first year – but it was even more so underground. One trip to the surface found the sticky, smothering heat of late summer, next time the world above had suddenly transformed into amber colored autumn, crisp and cool, then, before she could even turn around, winter was biting, ashy flakes of snow coating as far as the eye could see in a grimy blanket of gray. It was startlingly, dizzying in its suddenness, but she never let it trouble her for long. For the first time in years, she didn't fear the passage of time – he had given her back her tomorrows, made them something she could count on again.
03. Fear
She'd learned to sleep lightly, to accept the discomfort of sleeping fully dressed as a fact of life, to make sure her boots and weapon were always within reach – they were the lessons survival had dictated. Always be ready, never hesitate, seconds cost lives…. But now, she slumbered easily. Restful and content. How could she be afraid, what could she possibly have to fear, when she spent her nights cradled in the arms of the Devil himself?
04. Noise
She'd somehow made the silence unbearable for him. How, he didn't know. Why, he couldn't explain. All he knew was that he suddenly couldn't concentrate without the whispered rush of her breath in his ears as he worked; that he couldn't settle, couldn't relax, without the steady and true beating of her heart drumming in time to his own.
05. Mistletoe
He sighed wearily over the sprig of mistletoe she brought back from a trip to the surface, chiding her even as she laughed, brushed her mouth over the corner of his, and pinned the tiny cluster to his lapel with quick, clever fingers; but later, after he heard her heart go slow and steady with sleep, he pressed it carefully between the pages of the red covered journal and tucked both into the little drawer in his nightstand.
06. Jealousy
Of all the things he'd never thought to expect when she'd arrived in his life – and that list grew longer by the day – the murderous rage that stole over him every time another man looked at her, smiled at her, spoke to her, was one of the hardest to control. Seven seconds, he finally warned, deadly serious as he rolled her beneath him and she grinned at up at him, her eyes glittering like chips of emerald and bronze in the soft, low light. Seven seconds was all he would tolerate…after that those fools would have no one to blame but themselves.
07. Burn
She hadn't gotten used to the way his eyes burned when he looked at her, or the way her body flamed eagerly in response – always ready, always hungry – and truth be told, she hoped she never did. She wanted to burn with him for eternity.
08. Dare
The first thing he felt when he heard the static choked voice of one her old comrades playing back through the speakers – barely audible, but undeniable in its familiarity – was not the rush of eager readiness he'd expected at the prospect of possibly getting his hands on Project Alice…it was instead a spike of fierce possessiveness over the sudden realization that they might dare to try and take her away from him.
09. Animal
For her, it was as much the beast as the man, which held her heart – that held the other half of her soul – and even in his blackest rages, in his darkest of hungers; she never failed to meet him when he reached out. Never turned away when he pulled her into his arms. Why would she? Like called to like, and animal in her cried out for the beast in him.
10. Ask
"So…when you two…."
Hazel eyes slid over, pinned her like a bug, and Blackfeather broke uncertainly, shifting nervously as her mouth twitched into a careful smile.
"…you know – does he wear the sunglasses?"
For a moment she just stared at the soldier, then she smirked, and returned her attention to the binoculars and the street far below. "Sometimes. If I ask him to."
11. Bullet
Guns were not her thing. Never had been. The noise, the motion, it was all very unnatural and jarring to her…but he was insistent. Arms relaxed, feet apart, she assumed the stance, just as he taught her, and squeezed, milking the trigger of the heavy Desert Eagle. The skin-warmed metal bucked in her hands, the crack echoing in her ears, and before she'd even finished blinking, a rust brown glass bottle down range exploded into a glittering cloud.
Beside her, he nodded. "Good." And a glimmer of red flashed at her over the edge of his dark glasses as the corner of his mouth pulled upward. "Again."
12. Wonder
Of all the things the T-virus had changed, had taken from him, it was perhaps the simplest of all that he missed. In the longest parts of the night, lying awake as she slumbered, how he longed to join her, to sleep and to dream…if only to stop himself from wondering if it was him that she saw in hers.
13. Name
They never spoke of it; and they didn't need too. It was clear in the way she looked at him; in the way he touched her. What need did they have to name something their souls already recognized?
14. Sing
She didn't sing in the shower as a rule; but the first time she caught him listening, she certainly made it a habit.
15. Choices
She was aware that her choice, her decision to turn her back on everything and everyone she'd known for him and the life they could have, would not be a popular one. She knew what they would think – that they would never forgive her, and that they would never rest until she paid for her betrayal. …but, so be it. There was nothing they could throw at her, do or say to her, in this life, or the next, that she couldn't face so long as her bow was at her back and he was at her side.
16. Feast
He had to feed - the influx of fresh DNA was the only thing that kept the mutation within him under his control – and necessity dictated that, generally speaking, the great bulk of Umbrella's employees were safely off the menu. Them he needed at their appointed positions and tasks, fulfilling the roles they'd be hired for.
As such, he was left, then, with only one option.
The silent survivors, sleeping away in stasis.
He moved amongst them, through them, weaving around the storage capsules, glancing up into cold, still faces as he passed, seeking one he didn't recognize. He would often return to her with blood on his hands, and though she wouldn't ask – she never did - he could still, at least, see to it that it was not the blood of one of her own.
17. Eyes
She'd never considered herself an especially violent, or jealous, woman by nature, but within moments of being introduced to the director of Umbrella Rome and listening to her simper and purr, she decided quite easily that if they ever happened to cross paths in the flesh-and-blood, she would all-to-happily put an arrow between that woman's big, batting eyes.
18. Itch
It was torture – like having an itch just there, out of reach, between the shoulder blades, but still – always – she couldn't stop herself from watching as he hoisted himself up to the chinning bar, muscles bunching and flexing, sweat beading across his skin.
19. Secrets
Of all the names he had - from the respectful titles and to the cruel nicknames no one thought he knew - the one he secretly preferred best was the one no one but her dared even to say. The one she whispered to him when no one else was around; the one she panted, groaned, and gasped like a desperate – powerful – incantation as her nails bit into his skin and her body tightened around him…
Albert….
20. Echoes
He felt her jerk, her cheek jumping against his thigh and just as he glanced over from Dr. Brooks latest report, he saw her eyes fly open, the emerald and gold depths distant and wild.
Fingers stilling on the lock of silky hair he rolled between them as he heard her heart seize and skip unnaturally, he nudged her carefully with his leg and asked, "What is it?"
He watched her come back, saw his own reflection echoed in her eyes as she focused on him, and heard her heart flutter back into a normal, if faster than before, rhythm.
"Nothing," she murmured, swallowing thickly and dropping her cheek to his thigh once more. She sighed - a long, tired exhale - and her eyes fell closed again as she snuggled herself into a comfortable position against him. "Just dreams and shadows."
21. Fairytales
Looking back, she almost had to laugh. How surprising was it really, the way things had turned out, when even as a child, when all her friends were dreaming of castles and heroic princes on white steeds, she'd always preferred the Dragon.
22. Fan
At her heavy sigh, he glanced over…then leaned to look over her shoulder, following her gaze out the window and over to the dilapidated marquee that still read, after all these years, "Double Feature – Night of the Living Dead & Dawn of the Dead."
"To think," she muttered with a shake of her head, leaning back as their jet lifted past and the sign - and the carriers who shuffled beneath it, stumbling mindlessly toward their plane with their gangrenous arms outstretched - disappeared from sight. "I used to love zombie films."
He snorted, and sat back with a smirk. "One must appreciate the irony though."
23. Rain
Despite the fact that the water raining down from the showerhead had long gone cold, they still managed to steam up the stall enough to leave behind a few erotic reminders in the condensation slick glass.
23. Spar
He bore down on her, the heavy drum of his bootsteps echoing in her head. She waited, waited, waited as long she dared…then struck! The bottle whistled by his head – of course he dodged – but the edge of the blade coming up from the other side caught, dragged…cut.
He swept her off her feet with a growl, flinging her away. She tucked, rolled, and came up on her haunches with a smug, self-satisfied smirkas the end of her knife dripped red and he swiped the back of his hand across his cheek with a snarl.
24. Risk
She never asked, never questioned why - but sometimes, just occasionally, he could see it in her eyes, in the thoughtful, quiet way she watched him; and the truth was, he had considered it, and the promise of what they could build together, of the new world they could birth, was indeed a powerful temptation.
So powerful, in fact, he was hard pressed to recall anything that he had ever desired so fiercely.
But, even so, he resisted. Refused.
The process wasn't foolproof. Mutation was still the expected, rather than a possibility.
And he would not, could not, risk her.
25. Ball
It was the last thing she expected – after all, everyone who had known the importance of the date was dead – so when he pushed the long, white box upon her without warning or preamble, she did experience some trepidation.
But once she had it open, and had figured out what all the pieces would add up to, it took her less than five minutes to be down on the floor - a set of Allen wrenches in one hand, a slender, wickedly tipped bolt in the other - having a complete and utter ball as she began to put it together.
A crossbow.
He had given her a crossbow for her birthday.
God, she loved him.