Chapter 16: What You Deserve

The sun shined harshly into a set of blue eyes that squinted, a hand hovering over to block as much of the rays that intruded vision. Chris watched as Alyssa spoke with a tired breath in her voice, her red blazer gone from her apparel and replaced with a simple white button up blouse that refused to hold heat, her shapely arms bare to the sun as she tried her best to look up to Chris without shying away from the invasive natural light. She did her greatest to read his expression, but he remained neutral, continuing to listen and offering no insight.

"So we know where Piper Mulligan fits in with the Spencer's, but we're still unsure of her reasoning to be at the estate," she said, trying to decode any mystery that still lingered within the Spencer case. "I mean, I'm curious to know if she knew about her relation to the Spencer's at all. Or if Elliot's other children had any knowledge."

With a quick glance, Chris eyed the recruits on the field, their young bodies being pushed to the limit as they ran laps on the track. For a moment, he was brought back to the times he was part of S.T.A.R.S., on the field himself, running so hard he was afraid he'd pass out on the grass surrounding him all the while Captain Wesker ordered him to keep going, to keep pushing.

He turned his attention back to the blonde before him, scanning her figure to only hold back a chuckle. She was dressed pristinely, a flowing blouse and red slacks with black suede boots collecting dust. This was not her environment, rather the atmosphere that fit her was to sit at a desk, typing as fast as a viper and writing with what Chris could only imagine incredible skill. He had only heard about her times as a journalist, neither her nor others really open to share.

"What about that last kid?" he questioned. "What if Elliot's last kid is the mastermind behind it all and we just don't know? Maybe Oswell was smart enough to keep them a secret so that they could climb that ladder of destruction."

Alyssa sighed, shrugging at the idea that churned in Chris's head. The recruits passed them on the track, their heavy breaths halting any conversation as Chris called out for them all to keep it up and they were doing a good job. She smiled at that, approving of his encouraging attitude towards the rookies. When he looked back to her, he spoke again before she could.

"But the Spencer's aren't that smart. If that last kid was actually behind it, then we probably would have found something by now," he admitted. Alyssa nodded in agreement, happy to see that he was on the same level. "So what's our next step?"

"Well, we have Isaac Tate's address. That's our next step. We're going to fly to Ireland and question him. From what Yoko was able to find, Isaac must already know that he's the son of Elliot, so I imagine he has answers that can come in handy."

"And when are we leaving?" Chris inquired with a calm voice, his body relaxed as he watched Alyssa check her phone.

"As soon as possible. Barry thinks we'll be able to depart within a few days."

It was quiet for a small moment, Alyssa not sure what to say and Chris taking in all the information he was just given. A small bead of sweat trailed down her spine, tickling her nerves as she scanned the field around her, the recruits on the far side of the track. She was alone with Chris pretty much, no one in ear shot.

"Have you told Claire about Steve's fingerprints?" she asked with a soft tone.

A heavy sigh fell from his lips, his eyes traveling down until they gazed upon Alyssa's shoes, digging his hands into the pockets of his khaki colored cargo pants. He shook his head shamefully, the severity of dread revealing on his face as he met her gape.

"Not yet. But I will soon. Are you sure it's alright to tell her? She won't get in any trouble, right?"

Shaking her head, Alyssa confirmed that Claire would be safe with such knowledge, as long as she didn't share it with any others that could use it as power against the good. No one was certain where Burnside played in with all of this. They weren't even aware that he was alive up until now, let alone being held by the Spencer's. Possibly meeting a child of Elliot could prove to be helpful with uncovering what Steve had to do in this mess.

Alyssa announced that she better be on her way, to prepare arrangements for Chris, a team of few men, and herself to travel to Ireland and interrogate Isaac. Telling her to wait, Chris raised his hand before crossing both arms over his chest, a look of insecurity decorating his weary brown eyes. She was relieved he answered her when she asked what was wrong.

"Do you think we'll find them soon?" he mumbled his question, not daring to meet her gaze as he awaited her answer.

"Sheva and Wesker?" She eyed him. Once he nodded, she sighed with hesitation. "Nothing can be certain right now, Chris. But I know that we're getting closer. I trust my instincts and they are telling me that we will find them. You just…need be patient, alright? If we put all our effort into finding them, then this search will be over sooner."

"I'm going crazy over here, Alyssa," he claimed, weakly chuckling with no humor as he rubbed his hand across his face as if attempting to wipe away the weakness. "Just knowing he's out there…with her. God, I can't help but think what he's doing to her."

"We don't know if he's done anything to her," she firmly stated. "Maybe Muller is protecting her from Wesker." Chris scoffed, angering Alyssa. "Look, Jake is irresponsible and spontaneous, but you and I both know that he'd keep his father from getting what he wants, and if he wants to hurt Sheva, Jake wouldn't allow it. Sheva is a favorable person, right? Even Sherry Birkin said that Jake is loyal to those who are loyal to him. And being the person Sheva is, well, she's probably showing him respect like she does everyone."

"You don't know Jake like I do," Chris replied with a shake of his head.

"I don't think you know Jake like you think you do," she retorted.

The air around them was pregnant with tension, the pressure holding their bodies in tight embraces waiting until one surrendered. And Chris was the one to give in, holding back the scoff itching in his throat and gave a single nod towards her. Alyssa restrained the smirk pulling at the corner of her lips and simply turned to see the recruits had finished their laps and were now resting by the side of the track. As she was about to depart, she looked to Chris to find that that same look of apprehension remained on his face, his squinted eyes gaping upon nothing as thoughts of worry ran through his head like wild broncos.

"You know, in this light, your eyes are about the same shade as the dirt your recruits were running on," she noted, truly hoping to get him into better spirits.

This dejected and anxious man was not the Chris she had come to know, pushing her into the state of discomfort to see him this way. With her comment, his eyes rose to her face with an arched brow, soon his frown turning into a grin while he gave her a quick once over.

"Is that a compliment?" he queried with humor in his voice.

"Take it however you want, Redfield," she said with a smirk and turned on her heal.

She heard him chuckle behind her, his laughter fading as she walked further away towards the BSAA offices. No doubt HQ would be calling her at this very moment, but fortunately for her, they lessened their weight on her shoulders once they received the information revolving around the Spencer's. They were content…for now. And with this visit to Ireland in sight, the trip seemed prosperous. This had to get them closer to finding Wesker and Sheva, it had to. Otherwise Alyssa feared that Chris would truly go crazy and Wesker would prevail this time and the world would fall to ruins in his wake.

Taking slow strides and eyeing each and every canvas that hung on the walls, Jake would either grimace or laugh. He resided in the gallery at this moment, studying portraits of who he imagined used to live in this deserted place. Some painted faces looked miserable, some sinister, and some as if they were a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

The one that seemed to interest him the most, though, was one of a single man but the painting showed two different sides of him; two different personalities he must have possessed. The right side depicted a man of honor, respect, and sanity, while the other showed the opposite. The left side was ugly, an angry face with sharp teeth that could cut through anything. But when both sides stood together, there was something sad and rather cryptic about it.

"A man's worst enemy is himself," Jake mumbled, trying to understand what the moral behind the painting was.

About to turn a corner onto another row of portraits, Jake spun on his heal until he faced that last person he wanted to confront, his own nerves tingling as he kept from physically jumping. He was face to face with his father, Wesker leaning into the wall with his shoulder while his hands stuffed into his pant pockets. Black glasses covered his eyes, but a half smirk pulled at his lips as Jake tugged his long sleeves up to below his elbows and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Speaking of the devil," he muttered loud enough, referring to a man's worst enemy.

They were nearly the same height, Wesker just inching taller as he rose to stand straight and scanned the gallery with a lazy glance. This was probably the first and only time he'd approach Jake, assuming he'd be able to receive just a drop of his blood enriched with antibodies and flee to his beloved hideout, the lab, and begin to research his cells. After obtaining Sheva's results, Wesker only hoped Jake's would be as flourishing. And if he were lucky, Jake and Sheva's blood samples combined could prove to be something quite magnificent.

"What do you want?" Jake snarled.

With a silent scoff restrained in his mouth, Wesker could only assume Kayla Muller was not successful in teaching their son manners and instilling him to respect those who deserved it. Stepping around him, Wesker eyed the canvas Jake had been admiring a moment before, studying the brush strokes on the two different faces.

"Who says I want anything?" he calmly stated, not bothering to look at the boy.

Jake let out that scoff that Wesker held, turning to face his father and looking him up and down as if deciding right then and there what kind of man he saw him as. Some saw Wesker as a monster, a lunatic. But Jake saw him as pathetic. After all those stories his mother had told him of his mysterious father, Jake could only imagine a great man. But here Wesker was; a snoot with ulterior motives and hands that were capable of only wicked things.

"Well, I didn't get my selfish and venal side from mom, so I can only imagine that I got it from you. What do you want, Wesker?"

A small chuckle slipped past his lips, Wesker smirking at Jake's words. "Kayla surly was not selfish or venal. That much could be said."

With an inquisitive and untrusting stare, Jake watched his father's face, hoping to see some sort of emotion meant for the mention of his mother. But none showed as Wesker continued to gaze at the painting of the man with split personalities.

"Do you remember her well?" the younger asked, his voice a touch nostalgic and also hopeful. Though he promised never to be emotional let alone vulnerable in front of the man he was with now, the topic of his mother always softened him momentarily. His attitude changing just to show her some respect wherever she was.

Turning his full attention to Jake, Wesker thought for a moment, recalling his memories of Kayla. His time with her was like yesterday, he could remember her well and the little things she did that would either annoy him or interest him with her human habits.

"Very well," he finally answered.

"What do you remember about her?" was Jake's earnest question, his frown fading into a line of neutralism. He didn't look away as Wesker's shades peered right at him, watching his own reflection in the glasses as he impatiently waited for his father to answer.

"She always preferred tea over coffee. When she got nervous, she'd tap her fingers on her knee or the table she sat at like she was playing the piano. She smiled a lot. I remember when others would look at her; their faces would light up because she was always smiling. Sometimes I wondered if your mother was ever capable of uttering an insult or able to sneer a bad look at someone."

Releasing a heavy breath, Wesker turned to lean against the wall besides the painting and continued. "She was insecure, always second guessing herself. She would sometimes stumble over her words when she was pressured. Whenever she had a performance to play, she'd shake with anxiety and ask me if I could tell her everything would go alright. And when I did, she'd calm down."

Wesker rubbed his hand over his mouth, his lip twitching for a quick second at the memory of Kayla's nervous habits. "I always thought it funny that she was so good at the piano when she had such little hands. She always seemed so small. No one ever noticed her until she played the piano. Then everyone would stop and listen, engrossed with her talent."

"And that's how you two met, right? At one of her performances?" Jake inquired, not sure how he felt towards his father for talking about his mother in such a favorable way. When he had first approached Wesker about his mother, she seemed so disagreeable to him. But now, it was as if…as if he was fond of her.

"Yes," Wesker replied with a nod. "I was supposed to meet someone at one of her concerts and ended up meeting her. She had a red face the whole time we talked."

Jake just couldn't imagine it. His mother was always so strong, so initiative when it came to anything in life. But the woman Wesker described was someone who sounded unsure of themselves, shy and a wallflower. However, Kayla had told him plenty that she had changed after her time in America. After being with Wesker, she had to be the bread maker in the third world country she called home. She became a single parent and she had to become the brave person he had always known her to be. Life after Wesker hardened her, but she always managed to be kind with her son, gentle when he needed it and strong when he required discipline. She had to do it all on her own.

When Wesker asked where she was now, Jake hid the frown well and fought for his emotions to stay in check. His mother's death was still a bleeding wound in his heart.

"She died," he muttered, taking a long and abundant breath. "It was cancer. She passed away in her sleep."

All was silent, but Wesker felt no twist of pain for the loss. Yes, she was an agreeable woman, but he had simply used her to fake a normal lifestyle. He couldn't deny the expression on Jake's face, anger and sadness twisting together and gracing his features. Wesker had to admit that he was slightly caught off guard by his next question.

"Did you love her?" Jake questioned with a furrow in his brow, his teeth clenching. People like his mother didn't deserve to die when they were only halfway through with their life. People like Wesker deserved to die, not his mother.

Letting the quiet settle, Wesker paid enough respect and looked to Jake fully. "No," he answered honestly with a firm shake of his head.

He wanted to strangle him. Jake wanted to punch that snobbish face so hard until Wesker's skull caved in. He wanted to make him pay for what he did to his mother. Wesker turned her into a lovesick fool, a hopeful lover that was forgotten by her companion. Jake wanted Wesker to feel the pain his mother felt, only ten times worse.

"She was too good for you," Jake growled. "She could have done so much better than you and yet she got tangled up your web."

Wesker didn't like the way Jake talked to him, but he held his breath. He was a fuming son in mourning and wanted to vent. But Wesker could feel his fuse burning, his patience ticking as Jake continued to spew his chants that Kayla was too good for him.

"What did she see in you? She was smarter than that," Jake told himself more than Wesker. "She would have been happier and better off if you never would have preyed on her."

"She was unthreatening," Wesker stated with all civility, picking the dirt from under his nails nonchalantly. "She was easy to manipulate and she followed my every move. Your mother was fascinated by me because she had never met some so superior that treated her fairly. She was infatuated, you fool. I didn't capture your mother. She came willingly."

When Jake's fist met the well right next to Wesker's head, he didn't even flinch, infuriating the youngest that much more. His punch made a hole in the wall, some dust getting on Wesker's shoulder, to which he simply dusted off with a sweep of his hand.

"You didn't deserve her. You deserve nothing but dirt," Jake hissed as he pulled his hand away and began stepping back. "You deserve to be locked up and kept from people. You deserve to be looked at as an animal because that's what you are. A beast for the world to see. And the thing is I feel bad for you, Wesker. You're the fool. A miserable, old, lonely, pathetic fool."

With a flex of his jaw, Wesker had enough, his patience gone and his anger boiling to extremes. When his hand quickly reached out to grab Jake's collar, the boy turned and grabbed hold of Wesker's wrist, his palm meeting the outside of his father's elbow and putting a decent amount of pressure on the joint. The angrier Wesker got, the more pressure Jake put on his elbow, slowly pushing his arm into an angle that would surely break the limb.

With his free hand, Wesker's clenched fist hit Jake's sternum, effectively shoving the boy away as he grunted with pain, stepping back and placing a hand where he'd been hit. Wesker bent his arm a time or two and stretched it, feeling the tightness leaving his bones. Their eyes met at the same time, both burning with hatred.

Jake was the first to act, going straight for his father until the last second when he ducked and shoved him into the wall. He saw stars when Wesker quickly grabbed his throat and shoulder, turning and shoving him into the hung portraits, grasping his jaw and slamming his head into the wall behind him. After Wesker threw him a punch that connected with his nose and with incredible dizziness, Jake raised his foot and placed it right on Wesker's abdomen, thrusting him away until he released his head.

"What do you have antibodies for?" Wesker growled his question, keeping his feet sternly on the ground and preparing for Jake's next move. He wanted to snap the boy's neck when Jake suddenly laughed.

"So that's what you came here for, huh? Did you want a blood sample, too?" Jake said with a smirk on his lips. "I have antibodies for the C virus and you're not getting a drop of my blood, dick."

About to charge for him, Jake quickly grabbed the hefty decorative vase that was showcased beautifully in the gallery that was right beside him, and hurled it at his father, shattering on Wesker's arms and face, his glasses lost in the assault. Jake quickly grasped a large shard of the broken vase and held it in his tight fist, yielding it before him and ready to lunge for Wesker.

"You're worthless, Wesker. My mother deserved far better than you. If I had the chance to tell her, I'd tell her she was better off that you were no longer in her life. She would have been better off not knowing you at all as would everyone else that crosses paths with you. And stay away from Sheva. She doesn't deserve your abuse and shitty attitude. Stay away from her or you'll regret it."

Wesker would have laughed, but he just heated with fury so much that he shoved Jake into the wall behind him, the shard he'd been holding digging into Wesker's shoulder. With one more forceful shove, Wesker threw one last punch at his son and stormed off, his head pounding with rage. He wasn't going to kill him…yet. He still needed the blood sample.

Jake scoffed behind him as he wiped his bleeding nose and lip, letting his father walk off as Wesker left the gallery, his footsteps hard on the wood as he grasped the shard in his shoulder, yanked it from his skin, and chucked it to the side, his feet leading him subconsciously somewhere in the mansion. His shoulder stung as it healed with unbelievable speed, the bleeding stopping almost instantly. He still felt the wet patch of fresh blood on his skin, the fabric of his shirt sticking to him uncomfortably where he'd been stabbed.

Not knowing where he'd gone, Wesker pushed the door in front of him open and stopped in his tracks when he heard a gasp of surprise. With a quick glance, his eyes scanned the room he stood in, the rose colored comforters on the bed contrasting with the grey stone surrounding. His gaze settled on the other person in the room, their eyes wide with shock and their mouth slightly agape.

"What happened to you?" Sheva asked, looking him from his shoes to his face, blood on his shoulder, fists and face. Pinto the St. Bernard that Isaac kept sat up from his sleeping figure at her feet, eyeing the tall man that had just entered her room. Pinto's ears went back and he began to growl at Wesker, the unfamiliar being putting the dog in a state of hostility. And it didn't help that Wesker was in a mood of fading wrath, Pinto sensing his anger.

When Sheva laid a hand on Pinto's back, the dog whimpered softly and calmed considerably. Wesker took a step closer, eyeing the dog until finally he lay back down. Sheva asked again what happened to him and motioned for him to sit down on the bench next to window beside her. He remained footed, contemplating if he should turn and leave immediately. But when she held out her hand forhim and told him to come sit, he released the breath he'd been holding for God only knows how long and slowly walked towards her, relaxing when she gave him a small smile with inquisitive eyes and it didn't go unnoticed when suddenly as she laid her hand on his knee, all his anger vanished.

Author's note: Fighting scenes; I don't like writing them. You know why? They are so difficult! There's such a thin line when it can become silly and I always feel I cross that line. However, stories can seem so blah when there is no physical fighting. So, if you endured it, bless you, haha.

Sasusakui: I like Yoko's name, too. I could say it all day and annoy people. :) I laughed about your reasoning to not completely hate Piper. You're right, Piper is pretty so there is one right thing about her, haha. Wesker is letting his guard down but he beat up his son…maybe he isn't completely changing as we suspect… O_O
Comix777: Hmm, I guess I just thought that with all that's going on, Wesker wouldn't really care to wear the BDSM suit. But good question. I'll try to squeeze the leather outfit in at some point, because we all know it must take a while for Wesker to squeeze into all that leather. ;D
Pandora's Eye: Thank you! I was so nervous that people would put all the clues together and figure out it was Steve. I wanted it to be the big surprise of the story really. :) Thank you, dearie!
xxSnowixx: I hope the little "bonding" Jake and Wesker had was a good dosage of father and son. I find it funny that you mentioned Jake and Wesker when I had intentions of bringing that moment in with this chapter. :) Thank you for reviewing! It means a lot. :)

Alyssa and Chris are coming to Isaac's, Piper must be stewing up some serious evil plans in her lovely head, and Sheva and Wesker are only starting to get into the hang of things again. So this can only mean we're getting closer to the climax of the story. I don't know about you, but I'm excited. :D

-Sarai