Disclaimer: I don't own Resident Evil.

Note: This is obviously AU, taking place in a timeline wherein Wesker saved Birkin from getting killed.

The physical evidence was undeniable, but it was still a shock to his system, as if he'd plunged into an icy cold lake with no clothing. This had been nothing but a pet project, something they never expected to succeed in, and yet there it was, staring him right in the face.

A tiny newborn, drooling and squeaking, the remains of its shell scattered around it mingling with blood and mucus. Its skin was a pale green, which would undoubtedly darken with age, and the eyes were almost comically huge.

Blindly, Birkin reached out and picked up the phone, hitting a few numbers.

The connection, surprisingly poor considering how much money had been put into the research facility, crackled annoyingly. It rang a few times before someone finally picked up.

"Sampson."

"Get me Wesker."

"I'm sorry, sir...?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Birkin. I'm in D12. Send him in right away. Tell him it's urgent."

"Sir, I don't know where he is..."

"Find him."

Annoyed, he slammed the phone down, then returned to observing the brightly lit room safely separated from his small, untidy temporary office by thick protective glass. It was frustrating having to work in several locations throughout the facility, and he often found himself hauling a briefcase full of papers with him everywhere. But they wanted him to have immediate access to the fruits of his labors, and with increased security measures after the incident a few months past when someones moronic by-product had killed its creator and managed to break free of its restraints, the observation rooms had been relocated to a brand new level of the facility that had been originally meant for something else entirely. The rooms had a more sturdy construction, there were more cameras and more security staff on duty at any particular time, and most importantly, it was far away from the majority of the facility's workers. Losing administration staff was unfortunate, and finding replacements for them was far more difficult than swapping scientists from one facility to another, so steps had been taken to keep potential casualties to a minimum.

As an extra precaution, every scientist had been issued a standard magnum, though Birkin kept his locked securely in the desk in his main office a floor above where he spent most of his nights pouring over massive textbooks and furiously scribbling notes in a barely decipherable cursive. He didn't know how to shoot it, though Wesker had offered to teach him - time spent in law enforcement had given Wesker's already formidable skills a boost - and had been surprisingly reticent to back down. Birkin pointed out that should something decide to attack, he wouldn't have the time or proper reflexes to even draw his weapon, and besides, where the hell would he put it? The pockets of his lab coat were already full of folded pieces of paper and pens and test tubes, and his jeans held his wallet and the pockets were too small to contain a gun of that size anyway. Eventually, Wesker had simply stopped arguing, though Birkin had a feeling that wasn't the last he'd hear about it.

Birkin's leg bounced restlessly as he stared intently through the glass, eyes flickering briefly to the door, locked and secured and requiring both a keycard and a retinal scan before it would open, tempted to rush in and begin taking vitals but managed to curb his enthusiasm. Wesker would never forgive him if he didn't wait, and so he did, though impatiently enough, practically squirming in his seat.

The infant MA121 Alpha Hunter raised its snout to scent the air, then let out a not-so-intimidating shriek as it rounded on the discarded pieces of egg shell, prodding at them curiously. Finding that they were neither threat nor prey, the Hunter lashed its tail, taking in the rest of the stark observation room that was its birthplace, lumbering over to inspect and sniff the remaining, unhatched eggs, four in total, each a mottled white and brown with flecks of green possessing a rough, uneven texture.

Watching the shell crack and the small predator fights its way out of the egg had been fascinating, and luckily, the room was under 24-7 electronic observation. Copies would inevitably be made of the tapes and scoured over and over again for every scrap of information that could be gleaned. After all, this was an amazing breakthrough, unexpected though it was.

Unable to resist temptation, Birkin reached out and gently tapped the glass with a finger.

Immediately, the Hunter spun around, wobbling slightly in place before it realized its tail existed partially to help maintain balance and steadied itself. Staring at the glass, a thin line of drool oozed onto the floor, and it gathered itself to spring. Unfortunately, since it was only a few minutes old, it wound up getting tangled in its own limbs and flailed around on the ground, making little grunting noises. Even if it'd managed to launch itself at the glass, it wouldn't have been able to break through, but even at such a young age, its reaction time was swift, its hearing remarkable...

Birkins gaze snapped away as he heard the door behind him open, and Wesker strolled in, expressionless, eyes hidden as always behind dark lenses. In all the years Birkin had known him, he could count on one hand the number of times those sunglasses had been removed. Most of the time, Birkin didn't care; they all had their quirks, and god knows Birkin possessed them by the truckload. But sometimes, when he was feeling especially paranoid, he wondered what Wesker was hiding so diligently.

"Took you long enough," Birkin said, but Wesker was ignoring his accusation.

"I can see why this was urgent."

Birkin swiftly shifted moods, beaming proudly. "This is the first batch of eggs to survive this long," he gloated self-importantly, "and the very first baby MA121 to be born. Ever." Understandably, he was feeling rather proud of himself at the moment. Sure, Wesker had contributed a great deal to the experiments, but he was as often as not gallivanting around the world doing whatever it was he did to rake in enough money to keep these facilities running, and had left all of the little details to Birkin, who only absent-mindedly took care of them when he wasn't focused on his own personal research.

Now he was glad he'd given it as much time as he had.

Then, remembering that Wesker was supposed to be in Europe until the eighteenth - what was the date again? Birkin looked over at the calendar hanging askew on the wall, an obnoxious image of the Grand Canyon yawning on the page. He often lost track of time, days, weeks, sometimes months; things underground moved at a different pace, especially when one rarely slept.

"Wait, what are you doing here? When did you get back?" His tone was faintly accusing.

"This morning." Wesker was watching the Hunter, which was, in turn, watching him, its eyes curious and occasionally swiveling to make sure nothing in the room had changed. Its tail twitched, and it turned almost violently to begin gnawing on it.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Clearly I didn't have to."

"If I had known, I could have called you in time to witness the birth."

"I don't think you need to worry about that."

"What? Why? What the hell are you talking about?" In the mixture of confusion and excitement, Birkin's words nearly tumbled over each other.

Wesker simply gestured with his chin. "Look."

One of the shells began to shake, cracks webbing its way across the surface, before another baby poked its way out, squirming fiercely until it had removed all bits of egg and mucus from its body. Looking around, it blinked, nails scrabbling on the cold floor.

The other Hunter approached it warily then, with barely a moments hesitation, fell on its sibling with a terrible shriek, tearing it into little shreds. Blood spread out in a thin pool along the floor, and pieces of Hunter were flung around the room haphazardly as the thing screamed out its agonized death cries.

Birkin picked up the phone again, pressing one of the speed dial buttons.

A woman's sweet, gentle voice answered; one of the few clerical workers allowed on this level. "May I help you, Mr. Birkin?"

"We need a cleanup room in D12. More rooms need to be prepped, and the intact MA121 eggs need to be moved to individual cells." Then he added, dryly, "They don't seem to get along."

"Yes, Mr. Birkin. Anything else."

He hesitated, thumb tapping on the receiver. "A bottle of champagne."

"...come again?"

Oh I could, listening to that voice. Clearing his throat, he repeated his request, throwing a swift glance at Wesker as if the man possessed the ability to read minds.

"Yes, Mr. Birkin. Right away."

"Thank you, doll." Hanging up and finding himself in an absolutely splendid mood, he stood up and stretched, gesturing toward the door. "Shall we go meet the new addition to our little family?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Stepping over to the door, Birkin withdrew his security card from his wallet and swiped it, then submitted to the retinal scan, though his fingers tapped a frenzied beat against his leg while he waited. Standing still for even a few seconds was an apparently impossible feat. With a hiss, the door opened inward, and the two men stepped inside, securely closing it behind them.

Warily, the Hunter looked up from its fresh kill, blood staining its snout. Its eyes fixed first on Birkin, then on Wesker and, after staring at the latter for a few extra seconds, amazingly stepped away from the carcass of its little brother or sister and actually rolled onto its back submissively, offering up its belly for inspection.

Birkin snickered. "I guess you're the mama," he hooted.

Wesker didn't even crack a smile. Instead, he approached the Hunter, kneeling down on the gore-spattered floor with no regard for his slacks and reaching out a gloved hand. The Hunter snuffled, then fell awkwardly onto its side as it nuzzled against Wesker's hand like a particularly grotesque kitten, seeking affection.

"Well, I'll be damned. It really likes you."

"Indeed."

Wesker stroked over the creatures head, and a contented rumbling erupted from deep in its throat. Then its tail lashed violently as it fought to right itself, eventually managing to get back to its feet and bounding back over to the dead Hunter, slipping and face-planting a few times along the way.

It was adorable, in a bumbling, I-Will-Rend-Your-Flesh-When-Im-Older-And-Eat-Your-Face kind of way. Especially since it was through their hard work - though mostly Birkin's; that wasn't something he was willing to overlook - that it was even alive.

While busy watching the baby Hunter devour its kin, Birkin failed to notice a young woman stepping into the disheveled office carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses, as well as a handful of napkins. Her eyes scanned the room curiously before staring through the observation glass, a small gasp passing her lips. Was that...a baby monster?

No wonder clerical staff weren't typically allowed within the observation rooms. She wouldn't have dared enter the office if they hadn't been short-staffed that day and she'd been required to deliver the champagne personally while crews were dispatched to collect the necessary cleaning equipment and prep new rooms. It was obvious they would have their hands full sanitizing that place.

Shaking her head and mentally making every attempt to erase this from her memory, she set everything down beside Birkin's computer, then silently eased out of the room, figuring no one had noticed her. Of course, Wesker had been aware of her presence even before shed opened the door, and kept one eye on her the entire time to ensure she didn't snoop. She'd already seen more than necessary, and he would have to decide later if precautions had to be taken, but at the moment, he simply wanted to bask in their mutual victory.

They had successfully bred the MA121 Alpha Hunter, a mere fourteen years after Wesker had first began looking into the possibility. A relatively short amount of time, all things considered.

"I knew I saved your life for a reason, William."

"It was for my sparkling personality, I know."

Wesker snorted.

"What should we name it?"

"Nothing yet. It might not survive infancy."

"Always practical. Where is our damn champagne?"

"The young woman left it."

Birkins head snapped toward the glass, blinking. "She did?" He sounded almost disappointed. "Well, look at that. Lets go have a celebratory drink. You still drink alcohol, don't you? I can assure you, we keep only the finest stock here." Excess funds had to be used for something, after all.

Wesker waved a hand absently. "If you insist." He followed the antsy Birkin back into the office, the door noisily sealing itself behind them, locking mechanisms re-enabling. Birkin opened up the bottle of champagne, pouring it into the glasses and offering one to Wesker with a flourish.

"To our genius," he declared magnanimously.

Wesker nodded, then took a disinterested sip and Birkin downed half his glass.

Attention returning once again to the contentedly feasting baby Hunter, Birkin spoke up. "How long do you think it'll take to mature?"

"You'll certainly find out."

Birkin raised an eyebrow. "Not we?"

"My presence is needed elsewhere."

Birkin sighed. "When will you stop prancing around and come home, Albert? You're missing out on so much here."

"In other words, you miss me."

"Well, yes, that too."

"It's necessary."

Birkin was growing petulant. "Of course it is." Then his mind shifted gears again. "Will you be reachable?"

"For you."

"I'll keep you apprised of every milestone. Though I fully expect you to be present when our little one rips its first human to pieces. It's only right that its mother should observe that spectacular achievement."

Weskers lips twitched. "I'll do my best," he promised. Then, setting his nearly full glass down, he left the room, heels clicking on the tile floor.

Shrugging and pulling the other glass closer, Birkin reclined against the desk and drank deeply of the champagne while watching the baby Hunter, already mentally preparing his report and, for his own personal file, in-depth notes and suppositions. With Wesker gone, he continued his one-man party, swiftly plowing through the bottle of champagne but barely feeling it. He simply had too much pent-up nervous energy; not even copious amounts of alcohol could knock him out.

Once the champagne was finished, he set everything aside and picked up a notebook and some portable equipment. "Time to get back to work."