Author's Note: The prompt from Doom-Overlord was "Wesker feels emotions, but they're always late. He can commit crimes and only after a few days, even weeks does he feel anything." Oooh boy this was a toughie but enjoy. Thank you Emily for helping me with this!
Trusting a Thief
Doctor Chris Redfield had quite a life; he was a Psychiatrist at the Raccoon City Police Department and was damn good at his job. Yes, he knew how to handle a gun as well but Chief Irons needed someone who could connect with the criminals. Most crimes in Raccoon City involved drugs and Chris was there to, essentially, help them off of said drugs and get them on the "right path".
He also had this nifty little gift of his that allowed him to know whether someone was lying or not which was mainly why he was chosen for this job.
No, he was not magical or anything of the sort—he just knew. It was easy to tell when someone was lying if you had been around enough of them and Chris had his fair share in his life.
Albert Wesker is a professional con-artist as well as thief. He, much like Chris, had quite the life as well and was damn good at his job. Normally, someone like Chris would never have interested him but Chris Redfield had done something simply unforgiveable.
William Birkin was Albert's fence and he was the best in the business. William had contacts with the CEOs of Umbrella Corporation, largest pharmaceutical company in the country; possibly the world. True, Albert certainly stayed far from the sort of drugs William was obsessed—something called G—but the Progenitor Virus was very different. Umbrella had been giving Albert tasks through William for months with promise of a Progenitor Virus sample and he was close to closing their deal when, without warning, William left the business.
Albert arrived at his and William's normal meeting place, a few miles from his condo, to find a note that simply held a name and an apology:
Chris Redfield.
I'm sorry.
And so the game had begun.
"Jill, when's my next appointment?" Chris asked loudly from his office. He was sitting in the corner at his desktop computer that had solitaire pulled up.
Jill Valentine was certainly anything but his secretary but she insisted on organizing his patients for him. They were close friends and, after an awkward date request, Jill was the only one who knew Chris was gay though Irons seemed quite aware.
"In about fifteen minutes if he even shows up. This is one of your follow ups—William Birkin," She stated, walking through the doorway with a clipboard in her hand.
"I don't think he'll show. What I said got to him which leads me to believe he is far from Raccoon City. Leaving the city is the only way he'll get away from the people he associated with."
"Doctor Redfield, someone is here to see you. A new patient," his intercom stated from beside his computer. He minimized Solitaire and pressed the button before speaking.
"Jill is on her way," he said quickly before releasing the button.
"I'm not your receptionist," Jill stated clearly glaring at the brunet.
"I know but I need to get some things together in here."
Jill sighed in defeat before asking, "Anything for lunch?"
Chris smiled as he responded, "Just get me whatever. New patients take the longest so—"
"Yeah, yeah," Jill said passively as she turned on her heel and left.
Chris chuckled and pulled out a new folder from his desk drawer. He checked to see there were empty sheets of paper inside and took one out to clip it onto the outside of the folder. He had just pulled out a pen when a figure filled his doorway and a quiet knock pulled his attention. He looked up with a smile to see a very blond, very handsome, man standing in wait. He was taller than Chris and wore a sweatshirt, dress jacket, and slacks all the same color of black. Upon his nose sat a pair of jet black sunglasses that hid grey eyes that Chris longed to see.
"Hello," Chris said with smile, standing to greet the man.
"Doctor Redfield, I presume?" the man asked, meeting Chris's hand in a strong handshake.
"I am. You are-?"
"Albert Wesker."
"Take a seat," Chris said, motioning to the leather couch pushed against the wall across from his desk.
The blond obeyed and Chris followed suit, sitting at his desk before pulling the new folder into his lap. He scribbled the blonde's name at the top of the paper and watched the man sit authoritatively. He sat in no specific way that made him look comfortable and he was rather stiff as far as Chris could tell with his back straight with his knees together. His hands sat on his thighs as if he had nowhere else to place them and, rather than smiling awkwardly like most of his patients, his facial expression was unreadable. His lips were a thin, almost cold, line and the blonde's gaze felt soulless despite Chris unable to see his eyes.
"So, Albert, what are you here for?"
"I'm a thief," the bond stated naturally as if expressing his criminal profession out of pride.
"And what do you steal?"
"What I'm paid to steal."
Chris nodded and wrote the blonde's response and crime.
"Alright, now that is taken care of, I have to ask—what are you here for?" Chris had gone through this process a thousand times before with countless patients, all with different answers.
"I'm curious, mostly. A friend mentioned you helped him."
"You're curious? I see. Interesting—do you plan on coming back?"
"Perhaps. Intrigue me and I may return," the blond stated with a dry smirk.
"I'll try my best. Before we continue, I have to say that everything you say in here is confidential. Unless you have hurt or plan on hurting someone, I am not required to tell any officials and will lose my job even if I try. I am not a registered therapist but have taken all the credentials—"
"I understand. You were an interrogator; it requires the same schooling as psychology does," the blond stated flatly.
"How do you know that?" Chris asked carefully, absentmindedly making a note of the knowledge on the piece of paper in front of him.
"I'm a thief who deals with high end clients. Without knowledge of how psychiatry works, how am I supposed to twist them to my will to get what I want?"
"Interesting," Chris said quietly, writing another note.
"Let's take another step back. What did you do before you were a thief?"
"I was a fence."
"Before that?" Chris asked, jotting down the notes as they were given to him.
"I don't recall and what I do, I'd rather not share."
Albert Wesker began his thieving once he left home. He traveled across the world once the rumors of Umbrella began to circulate and he simply could not resist. He was in the Unites States within the week and had not left since.
"That's fine. Maybe sometime you will," Chris gave a smile and made yet another note.
"I would not count on it."
"I never do," Chris responded with a sad smile.
Chris was surprised to see the blond smirk and give a dry chuckle.
"Alright so now that I know what made you come here and what your plans are, where would you like to get started?"
"Is that not your domain? Do you not guide the patient through the discussion?"
"I don't. It feels fake and forced. I'd rather talk about what you want to talk about," Chris said, leaning back comfortably and readying his pen.
"Tell me about yourself," the blond stated directly.
"Myself?" Chris asked in slight surprise.
"Nothing too personal, of course, I am a thief after all. I'm curious."
Chris hesitated for a moment and before shrugging with a nod.
"Alright, I suppose. I don't have children or a wife and I live alone. My chief put me as head of this project to spite me—"
"Project?"
"The idea of using psychology to help troubled individuals."
"Why did he spite you?"
Chris chuckled and shook his head. "I think that's enough about me. Do you live with anyone or have a girlfriend or children?"
"No, I tend to stay away from people that I don't work with. I did have a lover," he spoke thoughtfully, ignoring the scribbling noise of pen on paper from Chris.
"I see. Her name?"
"His, actually. William. We stopped working together recently thus ending out relationship," the blond stated emotionlessly.
"Did that affect your work?" Chris asked, looking up from the paper to glance at the blond.
"Vastly, he was my fence."
"I-I see," Chris said with a mutter.
There were only so many fences in Raccoon City named William and one that left recently—well, he didn't exactly need to ask for a last name. Chris remained calm despite the discovery and, instead, flashed a smile.
"And is he the one who referred you to me?" Chris asked confidently.
"You catch on rather quickly, Christopher."
"Please, call me Chris. Are you here to have your revenge, then?" Chris asked with a smirk.
"Of course not. Our feelings were of mutual pleasure, nothing else. He had a wife and child, I'm sure he informed you."
"Passively. Why are you here if not to exact some sort of revenge?"
"As I said, I'm intrigued by what made him leave the business. I'm intrigued on what you could possibly say to persuade me to do the same."
"I never said anything. I simply gave him his reality and he accepted help. I, of course, don't expect the same of you. If you simply want to talk—"
Albert stood and Chris followed him with his gaze. The blond sauntered towards the brunet but Chris remained in his spot, unsure if he should get up and move or question the blond. The door to his office was closed but the window was wide and most passerby cops looked inside so, with that assumption in mind, Chris was somewhat positive that the blond had no intention of hurting him.
"Talking is… mundane."
Chris remained rooted to his seat when Albert stopped in front of his chair and bent down to just above his level. A long, skinny finger lifted the brunette's chin and the hitch his in voice at the action gave the blond a smirk. With his free hand, Albert slipped the sunglasses from his nose, pocketing them before, slowly, connecting their lips; Chris's upper lip going between Albert's. The blond began to pull away after the quick contact but Chris grabbed onto Albert's coat and pulled him harder against him, turning the sensual kiss into something much fiercer. Chris felt the smirk grow against his lips but he ignored it as he enjoyed the kiss, allowing his eyes to drift shut and a quiet moan to escape his throat.
"Chris!"
Chris let go very suddenly and the blond pulled away, both gazes going to the female brunet that stood in the doorway.
"J-Jill," Chris said, looking back to the blond before suddenly standing up. "W-We should call it a day."
"You think?" the female intruded loudly, causing Chris to glare at her.
"Let me finish up, Jill," Chris said through gritted teeth.
Jill, despite holding his lunch, left and shut the door behind her but made sure to take a seat just outside of the office.
"Girlfriend?" Albert asked with a chuckle.
"N-No. She's just a friend. What—"
"Well then I suppose I should be off." The blond pulled a small card from his pocket and handed it to the confused therapist. "If you're interested. "
"Will you be back next week?" Chris asked as he looked at the number on the card.
"I believe you know the answer to that," the blond stated, striding towards the door.
"So does that mean I didn't interest you enough?" Chris said with a chuckle.
"I believe you know the answer to that as well. After all, why would you be holding a card with my number on it?" the blond asked, his hand gripping the doorknob. "It's been intriguing," he said as a goodbye before twisting his wrist and opening the door, allowing Jill to enter directly after him.
"What was that?" she hissed, waving his lunch around.
"I don't know," Chris groaned, falling back into his seat. Jill sat across from him, tossing the bag beside her.
"Is that his number?" Chris looked at the card before, slowly, nodding. "Chris!" she hissed. "This is illegal!"
"N-No it isn't. I'm technically not a real therapist," the brunet muttered quietly. "He doesn't know that, though. Chief Irons threw me into this position because I was a good interrogator—that is illegal."
"He has Umbrella to get him out of everything," Jill muttered with a shrug. "So what did he do?"
"I can't tell you that," Chris said with a laugh. "Doctor/patient confidentiality."
"You aren't a doctor!" Jill said quietly.
"Right… Does it still count?"
Jill gave him a look that made him sigh and hand her the folder in his lap.
"A thief? And you treated his former lover—who had a kid and a wife? Geez, this guy –" Jill muttered to herself as she read through. "He sounds kind of dangerous."
"He's just a thief," Chris muttered, his gaze on the small note card between his fingers.
"You can't call him," Jill said expectedly, looking at him after setting the folder aside.
Chris bit the side of his bottom lip and looked at Jill who rolled her eyes. "Jill—"
"You're going to do it anyways, aren't you?"
"Jill—"
"This guy isn't good for you, I'm telling you. Not only is he a thief but he looks like he could kill someone."
"'Never thought you were the type to judge people based on appearance," Chris said with a wicked smirk.
"Oh stop it. I'm sorry if I don't trust a thief," Jill snapped.
"Doctor, Irons wants to see Jill. I'm assuming she's with you," Chris's intercom said, springing to life.
Chris eyed Jill who rolled her eyes and nodded.
"She's on her way."
Wesker made it back to his apartment relatively quickly, slipping his sunglasses from his face and setting them on the entrance table along with his keys and phone. He stepped farther into the apartment and passed by the photograph William insisted on taking several months before. The two of them were side by side, Wesker with his hand in his pocket and sunglasses slid down his nose and William with an arm around the blonde's side.
The smirk that Albert had been sporting fell and he held back a deep sigh while staring at the picture frame.
It was his fault William left, after all. Umbrella was dangerous and threatened the man constantly because they simply did not trust Wesker. Being good at his job, it was rather easy to keep William intrigued with the jobs at hand by simply mentioning the ever Godly 'G' virus.
The blond grabbed the picture frame forcefully and launched it across the room at the wall. He gave no emotion while doing the action and simply stood up straight when the picture smashed and fell, leaving a scratch where it collided.
Albert Wesker had an issue that resulted in him being a thief—he felt guilty. It was a part of his humanistic side that he horribly despised and he hoped to rid himself of it with the Progenitor virus. He could steal all he wanted as long as he knew nothing about who he was stealing from and damn he was good at it. He dreamed of the day when he could kill someone and not feel the same agonizing guilt that he felt when he pulled the trigger at his father's temple.
His father deserved it. The man killed Albert's mother, after all, but still-
It crippled him; for days he sat on the floor of his flat in England, gun still in hand and blood stains across his cheek. He did not cry nor did he show any sign of emotion—he simply sat in a single spot until it broke him. How he ever came back from that, he does not know but like hell if he will go back.
Considering this, perhaps the blond had fallen ever so slightly for the unbearable man that left him with nothing but a broken deal and a brand new con.
The blond cursed under his breath and ignored the broken picture frame before continuing into his room.
"Umbrella recently donated a large sum of money to the Raccoon City Hospital. They want it back. The check is for—" William began, explaining exactly what the Umbrella representative said to him before getting cut off.
"I don't care what the check was for. I simply want the objective," the blond stated, swirling the scotch in his glass.
They met in a local bar, just as they did every time they had a debriefing of the task ahead. Without even asking, Wesker knew they would be going straight to his place directly after because it was their routine.
"The check should be in a locked drawer in the Chief of Medicine's office. Get in, grab it, get out. Simple. It's a large amount and Umbrella is willing to give quite a bit to us."
"I don't care for their money," the blond muttered, putting the glass to his lips to take a drink.
That night, Wesker left a nude William in his bed as he dressed and broke into the hospital as planned. People were roaming around and it was easy to get nearby the office. Beyond, it was as simple as climbing out the window of one room and slipping into the one beside it and he was in. Again, he was easily able to get into the only locked drawer at the desk within minutes. With a flashlight in one hand and the other looking at the check, a small note in the corner made his stomach drop.
For the children. – Ozwell E. Spencer
That had been a week before and it was looming over the blond horribly. He knew the guilt would hit—he just didn't know when and that is what angered him the most. He simply did not like being unable to control his own emotions.
The Progenitor virus could change that; it would make him faster, stronger, and virtually indestructible.
The connections between the Raccoon City Police Department and Umbrella were relatively secret and, outside of Umbrella, he and William were the only two who knew the true colors of Umbrella. The blond contemplated using it against them, if only to get their attention, but with no written proof, it wouldn't go far.
With Chris, he would not even have to bother with such things.
Now, if only the brunet would trust him.
"You can't be serious," Jill muttered with a giggle.
It was night now and the two had retired to Chris's apartment. Jill had a full wine glass in her hand and Chris, a glass of Whiskey. Jill was on her third glass, prompting Chris to remove her current glass and set it on the wooden table in front of them but he decided against it once she asked about the 'mysterious Albert Wesker'.
"It came out of nowhere. I forget what we were talking about—"
"It was that good?"
Chris worried his lip and she giggled again; she was growing inebriated by the way her giggle hitched into a squeak. She pulled her legs to her chest on the couch, her toes hanging off the side of the suede couch the two were on.
"Y-Yeah," Chris muttered, his gaze going to the liquid in his glass. "The kiss was that good."
"Chris!" Jill said excitedly, her free hand gripping playfully onto his sleeve.
"Two hours ago, you told me not to trust him and suddenly you want me to mount him the next time I see him walking down the street," Chris said with a chuckle.
"I know, I know but you aren't going to listen to me anyway so I might as well enjoy it."
"What exactly are you enjoying?" Chris asked with a laugh.
"Chris, you've been alone for a while. I just want you to enjoy yourself and as long as you're happy, I'm happy."
"As long as you have a drink in your hand, you're happy—" Chris corrected, eyeing her as she raised the glass to her lips.
"That too," she giggled, taking a drink.
"You can't drink like that and expect to drive home," Chris said, preparing to pull the glass from her.
"I was going to stay here," Jill said with a frown.
"Without asking?"
"It's not like you're going to be here," Jill said with a smirk.
"What do you mean?"
"Call him! That's what I mean!"
Chris sighed and shook his head. "I'm starting to miss the Jill Valentine that worried for my safety more than a simple fuck."
"He may not just be a simple fuck," Jill said with a giggle. "Besides, I've dated guys more dangerous than that."
"What if he was lying?"
"You said William was his fence," Jill muttered thoughtfully, "and your patient was a fence named William. He definitely wasn't lying about that."
"There is still a possibility that he wants to kill me. I did persuade his lover to leave town," Chris mulled with a slight shrug.
"The lover with a wife and child," Jill pointed out with a laugh. "That doesn't sound like it was a very committed relationship."
"It wasn't but he was also quite the fence according to his reputation around town."
"You think he wants revenge?" Jill asked carefully.
"Wouldn't you?" Chris asked with a dry laugh. "I asked him, actually."
"You asked him? What did he say?" Jill asked with a light gasp. She put the drink to her lips for another large gulp as Chris explained.
"He laughed and said no. I didn't expect him to say yes but he seemed confident when he responded."
"Well, you're the one with the lying super-power; do you think he is telling the truth?" Jill asked eyeing Chris.
"No, I don't think he was lying. He doesn't seem to be the type to waste time on revenge, especially if it doesn't benefit him and I don't know how stealing from me would be beneficent. Killing me would get him first on the suspect list and he isn't stupid."
"Well, you may not own anything expensive but getting sex is still a pretty damn good deal," Jill muttered with a smirk, "and killing you wouldn't be beneficial for him."
"So—"
"Call him!"
Chris, unlike Jill, was far from drunk despite having a glass or two of whiskey and was currently sitting in the passenger seat of a certain blonde's car. It was quiet and awkward. The blond had his eyes on the dark road and Chris, his eyes on his hands. The brunet had never done anything like this; going out with a man, full knowledge that the night would end in sex. It simply was not like him.
But Albert Wesker would be that exception.
"The brunet woman lives with you?"
The words yanked Chris from his own mind as he lifted his head towards the blond.
"What?" he asked, the question completely taking him off-guard.
"When I knocked, the woman from the precinct answered. I thought you lived alone."
"Oh, Jill. No, she doesn't live with me. She's just drunk and didn't want to risk leaving. Jill was the one who pushed me here, actually," Chris explained, his eyes on the road in front of him, now.
They were across town from where Chris lived, entering the nightlife part of Raccoon City that never seemed to die. Club after club was lined up beside each other, a line of people outside of each; some clubs even had the Umbrella Corporation logo above them. Chris snickered at the shameless advertising and moved his attention away.
Chris had never been a fan of Umbrella; he simply did not trust the company. It had full control over the city and, among that, everyone in it. When he was a cop, everything they did had to be approved by the CEO of Umbrella before any action could be taken. Most criminals were taken by Umbrella security from the police department's grasp and never seen again.
And yet nobody questioned it.
"You certainly seem amused."
"Disgusted," Chris corrected. "Umbrella is endorsing every club in town."
"You don't like Umbrella?"
"I don't trust them."
"That's a trait we seem to share," the blonde stated with a smirk.
"I can't imagine how you would even come in—oh. Right, you're a thief."
"Indeed."
The two arrived at the bar Albert chose and, when Chris saw no signs of Umbrella endorsements, he agreed. Albert walked in first, holding the door for Chris with his left hand and waving to the bartender with his right. The place was not crowded and Chris following Wesker into a booth in a corner just out of earshot of anyone else. The bartender, a tall casual male, walked over to them as soon as they sat down.
"Odd to see you back here without Birkin, Wesker," the bartender said with friendly smile.
Albert did not reciprocate the smile.
"He and I are no longer speaking."
"I see, I'm sorry."
"Our business ended. There is no reason to apologize. Can we order or would you like to continue to make my date uncomfortable?" Albert asked carefully.
"'course, 'course. I'm assuming the regular for you, Wes. Yourself?" He asked turning to Chris.
"I told you not to call me that," Wesker muttered getting a chuckle from Chris.
"Water is f—"
"Whiskey. Get him Whiskey."
"Water would be fine, Albert," Chris muttered, avoiding the shifting gaze of the bartender.
"For what we are doing tonight, I don't believe water would be enough."
"Whiskey is fine," Chris said, looking back up at the bartender sheepishly.
"'course it is. I'll be back."
The man walked away and Chris's eyes fell into his lap; he really was not the type to do something like this and he was beginning to question whether he should or not. It was dangerous in more ways than one and—
Albert leaned towards him and Chris turned his head. The blond connected his lips to the unsuspecting brunette's and Chris chuckled into the kiss. It was short but Chris pulled away with a smile.
"I never do things like this. Hell, by the time I get back, Jill will be sober and yelling at me," Chris sighed.
"Then perhaps you should enjoy your time away from her while you can."
Chris smiled and nodded just as their drinks arrived.
"Scotch for Wes and Whiskey for the new guy."
"Go away or suffer losing your tip, Adam," the blond threatened causing the man to disappear rather quickly.
"How did you know I liked Whiskey?" Chris asked, eyeing the drink as he swirled it in his hand.
"The same way you knew my preference is Scotch. You can tell, can you not?" The blond asked, putting his lips to his glass.
"I suppose. It was a pretty damn good guess," Chris said, following suit and taking a drink as well.
"As a thief, I watch details."
"What sort of details could possibly give away what I like to drink?" Chris asked with a laugh, looking at the blond in disbelief.
"You don't like silence so, when put into an awkward position you don't like, I would imagine you want something smooth and comforting. What better than Bourbon? Besides, it's not as if I just guessed what specific brand you enjoy."
"You got what I like to drink because I don't like awkward situations?"
"No, I got what you like to drink because I understand how someone like you would respond to an awkward situation."
"You have skill," Chris stated.
"I'm the best in the business," the blond stated with a smirk though he truly did not even know what it meant anymore. Before, it meant that he and William were the best in the field but now it was a simple boast that he would rather have hidden. Boasting was never his way of doing anything and he certainly was not going to start now. "I'll be back," the blond muttered, sliding from the booth with agility that Chris had never seen before.
The blond vanished towards the bathroom and Chris was left to his own devices, his eyes on his drink and the bartender's gaze on him. The bartender made his way towards the brunet and leaned down.
"I don't have a lot of time but look—I know Wesker. You look far too nice for him. What are you, a teacher?"
"Cop—er therapist. Whatever," Chris responded. "And I know about him."
"You don't. William got himself into some deep shit because of that man. Before meeting him, he was not the type to have an affair. Albert Wesker is more dangerous than he looks. He has the capability to kill."
"Every man does," Chris said gravely. "I understand he is dangerous."
"Last I heard he was doing deals with Umbrella. If that doesn't put it into perspective for you, I dunno what will," the bartender said with a sigh.
"That explains why he hates the company," Chris said matter-of-factly.
"Big deals."
"Like what?"
"William was worried but he was devoted. He never told me. Just be careful. Have your fun and leave, that's all I'm saying."
Albert walked into the men's restroom and leaned against the counter holding the line of sinks. He sighed and tried, desperately, to ignore his thoughts of Birkin. Both men knew how uncomfortable William was risking everything to continuously appease the largest corporation in the world and Wesker ignored him.
A shiver, beginning at the bottom of his spine, began slithering its way up Albert's back and he inhaled slowly. He tried to shake off the growing feeling, spreading as the shiver made its way to Albert's neck and remained there causing the blond to grow rigid.
He took a moment to close his eyes and fight away the thoughts before he straightened and connected eyes with his reflected self. He could see the pained guilt in his eyes—one of the many reasons why he wore sunglasses but it was eleven at night, there would be little point in wearing them.
The blond held back the want to destroy the mirror and, instead, wiped his eyes viciously and made a rushed decision within the moment.
Chris had his drink to his lips when the blond came back. Albert stopped in front of the table and pulled a small roll of money from his pocket as Chris spoke.
"What are you doing?"
"We're leaving."
Albert dropped the money on the table, shoving the rest into his jacket pocket. Chris, without much choice, agreed and climbed out from the booth. The bartender's eyes followed him towards the door and Chris met them as he followed Wesker out.
"Where are we going?" Chris asked, taking large strides to keep up with the blond on the sidewalk.
"My place, of course," the blonde chided.
"Are you okay? There's no real reason to be in such a hurry," Chris stated as the two rushed towards the blonde's car. When Wesker didn't respond, Chris took action by grabbing the blonde's arm roughly to stop him. He released his arm when Albert stopped and turned on his heel, looking at Chris expectantly. "I'm good at my job, too, and I can tell when someone has a complete and utter switch of character."
The blond remained quiet and Chris sighed, a hand going to his forehead.
"I'm going home," Chris muttered. "It was dangerous enough going out with you but I'll be damned if I'll get into any deeper shit."
"I'll explain—" the blond stated through gritted teeth. "—at my place. Not here."
"So, while going through a psychotic episode, you expect me to get into a car with you?" Chris asked carefully.
"You've come this far, have you not?" The blond asked confidently.
Chris sighed and began for the car.
Wesker led the way inside, dropping his keys on the table beside the door, replicating his usual schedule. Chris followed and closed the door behind him, moving from the doorway once Albert turned on a light.
Chris ignored the furniture and expensive looking items around him as his eyes fell on the pile of broken picture frame. He frowned and began walking towards it. Albert toed off his shoes and followed him, wanting anything but to see the picture lying face down on the wooden floor with glass splayed over it.
"What's this?" Chris asked, kneeling down to slide the picture out from the glass atop it. The blond didn't answer and, instead, sat down on the floor beside him, eyes adverting from the picture as the brunet turned it over. "Oh."
"Indeed."
"If you aren't over William, what am I doing here?" Chris asked, gaze falling onto the blond beside him.
"William and I were business partners—nothing more. Sex was simply a pastime."
"Then I don't understand. Why is this—"
"He was rather upset when I accepted a job offer from Umbrella. I talked him into—"
"You conned him into it, didn't you?" Chris asked, sitting as well.
"I did. I have an issue that only he knew of. That began our nightly visits, actually."
"Issue?"
"I have an anxiety disorder that turns guilt into a crippling fear. It's degrading, ridiculous, and—"
"It's human."
"Yes. Human," the blond muttered.
"You have flaws, Albert. You can't change that. You can strut around—yes, you strut—and pretend to be perfect but you aren't."
"Umbrella has a serum that could—"
"That's why you made a deal with them? A serum promised by Umbrella?"
"They also offered something for William."
"G. Yes, of course I know about it. The man never stopped," Chris muttered.
"He created it and Umbrella embezzled it."
"I didn't know that," Chris muttered, looking at the picture in his hand.
"Nobody does, not even Umbrella. They deleted his files for the project and someone else took the credit. Ridiculously clever, really."
"Glad you're proud of them," Chris muttered. "So this guilt that you feel, tell me about it. Maybe I could—"
"No. I've told you far too much already," Albert stood and began for his bedroom. "You don't have to follow me. If you wish to wait until morning to leave, you may do that as well," he stated before vanishing into his room.
Chris sighed and set the picture over the shards of glass before following the blond down a hallway and into the only open doorway.
"You may not need the serum. I can provide methods—"
"You don't believe I've tried them? Don't underestimate me," the blond snickered, shucking off his jacket and tossing it over his computer chair.
"What makes you feel so guilty about William leaving?"
"I should not have put him into that position. If I hadn't, he would be here instead of you."
"You're worried about replacing him?"
"Would you stop attempting to psychoanalyze me? I simply need a connection to the precinct and I have one."
"Why?" Chris asked, shaking off minor insults. When Wesker did not respond, Chris chuckled dryly. "Umbrella."
"Indeed."
"They didn't hold up their end of the bargain."
"They did not get a chance to. You chased my only contact away. I'm going to Irons in the morning to straighten out the situation."
Chris guffawed and Albert stopped to stare at him.
"You think Irons will help you? He has a gun pressed against his head just like all of us do. He has no more influence over Umbrella than Birkin did," Chris said. "I'm not supposed to tell you this but Birkin didn't come on his own free will. He was brought in by Irons specifically claiming he was doing illegal deals with stolen Umbrella products."
Albert stood still a moment, his breath shaky and his body rigid.
"I'm sorry but I thought you knew. You said you didn't t—"
"Of course I don't trust Umbrella. Anyone logical would feel the same."
"Raccoon City doesn't agree."
"Raccoon City will die."
"Give me a chance to help you. One chance, that's all I need then you can fuck me all you want and I'll be gone by morning. One chance."
Albert looked from his bed to the brunet before sighing.
"One chance," Albert stated, sitting on his bed.
Chris pulled out the blonde's computer chair from the desk beside the bed and sat down.
"You'll need to be open with me," Chris stated. "Start from the beginning."
"You need stability. The delayed reaction comes from your fear of guilt. Hell, it isn't even guilt you feel! It's a panic attack that is triggered by the fear."
"That sounds—"
"It's human, Albert."
"I was going to say ridiculous."
"Humans are ridiculous," Chris said with a shrug. "Get over it. You are one. You're good at your job, extremely skilled in just about anything you do, and you have a man sitting in your bedroom talking to you about psychiatry when you brought him here for sex. That takes skill, believe me. Just create a stable life for yourself. Move if you have to; get a real job—anything. But you can't keep feeling the guilt that crippled you when you were younger. Specifically if it hasn't happened since, which, according to you, it hasn't. Or you could learn to work around it… but no serum will help. Panic attacks are based on mental status, not the body."
"I see."
"How'd I do?" Chris asked, crossing his right leg over his left and resting both hands on his lap.
"Well, it certainly isn't what I expected," Wesker muttered.
"So I didn't help?"
"I didn't say that," the blond said thoughtfully. "I'll consider what you said. Perhaps we could—" Wesker motioned to the bed with his left hand and Chris laughed with a nod.
Chris walked to his apartment, Wesker on his heel as the blond insisted on walking him up to his door. Chris stopped at the doorway and turned on his heel to accept a long kiss from Albert, smiling when he pulled away.
"That was fun," Chris said.
"Indeed-" Albert pushed Chris against the door and kissed him harder but both stopped when they heard distance crying.
"J-Jill!"
The two broke apart and Chris hurriedly unlocked his door and opened it quickly, revealing the female brunet in the corner of the room, tears falling from her eyes and streaking her cheeks.
"Chief Irons," Chris called, walking into the office.
The office was small with a single light hanging from the ceiling. A desk sat near the middle of the room with an overweight man behind it. The nameplate sat atop his desk reading 'Chief Irons' was the only item visible.
"Redfield, what brings your fairy ass to me today?"
Chris gritted his teeth and he crossed his arms over his chest.
"I did what you told me. Albert Wesker is desperate for a quick fix for his problem more than ever. Umbrella should be able to do whatever they have planned."
"Are you positive? Spencer won't be happy if he isn't what they expect of him."
"I'm sure."
"Jill told me what you did to get this to happen," Chris said through gritted teeth. "If you wanted this done, you should have gone to me directly."
"Jill was much funner to play with," Irons commented. "She screams a lot."
"I'm handing in my resignation," Chris muttered, pulling out a folding piece of paper from his pocket. He tossed it at his boss and leaned onto the desk that separated them. "Jill's is here as well. If you ever come near me or her again, I will kill you."
"Is that a threat, fairy-boy?"
"Fuck yes, it is."
Walking out, Chris smiled when he saw the blond outside awaiting him. Jill was safe at his house still and the two had plans to move in together. Wesker, however, had no intentions on changing his work but he was able to work around the attacks with various methods suggested by Chris.
"Did you talk to him?"
"I did," Chris said. "He called me fairy-boy a few times and I swore you were willing to give yourself to Umbrella."
"I suppose I should be expecting another fence, then," the blond said with a smirk.
"What makes you say that?" Chris asked as they began walking towards Albert's car.
"They will send someone to contact me. I will refuse to go with them and they'll continue their deals with me because they want me so badly."
"You think they're willing to kill to get to you, don't you?" Chris asked with a laugh.
"Aren't you?" the blond asked with a smirk.
"Ha ha," Chris stated dryly, turning on his heel to press himself against the blond. "So is this like your relationship with William?"
"Nothing is similar to what I had with William," the blond said. "Besides, we never had public affairs such as this."
"Does that mean we're a couple?" Chris asked carefully, accepting a quick kiss from the blond.
"Perhaps after a real date that doesn't involve psychological advice followed by a—"
"Followed by a night filled with passionate sex? I don't know, that sounds a bit mundane."
"Mundane can be tolerated."
Holy eff this is finally done! Nineteen pages and I had to get assistance from several thousand of my friends and even my Tumblr fans! Thanks guys! Anyway, if you guys don't understand what just happened, you can pm me or ask me on tumblr, whichever is fine. I tend to forget that you guys don't know what's going on in my head so whether or not it'll make sense is a bit of a test.
If you can't tell, Irons didn't go to Chris's apartment. When he called her into his office near the beginning is when he did it and, beyond that, she was kind of drunk so did what she needed to do.