Wesker had woken up late Friday morning, something that might have happened once every decade. He had always dealt with stress well, but perhaps he'd taken things too far with the last month's…activities. He had spent the last few late nights in his office, and though he was never much of a coffee drinker, he found himself grateful to find a fresh pot from the lounge, carry him to his doorstep each night. He had been out of sorts lately, reckless, negligent. His lips pressed into a firm line. These were things that he did not allow himself to be.

The STARS captain sat at his desk, thumbing through his remaining papers when his eyes caught the hands of the clock across from him. 10 pm. Rubbing his eyes, and the sides of his head, he pulled on his coat and headed out to what was left to Bill Henderson's 20th. Perhaps a stiff drink was all he needed.

He definitely needed a stiff drink. Wesker's senses were blasted back with drunken cheers as he pushed the bar door open. The place was still crowded with all walks of life from the RPD for Bill Henderson's anniversary, the man himself wearing a dunce of a garish birthday hat and covered from head to toe in confetti.

The smell of stale beer and body odor was overwhelming. He stood there assessing how much he really needed this experience and if it was too late to slink back out the way he had come. But it was indeed, too late.
Joseph Frost had him in his sights and the Wesker could tell by the stupid expression on man's face that a grand idea had crossed his extraordinarily inebriated mind.

"Cap'n! Cap'n! You showed up! Hey everybody! Shhh-! Shh!"Hey everybody- I wanna make a toast!" Frost shouted at the bar, dividing his balance between the sloshing drink above his head and his shaking kneecaps that were teetering on the stool below him.

"To the best captain-we weren't sure if you had a friendly bone in yur body, but yur good to us. You made us family. And you're a- good -captain. To the captain!" Frost yelled.
It didn't take Wesker long to assess that there was enough liquor in STARS to fuel a jet engine, which was why he was even less surprised when Joseph's eloquent speech was met with a definitive uproar of support. An explosion of deafening clinking and spilling of glasses erupted among the rampant laughter.

After being freed from the attention of the room thanks to Enrico and his promotion taking center stage, Wesker went to finally get a drink. It wouldn't always be like this, he thought, nursing the glass of whiskey in his hand, the coldness of it feeling, a kind of relief against his skin. He would one day turn their world upside down. But for now, he listened to their laughter and guessed that one day it would cease. He questioned for that brief moment amongst the drowning noise around him, if he would ever miss it.

The bar was soon to close and the patrons began filtering out. Barry had driven nearly half of Alpha team home, reassuring them that they couldn't do anymore damage to the interior of his car than his 3 year old had.

Wesker was enjoying the growing silence. His head ached for quiet and all he could smell was that terrible stench of spilled beer. He had only had one drink but he had felt off all day; every noise and smell feeling like an assault. He paid his tab and moved towards the neon decorated exit.

A blast of cold air brushed across his face as he squinted into the dark for his car in a nearly empty parking lot. Nearly. Jill Valentine was searching the ground, then her purse, then her pockets.

'Christ.' he thought, going up to his car door and pulling it open.

"Jill, everything alright?" he asked, hoping to any power on earth that everything was for his own sake.

Jill looked up, not only bleary-eyed drunk, but both embarrassed and miserable. "I can't seem to find my keys-" she said, floundering around, every swinging gesture reminding him of a cartoon character.
"Did you check inside?"

"Yeah, there's no sign of them." Worry was plastered over her features.
He placed his arm on the roof of his car and let his head rest. He took a deep breath.

"Do you have someone who can let you into your place? An extra set of keys, perhaps?"

"No.. Those were my only set. I'd have to call my landlord."

Wesker looked at his watch. 2am.

"Come on. Get in." he said, waiving her over; a certain foreign resignation overcoming him.

She hesitated for a moment but followed when he propped the passenger door open.

She climbed unsteadily in as the car hummed to life.

"We'll find your keys in the morning, alright? Besides, you're quite drunk."
"Pfft- Am not. At least I didn't throw up on Chris like some people we know."

Wesker's awful mood lightened as a smile stretched across his lips. It seemed there was a better part of the evening that he had missed.

The car rolled over the loose gravel and to a halt. Jill got out of the car without a word and Wesker wasn't about to break the silence. His keys turned the lock and he ushered her in.

"Make yourself comfortable." He wasn't used to having company and he wondered if that was the sort of thing normal people said to one another. It would have to do. His head felt like it was swimming. He turned to close the door, turning the lock to secure it for the night. "It's not much, but it'll have to do until we can get you to the-"

In mid-turn, he was met with a forceful kiss, his back clumsily pressed up against the entry way. His body instantly froze. Jill drew back looking at him with large, inebriated eyes, a small smile growing across her lips. One of mischief. She wrapped her hands around his glasses and lifted them up over his hair, revealing a pair of pale, inquiring eyes.

Her fingers traveled downwards, as her lips dared again to meet his, hands beginning to explore unfamiliar territory. He found her touch almost intoxicating as his own head buzzed. Before he could think of what he was doing, he found his body pressing back against hers. Raising a warm hand to the side of her face, he lowered his head into the crook of her neck, letting her warmth and scent fill his senses with a peculiar hunger. She smelled wonderful, he thought. Not like perfume, but the natural smell of her fresh hair and skin. Her palms skated under his shirt and began to wrap around his sides, her touch adding in pressure and frenzy as her fingers charted over his form. As Wesker felt himself drowning in something wonderful and euphoric, something he desperately wanted but never allowed himself to have, an explosive pain shot through to his brain. His body jolted in retaliation, causing his head to rear back into the door with a deep and resounding thud.

Jill drew back surprised, wondering what she'd done.

"It's nothing." he said. "Just a little sore. You know, Jill, why don't you and I get some rest. It's been a long day and I'm sure you're tired. You're tired aren't you? My god, you look exhausted. Why don't we get you to bed."

He was done with this, before anything else could happen, before he would let anything else happen, he guided her by the back, toward the hallway. She started to giggle and he supposed he was lucky to get that reaction. He took her to the bedroom and unceremoniously sat her on the bed.

"Good night, Jill." he said and without a second's hesitation, turned on his heel and closed the door as if a twenty foot wave were on the other side. He had to get away from whatever this was. He stalked over to the bathroom sink and locked the door behind him. Turning the faucet on full blast, he tried submerging his face in as much cold water as he could get his hands on. He was unnerved. Shaken. He had had a lapse in judgement. This whole night had been a lapse in judgement. He had lost control. If his ribs hadn't been on the mend- he didn't want to even think about it. He was tired, and he didn't want to think at all. 'I need to sleep. That's all I need. I'll deal with this in the morning.' he thought. Regaining what was left of his composure and scrounged-up his nerves, he unlocked the door soundlessly and peered out. Only silence. He stepped lightly down the hall and into his living room, eyeing up the leather sofa that now seemed to curve and sway. Throwing his glasses to the floor and thankful to have finally found refuge, he gently laid himself out and let sleep take him.

Jill Valentine woke up in a very unfamiliar place with her head feeling like it had been split in two. She stared up at the white, unusually pristine ceiling. Her head turned to the dark sheets she was sprawled out on. They were meticulously still tucked in, despite her having been on top of them.

"Well that's something." she said under her breath. There was a rather expensive looking alarm clock sitting next to a half-capped, empty bottle of Tylenol. SAT 10:34AM. She slowly sat up and looked around the room. It was surprisingly sparse except for a bureau and a few paintings that seemed to outclass the room that housed them.

She hoisted herself off the bed and quietly twisted the door handle. The sun lit the place beautifully. It was modest but tastefully decorated. She couldn't hear any of the horns or shouting that would have accompanied her own apartment, which somehow made her feel even more unsettled. 'Where-the hell-?' She passed a room with a sleek glass desk and computer, a basketball and tennis racket tucked into the corner next to some filing cabinets. She moved along, finally finding the living room, her foot making contact with something black on the floor that she'd nearly stepped on. A pair of sunglasses. Jill felt her heart begin to hammer against her ribs. She raised her eyes painfully to the figure unceremoniously sprawled out on the couch, still dressed in the previous day's attire, an RPD uniform. "You've got to be kidding me." she breathed. She couldn't remember how she had gotten here. They were at the bar, she had had a few drinks- a lot of drinks- and then she woke up here. What had she said, more importantly, what had she done? They were both dressed still, thank god for that.

She looked at his sleeping face and found herself stuck thinking about how foreign it looked. She could hear him gently breathing, and found herself taking in the moment as if it were a rare, natural phenomenon.

She stood and thought about the least awkward thing to do. She couldn't leave, she had no car. Embracing the chaos, Jill Valentine decided that there wasn't much left to make this any worse than it already was, so she began her search for the only thing what could possibly save her.

A different pleasant smell filled Wesker's senses as his heavy eyelids lifted open. For a brief second, he had wondered where he was before he felt the cramped boundaries of the couch. It jogged his memory of the night before. "Christ." he said aloud, shielding his eyes from the all too intrusive sunlight. Combing his hands through his hair, he raised himself carefully to his feet and followed the fragrance beckoning him to the kitchen. Jill Valentine sat at the island of his kitchen counter.

"Morning." she said, simply pushing an empty coffee cup towards the man standing at the threshold, as his body leant on the door's molding. As she began pouring, Wesker had to remind himself that this was indeed, reality. He decided to accept it and much like Jill Valentine, had resigned himself to it.

"Thank you, for last night. I don't usually-"
"Losing ones car keys is part of being human. The next time I lose mine, I'll know just who to call." He gave her a smile and her uneasiness lifted.

"When you're ready I can give you a ride to the station, or wherever you need. There's no rush, however. If you'd like, I could make some breakfast."

She gave him a strange look. "I think I've imposed enough. Besides, your fridge is empty. Seems you've moved into the station."

Wesker gave a low, breathy laugh. "So you've finally found out my secret." he sighed.

"Not much of a secret." Jill rolled her eyes up and took a long sip out of her mug in a mock gesture. She paused, her face growing serious, suddenly.

"You know the irony isn't lost on me," she began. Wesker gave her a questioning look.

"Your B&E specialist getting locked out of her own apartment."

Wesker gifted her with smile, grabbing the mug on the counter, " Our profession can be an unforgiving one. I wouldn't normally say this as your captain, but as your friend, you need to cut yourself some slack, Jill."

He took a deep sip out of his coffee. "Come on. Let's get you back."

Jill put down her mug and stood. Leaning to grab the jacket draped over her chair, a crash rang out, causing her to spin towards the noise. Her eyes darted to the slumped form in the doorway, the coffee cup she had just handed over minutes before, now laid in pieces along the ground.

"Wesker? Are you alright?"

She could see he was struggling to rise to his feet. "Yes, I'm just- a little dizzy."

"Hold on, just- lay back. You don't look well."

Wesker's eyes clentched in irritation and confusion, his hands refusing to still themselves. He was cold. Frigid.

Jill felt his forehead, "You're burning up- come on." With some considerable effort, she helped him to his feet. They made their way the short distance down the hall where she took her turn depositing him as gently as she could onto his bed. If Wesker hasn't been so frustrated with himself, he might have laughed at how the tables had turned.

"Wait right here, you have any more Tylenol?" It had been a rhetorical question. As soon as she had sat him down, she was already searching for the bathroom.

The room spun and in Wesker's frenzy of blurred vision and frustration, his mind raced. He tried to focus and mull over everything he had done over the past few days, no known medical conditions, excellent health. He forced his eyes to focus on a single point, his eyes lingering suddenly on the book shelf across the room. A green, thick, wordless title was propped out amongst all the others. A gift. He urged his body to get up and stumbled across the room as the sound of running water came from the bathroom. Words were being spoken that he couldn't quite make out. Didn't bother to. No, all of his instinct was screaming towards the object in front of him. His shaky hand pulled at the fake binding, a loose leaf of paper sticking out of the edges. Wesker opened it, feeling what color he had left drain from his body. It was a note, simple, with just four words.

'Just Not Feeling It?'

Birkin slammed his car door shut and carried his shuffling, heavy feet up his own driveway. He was so close, so close to solving the G-virus. He just needed a few more months and it would be perfect. Absolutely perfect. It would be the bargaining chip to leave Umbrella with. He rubbed his heavy eyes, and sighed. Fumbling for his keys, he finally managed to unlock the door. Throwing his suitcase onto the nearest chair, he began taking off his jacket.
"Do you mind explaining to me," Wesker began.
Birkin jumped out of his skin, spinning towards the figure sprawled across his couch, shades on, hands folded.

"-what kind of a cocktail you gave me, William?"
"Jesus Christ, Al!" Birkin yelled. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi Daddy." Sherry said walking into the living room. "Uncle Albert said he was probably dying, so I've been taking care of him until you got home. A police woman brought him here! She was really nice."

Birkin dragged his hands across his face, nails starting to dig into his skin. He put a smile on his face.

"Thank you, Sherry. As you know, Uncle Albert is very good at exaggerating. Why don't you go to your room for a little while. I'll take over from here."

"Okay!" she said. She ran over to her father where he gave her a brief peck on the head. She turned to look back at Wesker who gave a nonchalant wave while holding a compress to his forehead. Satisfied, she ran up the stairs. Birkin's ears listened intently for the sound of the door shutting.

He looked at Wesker who began to roughly sit up, giving up finally on the compress and tossing it to the table in front of him, obviously low on patience.

"What, did you think it would be easy? You are literally the first human test subject. Even with the data I have, the ramifications aren't completely known. You know this. Come on."

"You told me it was just a booster."

"It was. For one of the most dangerous, genetically engineered viruses in the world."

"What if someone were to take 2, or all 3 at once. What would it look like?" Wesker asked.

Birkin shrugged, "Al, I know you're impatient but you're not stupid."

"Say it."

Birkin sighed, running his hands through his messy hair. "Three would outright kill you. Two-elevated heart rate, disorientation, confusion, heart attack, stroke, I mean it could literally be anything.

"How about Hyphema?" Wesker asked, tossing his glasses to the coffee table.

"What were you thinking!" Birkin yelled. "You're better than this!"

"I wasn't the one who did it." Wesker said. His tone was quiet but brisk.

"What? Have you lost your mind?"

"The syringes are gone. I've had symptoms for at least 48 hours, but I don't have the equipment. You do."

Birkin sighed, looking at his friend. Sympathy crept over his face. Wesker's own face was colorless and haggard, his eyes bloodshot in all sense of the word.

"You fucked up. You got sloppy. You never get sloppy." Birkin said, shaking his head in disbelief as if wondering for the first time in the day, who exactly was sitting on his couch.

"Are you going to help me or not." The man on the couch asked stiffly.

Birkin deflated, his arms falling to his sides.

"Come on. Let's have a look at you."
Wesker forced himself off the couch and followed Birkin down the hall and into a back room. He drew out a key and easily unlocked the door. Fluorescent lights flickered to life above them with a bittersweet buzzing filling the air. It was Birkin's private lab. It was where he brought what little work he could back home with him.
"I'm surprised they haven't shut you down." Wesker said, barely able to make out all the machinery and samples locked into a small freezer.

"They've been through it. The problem is they don't know what they're looking at. Most of this is just pet projects. Have a seat, undress."

Wesker didn't hesitate. His eyes glared up at the lights, forcing him to shut them quickly.

"Can you.." he gestured up.

"It's about to get worse, sorry." Birkin put a flashlight to Wesker's eyes, excruciating pain exploding through his head. Wesker recoiled with a low, disgruntled growl.

"Your fucking eyes are bleeding. To be honest, I'm surprised you're still here."

"Yes, you have a habit of saying that every time we meet."

"I do. I know two things. The first is that you fucked up. And even though you came all the way here, with the police, to my house, you will inevitably," he shined the flashlight once more into Wesker's other eye, causing him to reel once more, " have to ride this out the old fashioned way. I hadn't considered two doses initially survivable, but here we are. Wonders never cease."

"This isn't a science fair, William. Get to the point."

"What are your symptoms?"

Wesker closed his eyes and took a breath. "Overwhelming senses, temperment fluctuations, flu symptoms, and not until recently, bleeding eyes."

"If you don't lose your mind and grow another limb, you'll be fine...hypothetically."

"You originally required all three doses."

"I did and I still do. You better pray that whoever stole it, still has it, because I can't fabricate another one of those for another 3 months."

"And if it can't be retrieved?"

"Do you really need to ask that?"