-1
Chris sits alone in his own room, on the edge of his bed, the room pretty plain looking, mostly white. Steve, whilst guiding him to it, had told him that he would be able to decorate it in anyway he wished. He kneads his forehead with his knuckles, eyes shut, frowning.
"Wesker…Who am I?"
"You are yourself Chris. "
"No, that's not what I mean. Why can't I remember anything? How do you know me? What happened to me?"
"I don't know. You'll just have to find out through your memories. Now, moving on, Steve will show you to your quarters…"
Getting to his room hadn't been the problem. Getting Steve to stop talking for even a moment had. The ginger teen had talked…and talked…and talked. Chris had been quite happy to listen, but eventually he had to get the boy to shut up long enough to tell him to leave while he took a shower.
The sight in the mirror, however, had stopped him going any further.
One of my eyes…the left, it's the double of Wesker's. But the right one, it's exactly like Steve's. What the hell's going on? Am I related to them? Are we brothers? Does Wesker not want to tell me anything that'll upset me because of that?
Chris growls in frustration. No one seemed to be intent on telling him anything anytime soon. He stands up, stretching out his muscles. Time for that shower, then something to settle the hungry noises form his stomach.
The white t-shirt hit the floor, followed by his jeans. He's surprised to find he had underwear on, so it must have been common for him not to wear any before his memory loss. He removes them and tosses the white boxers over beside the other discarded clothes. Whoever was organising this place for me really liked white. Wonder if I can buy my own clothes? I don't even know if I have any cash. Hell, I don't even know where the nearest store is, Steve probably does…He shook his head and ran a hand through his brown hair, frowning at the length. A haircut is definitely in order, I'm starting to look like Forest -
He froze, hand midway through the shoulder length hair. "Forest…" he muttered. He knew the name, knew he had long brown hair, knew Forest and he were good friends, but he remembered nothing else. Not his face, his mannerisms…nothing.
"For god's sake, why can't I remember anything?!" Chris kicks the bed in anger, leaping back when the whole thing is sent slamming into the other side of the room. "…Fuck." Control, its all about control, keep the temper under wraps. Breath, count, anything to remain calm…And take that god damned shower already.
"I'll move the bed back afterwards." He announces to the room, glancing at the blocked door, suddenly imagining Steve or Wesker walking in then WHAM right onto the bed. Funny, but for some reason, Chris gets the feeling Wesker wouldn't be too pleased.
Chris walks into the en suite bathroom and shuts the door behind him, stepping into the shower and sliding the partially see-through door shut after him. Turning the water on, he lets the ice cold water cascade over him, shivering, thinking about…nothing. A twist of the dial, and the water's pressure increases, pounding down onto his skin, his hair. Another dial is turned and the water's temperature rises. He rests his head against the cool glass, closing his eyes and breathing in the warm steam as water cascades down his back. "Please…" please let me remember…let me remember who I am…
His breath hitches in his throat suddenly and his hand flies out to the side of him seeking for something to grab hold of as his legs give way, and he collapses as the world turns dark about him…
--
Wesker paces his office impatiently, a slight frown barely visible upon his forehead, hovering above the dark shades. "Where is he? I told him to report back once he'd cleaned himself up."
Steve watches Wesker pace, head moving back and forth along with the senior BOW. If he keeps this up, they'll be a hole in the rug. And it'll say: Wesker's still walking here somewhere just gotta find him. Check China. "What are you worried about? It's not like anything would have happened to him."
Wesker pauses in his frenzied pacing, the very notion chilling him to the core. The viruses, the combination might not be stable…and I've left him alone!
"Wez-"
Wesker shoots Steve a cold look that reaches the teen through the glasses and makes him quiver in silent fear. The blonde stalks past him and flicks a switch on his intercom. "Krauser, Wong, are you there?"
Silence.
"Krauser! Wong! If either of you fail to answer me again, you shall find yourselves at the bottom of a very deep ditch." he hisses. Almost immediately Krauser's slightly breathless voice is at the other end.
"Sorry sir," he huffs. "Just had to take care of some-THING!" Steve gapes at the intercom. Krauser's voice cuts off sharply, and he's heard hissing something at someone else in the room.
"Krauser what the hell are you doing?" Wesker snaps impatiently.
"I'm…honing my skills?" the American says vaguely.
"Enough. I want you to get to room fifteen. On the double. Redfield must be brought to the infirmary if there anything wrong with him. Move it."
"Yes sir!" Krauser cuts off. Wesker turns to Steve. "Get up. If he's -"
"If he's what Wesker? God, I thought you hated the guy! Suddenly he's all you care about!" Steve rants, glaring at Wesker. "You'd never bat an eyelid if I was five minutes late! Suddenly he's become the most important person in the world to you!" Wesker just stays silent, waiting for the end of the rant before making his opinion known. "I did everything to earn your respect! I went on missions! I killed people, people you ordered dead. I stole data, I fought, I shot, I trained…I did everything you asked of me…" The teen looks at Wesker desperately seeking some word of comfort, a simple acknowledgment of what he did for the man who saved his life. "Everything. And you never acted like you gave a shit about me. Suddenly, your worst enemy becomes your best friend…What about me Al?"
Wesker opens his mouth but Steve's already walking away.
"What about me?" he asks the blonde man, walking out the room.
Wesker can only watch him go, not really understanding what Steve had meant, but knew he had to look into it. Perhaps treat him better in future. It would never do to have a BOW turn against him. For now though, he had to get to the infirmary, in case something was wrong with Chris - Redfield he corrects himself.
--
Krauser opens the door to room fifteen and immediately falls flat on his face on something soft and comfortable. Well at least it's not the guys body, Wesker'd freak if I brought him back dead. Pushing himself up, he frowns as he realises it's a bed. And from the dent in the metal side, visible even from his position, he can tell it had been kicked across the room some time in the past. He stands and pushes it back where it belongs, raising an eyebrow at the sound of running water. Must be in the shower. Wonder if he's drowning? He walks over to the bathroom door, knocking.
Nothing.
He frowns, knocking again, yet there's still no answer. Krauser pushes the handle down and slips inside. He can see the body of a man crumpled beyond the frosted glass, unmoving. He curses and pulls open the sliding door, catching the top half of the body as it falls back. Unconscious but still alive, better get him to the infirmary.
--
When Krauser kicks open the infirmary doors, carrying a dripping, unconscious and barely covered Chris, Wesker orders the new BOW to be set on a gurney.
Krauser watches as Wesker fusses over Chris, sticking him with pointy things, or at least that's about as far as he can see. He knows almost nothing about sickness and illness, other than they're bad, and if it's bleeding you can bandage it.
Other than a bruise, Chris seems fine to Wesker, and his vitals are as normal, better in fact, as he expected. The only thing wrong was Chris's low blood sugar. He sighs and pushes the sunglasses back down his face. I forgot to warn him about eating high energy foods. At least he'll learn this way.
"He'll be fine, he just needs to eat." He announces to the room.
"Great, can I go now?" Krauser grumbles. Wesker nods, and Krauser literally flees the scene.
Where's he rushing off to, I wonder?
--
Krauser slides back the door to his room, removing his beret and throwing it onto the nearest bedside table, stretching out his arms, cracking his spine slightly. Redfield weighed a fair bit surprisingly. Time to relax a while.
The skin tight top is peeled off and tossed to the floor as he peels back the covers and sits on the bed, removing socks and other such nuisances like trousers. Slipping between the sheets, he relaxed into the warmth, and pulled his bed warmer closer.
"Welcome back Jack."