Chapter Four
"The feeling's very tough, can't shake it off. And the struggle keeps it on. Your abandonment is billowing under the cover of being strong." Shaimus – "Tie You Down"
April 1997
She's frantic. Her mind is frantic, but her body is still semi frozen in shock. "Are you alright? What happened? Come in, sit down." She hears him speak, but doesn't understand the words as her partner leads her into his apartment with a hand at her elbow.
Brett's eyes narrow as he examines her; she's shaking, compulsively cracking her knuckles and clenching her jaw so hard he's surprised she hasn't cracked her teeth. Though her mask remains. Ever present. Lest anyone ever find out who dwells beneath it. Brett thinks he's one of the very few who knows the real Mary Shepherd.
He sits across from her and sets a hand on her knee. She flinches. He leans in to make sure she'll focus on him, but maintains enough distance to keep from being threatening. Something big has happened and he needs to know what's left her in such a state.
"What happened? It obviously upset you enough to make you call me so late and come over shaking like a branch in a hurricane." He meets her eyes. She inhales deeply and he hears the shaking. Something most certainly isn't right.
"Someone broke into my flat." She starts, a blanket statement that abruptly cuts off. Typical traumatic response. He nods. Gives her time to speak. "He tried to blitz me, I averted. I don't remember how. We fought. He disarmed me. I couldn't move, maybe it was my fault. I had a few drinks with Jill before I went home." She stops again and Brett's eyes narrow even further. He doesn't like this at all. Any person who could disarm and restrain his partner had to be military or spec ops. She's a S.T.A.R.S. member; that ain't a walk in the park.
She sniffles and when she speaks again, her voice is shaking and cracking. "So I'm trying to dislodge him…and out of fucking nowhere, there's a gunshot. Silenced. He lets go and just drops. Like, crumples."
"And what did you do?" Brett prods gently, trying to get information from her without upsetting her further. She shakes her head and now she's trembling, wrapping her arms around herself as if she's cold. "I-I looked down, at, at his body. His face was gone." Her breathing's labored and she pulls her knees up to her chest and hugs them to her. Brett moves to the spot beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulders. He knows that's not all.
"The room was a mess. He was looking for something. I don't know. And I looked to the doorway and…and I know I'm wrong, I have to be. I saw…I thought I saw…" She struggles to form the words and Brett feels a surge of anger toward the unlucky bastard who did this to his partner. If he wasn't dead already, Brett would make him wish he was.
"What did you see?" He asks; he has to know. He absolutely has to. If it's fucked her up this bad; there's no doubt he's gonna do something about it. She looks up again and meets his eyes dead on. "I saw Wesker."
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She's sleeping on his couch. He's been on the phone; first with the precinct; with Enrico Marini from Bravo Team (who takes the night shifts). Neighbors called and there's a team and CSU at Mary's loft already, picking through the mess and the dead guy. Then Jill, to inform her of what happened and what was being done now. Then Rebecca, whose coming over with a bag of Mary's clothes and a few necessary things. Wesker's on his way over too; he's informed Brett that Mary can stay with him until her home's been cleared. Brett doesn't protest.
He doesn't know how to feel. He doesn't know what to think. Could Wesker have been the person who killed the intruder? Why was someone snooping around in Mary's apartment to begin with? Why did they attack her? Well, that was easily answered, she put dangerous men (and some women) in prison. She was bound to have made some enemies.
But why in creation did she think she saw Wesker, of all people, murdering the man who threatened her? Chris would be more likely to do something like that. Not with a silenced gun, mind you, probably a baseball bat. While drunk. The idea is still the same.
Proper, stoic, 'by-the-book' Wesker wouldn't risk his career or his life with some half-baked, heat of the moment murder.
Brett paces in front of Mary while she sleeps and he waits for the other two. 'Becca shows up first, dropping off Mary's things and inquiring after her and what Brett thought happened.
Then Wesker arrives. At 4:30 am. Brett carries the bag while Wesker carries their sleeping co-worker. Brett watches him leave. And he doesn't sleep all morning.
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By late morning, she's composed herself and the mask is back. Wesker notices. "How are you feeling?" She smiles. He knows it's fake. She knows he knows. "I'm alright. Not looking forward to clean up when CSU gets the hell outta my loft; but I'm good." She replies easily, sitting across from him and reaching for the kettle. "No you're not." He states flatly.
Her eyes lock on his. "Don't. Don't do this to me." Almost a plea. Wesker isn't swayed. "You can't ignore this. You've experienced something traumatic and there's no shame in speaking to a – " He doesn't get to say the last word. She won't allow it. "No. Some asshole broke into my loft and got the best of me because I'd been drinking. That's it. I'm a cop, I'm not easily rattled." She defends herself and pours hot water into her teacup. Her trembling hands don't go unnoticed.
"Mr. Marshal told me the state you were in last night. Just because you're 'fine' now doesn't mean you'll stay that way." Wesker reasons. She knows he's right. But if she admits it, to herself or out loud; it becomes real. Her fear, her doubt, her concern.
She breaks. "Were you there?" She asks, setting the kettle down a little too hard.
Wesker doesn't even blink; blue eyes carefully focused on her. "No. Rebecca retrieved your belongings and I picked you up from Marshal's apartment." He says smoothly. Everything's smooth with him. She frowns. "That's not what I meant. After," She hesitates. He patiently waits for her. "After that man was shot, I looked at him and then at the door. Yes, it was dark and yes, I'd been drinking; but I could've sworn I saw you." She whispers. She can hear the gossip now; how she's losing her mind and gone off the deep end.
She hears her own feelings of doubt vocalize; feeding her dark whispers of treason and lies and conspiracy. She knows what she saw.
Wesker's brow furrows. "Your mind saw what would put you at ease. Something comfortable. It's not uncommon for one to…visualize something, or someone, familiar or 'safe' during moments of extreme distress." He replies. He's got an answer for everything. But he didn't answer 'no'.
She wants so badly to believe him. She sighs deeply and stirs her tea. "Yeah. Must be it. Kinda stupid, huh?" She asks, looking down into her cup and wrapping her hands around it. Wesker smiles. Her attempt at humor is her trying to ignore her doubts. "Not at all, dear heart. I'm flattered your subconscious sees me as your personal superhero." He jests, sipping his tea and leaning back in his chair.
She grins and laughs. "Yeah, even I think I need you to protect me. My whole career is a big 'fuck you' to my feelings of inadequacy." She's trying to move on from last night; continue on like nothing's wrong. Like she always does. She doesn't have any problems and she'll never be weak. That's what she's always told herself anyway.
And her lover knows it's all a careful, elaborate façade. He sees the damaged young woman underneath the sarcastic mask. He admires her determination, though he'll never say it. Her tough girl shell is why he hired her; not her expensive education.
Her barely visible weakness is what attracted him to her. He could peel back the layers to see the damage. And she's let him. He knows her secrets, knows she'd do whatever he asked; but she'd do it her way. Just like how she worked. He liked this compromised power. It was fun.
It worked for Mary Shepherd in a way it couldn't work for Chris Redfield.
Wesker chuckles and rises from his chair; departing for the living room. He gives her his best 'come hither' look and, just as he knew it would, her mask gives way. Sincerity is painful for her. Too hard to bare all and show her scars; but he makes her do it. She's so pretty in her pain.
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She inhales deeply, holding in a breath before exhaling smoke through her nose. The smoke curls around in the air before her, slowly fading away into a light haze. "Don't tell Wesker." She says, smirking and pulling again on the tightly wrapped joint. "You sure he doesn't already know?" Chris asks, plucking the joint from her fingers and taking a hit. She meets his eyes; remarkably composed and clear. "Nope. But I don't give a fuck; I need this now."
Chris smiles and offers the joint to Brett, who politely declines; choosing to sip his beer instead. And he's not even big on alcohol. "Your secret's safe with us." Chris replies, giving her a look that Brett can't quite place. Almost a little too friendly. But he brushes it off. His partner can deal with that.
Her smirk grows. Her eyes briefly look over the marksman. Brett swears he sees Chris straighten some and square his shoulders. Mary smiles in approval and takes another hit.
"Thanks for hanging out guys. Seriously, I appreciate it; I can't do alone right now." She says, turning her head as she speaks; peering around Chris's living room. Conveniently avoiding their eyes when things get too real. "I wouldn't let you do alone now anyway; it's no problem." Brett answers with his reassuring smile. "So, no fast company tonight Chris?" Mary asks, changing the subject and causing Brett to chuckle. Chris rolls his eyes. "No, I've been quiet lately."
"Oh? Why the sudden change?" Brett inquires. "Finally break it?" He jabs, lightly punching Chris's shoulder. "Ha-ha. Nope, nothing that horrible. Too tired most nights now; job's getting tougher." He explains, regaining custody of the quickly dwindling joint. Mary scoffs. "You can say that again. I'm running myself ragged nowadays." Brett nods in agreement. "Yeah, I don't see more than three hours of sleep most nights."
Brett's watching her now; wondering if, in this setting, she's still one of the boys to Chris.
"Take me home tonight, I don't wanna let you go till you see the light. Take me home tonight-" Mary reaches in her pocket and answers her phone. "Hey. What's up?" Both men look at each other and then back to her, questioning who she's talking to with their eyes. She just smiles. "Sounds awesome. Hmm? Oh, I'm with Chris and Brett." She rolls her eyes and Brett knows who it is.
"Hey, I offered, you'd rather be with your paperwork." She retorts, leaning back in the chair and propping her feet on the messy table. "I'm sure. Did you leave the key? Thanks; I'll see you when you get off. Yeah, g'night." And she hangs up.
"Ball and chain?" Brett asks, resting his left ankle on his right knee. She chuckles. "Yeah. He says we'd all better be in on time tomorrow or else." Chris groans. "I don't get you, Mary. Him, of all people? He's like, twice your age." He asks/states, incredulously. Brett laughs. Both men are on the same page. "Dude, don't ask why. She'll traumatize you. I know." Brett warns, remembering their office conversation. Chris scoffs and shakes his head. "Impossible. Come on, I gotta know; why?"
Mary grins, her dangerous Cheshire cat grin. "Do you really want me to tell you what he does with his tongue?" She asks, snuffing out the little nub of the joint on her boot. Brett shudders and takes a long sip of his beer. Chris's jaw drops and his eyes widen. "For fucks' sake, Mary." Brett groans, then looks to Chris. "I told you, man."
Chris just sits staring, dumbstruck, at his co-worker. "Shit. I was convinced he was gay and just playing it off with you." Chris responds, shaking his head in disbelief. Brett laughs out loud and Mary chokes on her laugh…and her rum and coke. "Smooth, Chris. Nope; I promise, he's straight."
"Let's be honest, even if he were gay; none of us would say shit to him about it. That man is scary." Brett says, knowing everyone agrees. "Probably not. He looks like he's made of fucking granite; the guy's solid." Chris agrees, chugging his beer.
"Aw; are the little boys afraid of mean ol' Wesker?" Mary teases with a shrill laugh at the end. "Girl; the only reason you're not afraid of him is cuz you're hittin' that." Brett states, shaking his head. "Nah, I think she gets off on how scary he is." Chris jokes, nudging her legs on the table with the tip of his boot. "Oh yeah; lemmie tell ya bout all the kinky sex we have." She drawls sarcastically. She's candid with her friends; but she'd never tell them Chris was, somewhat, right.
Brett groans and shakes his head. "Please don't." They all laugh. For now, everything's okay.