~ Wilted ~

Stories and Revelations

"What are you thinking about?"

I glance up from the chessboard, at a man whose company I now find frighteningly welcome. Albert Wesker is unreadable behind his dark lenses, but a small frown creases his brow, and he moves his Bishop safely out of the reach of my Knight.

Good. I didn't want to take that anyway.

"The game, what else?" I say, knowing my words are far from the truth.

Of course he knows this too.

"Hardly. You've been distracted the entire evening." Wesker presses, drumming his fingers lightly against my writing desk.

My indirectness is clearly irritating him.

"Since when do you care?" I rally softly, raising my brow. "Empathy doesn't suit you, Albert."

I return my gaze to the board, and he laughs quietly.

"I don't, dearheart, but your lack of conviction is ruining the battle." He says, flourishing his hand pointedly across the board. "So I ask again. What are you thinking about?"

I look at him, debating whether another lie would be best. I decide against it.

"Who is Lisa Trevor?" I ask, releasing the proverbial cat into the pigeons.

The crease between his brow deepens, and he leans forward in his chair. "Where did you hear that name?"

I smile a little. "Some strange soul carved it into wall beneath my bed."

Wesker doesn't react at first, but then he casts his gaze behind him at my cot, and an irritated 'hmph' sounds in his chest, before returning his attention to me.

He smirks. "Why were you under the bed, Rose? Checking for monsters?"

I roll my eyes. "It's not the ones under my bed that worry me." I lean forward and swiftly take one of his pawns. "So? Care to share? Who was she?"

Wesker folds his arms, obviously contemplating his reply. He tilts his head. "The previous occupier of this room."

I scoff. "Yes, I had managed to work out that much for myself, thank you. I am technically classed a genius, you know, these little details rarely slip me by."

My voice is heavily sarcastic, and I can't help but grin at his serious expression. The man has no sense of humour sometimes.

Shaking his head, he sighs.

"And yet, not smart enough to not ask pointless questions." He drawls, his interest in the game suddenly forgotten, as he stands and moves smoothly away from the table.

I press on.

"It's hardly pointless. I thought she might be a relative of George Trevor?" I say tentatively, scooting to the edge of my chair. "Grandfather told me how he designed the mansion above us."

Wesker leans against the wall. "Did he now? And did he tell you what became of the great George Trevor?" He asks, resting his head lightly against the tiles.

I shake my own.

"Dead. As are most of the forgettable people who deal with your Grandfather."

I don't argue. "So who was Lisa? His wife?"

"His daughter."

I nod, unsurprised. "What happened to her?"

He laughs. "What do you think, Rose?"

I feel my lips purse. I do not care for his mocking.

"Well obviously she is dead, Albert. I mean, what happened to her. Why was she here?"

"You, Rose."

I blink, caught off guard by the revelation. "What do you mean?"

Wesker hesitates, and I believe he is debating whether or not it will be a productive choice to share the information he knows. After a minutes silence, he returns to his chair, and steeples his fingers thoughtfully in front of him.

"We were always told by Spencer that Lisa and her mother were the first humans to be exposed to the Progenitor Virus. Lisa's body was subjected to it in 1968 when she was still a child, the year after you were born."

"So Lisa was one of the many experiments Grandfather carried out trying to replicate the Progenitor's reaction to me?"

He inclines his head. "After many failed attempts with the Progenitor Virus, Spencer eventually separated them into two different types. Lisa and her mother were each given their own separate strain, and the experience was recorded."

I nod. "You weren't on the project then?"

"No. I joined a decade later."

"And what was the outcome?"

Wesker straightens his sunglasses. "The Progenitor disease took hold, and Lisa's mental state deteriorated. Though she did exhibit heightened physical abilities, it wasn't enough to deem her a success."

I fold my arms. "So she was killed?"

He tilts his head. "Once her usefulness was surpassed by her problematic nature, yes."

"I thought you said she wasn't a success?" I press, confused.

"Yes, as a vessel able to pair with the Progenitor virus. Despite this, her abilities made her an excellent research source. I believe Birkin made great use of her."

I narrow my eyes. "I bet he did."

Wesker smiles strangely, no doubt taking note of my tone. "Yes, I have noticed you're not William's biggest fan."

"That's putting it mildly." I bristle, shifting irritably in my chair. I spot him still watching me. "What?" I demand quietly.

"Nothing." He says softly, shaking his head, as he once again steps back from the table. "I guess I should be flattered you do not tarnish me with the same brush. Hard as you are to please, Miss Spencer." He adds teasingly, moving to stand beside my chair.

Looking up at him, I swallow hard. "What happened to Rose?"

Wesker laughs sharply. "Am I to understand that you now consider us to be friends?"

"Should I?" I whisper, holding his gaze as he tilts his head thoughtfully down at me. I swallow hard. "If I have no allies, what will happen to me once my usefulness is surpassed my problematic nature?"

Long fingers grasp my chin, then, firm and knowing. The pad of his thumb strokes my jawline, and I find I have no wish to push it away.

Wesker bends low. "Am I no longer the monster you believed me to be?"

My mouth is dry, he's very close. "I never said that." I murmur, trying not to to focus on how close his features are to my own. "I just…"

Of course I still think of him as a monster. Just as I do Birkin, and my Grandfather. Just as I do any person who gladly puts their name to Umbrella's more questionable undertakings. The problem now is, where Wesker is concerned, I am beginning not to care.

R&R!

Thank you whoever is reading this story. I hope you're enjoying it.