MILA MULLER

Albert held Mila's back and arm to steady her as he walked her back to a chair. He wanted to do a mobility test today, test her physical strength, and to put it lightly…she had done poorly. He set her down and retrieved a series of small tablets and an electrolyte drink for Mila.

"Are you alright? I shouldn't have pushed you so hard today."

"No, I'll be okay. My muscles just keep spasming. I'm sure the drink will help. It had potassium, right?"

"Correct. That and the medication should do you well. Rest, and I'll bring you something to eat shortly." Albert turned on his heel, seeming cold.

Mila knew he was frustrated, but she hoped it wasn't with her. She slumped in her chair, breathing shallow. Her heart rate was lowering at a snail's pace and her muscles spasmed uncontrollably, especially in her biceps, calves and thighs. The nerves along her spine felt like they were on fire and she just felt…weak. Impossibly and improbably weak.

It frustrated her too. Her body felt like a prison in times like these. It had been about two months since her and Albert's first date, and they had only gotten closer. She had introduced him to her home where they had cooked together Edonian style, they had gone to a movie (much to Albert's chagrin, who much preferred literature), and went on more than one late night drive into the mountainous wilderness.

She recalled the way Albert had solemnly opened up a little more one of those summer nights, talking about his childhood memory loss, the way places and ideas and people all blurred together. He confessed how he may have been sickly as a youth, the memory of many needles and how to this day he wasn't the biggest fan of them. He had seemed embarrassed then, as if he was allowing her to witness a crack in his facade. Instead, she had reached over and took his hand, quiet for a moment as they sat on the hood of his car beneath the stars, sounds of the forest around them. "I understand." She said, and it meant so much more than just needles.

He never seemed to be frustrated with her lack of mobility or other physical ailments. She had come to rely on him for medication or herbs at any given moment, and he always seemed to have drinks or food ready in case she became weak. He never minded that they went on drives instead of walks, or that she needed a chair in the kitchen. Instead, he slowed down to walk with her, had a hand to the small of her back, brought her a chair without being prompted to ask. Albert Wesker was a gentleman, through and through.

So why… Why did he feel so cold today? It made Mila's own blood turn to ice. She was terrified he was growing sick of her, sick of accommodating and growing weary of her novelty.

She grit her teeth against the muscle spasms as they began to slowly dwindle, a horrible pain, and put her hands to her temples. She wanted it to stop. All of it. She just wanted to be normal.

ALBERT WESKER

Wesker strode towards the cafeteria, his head throbbing. He didn't understand. He was supposed to be a genius, and yet Mila Muller was stumping him thoroughly. At first it had been fun, a challenge, but now it was simply infuriating. There had been blood tests and weeks of analysis, biopsies, scans, physical therapy and monitoring, even a sleep study.

And nothing.

It made him angry. It made him anxious too, about his own abilities, and that made him even angrier. He had tried to puzzle out the mystery of Mila's blood disease and her chronically ill status, but nothing made sense. Every road was a dead end.

He had grabbed a sandwich and an apple–a yellow one, her favorite–from the cafeteria, and found himself swiftly returning without speaking to anyone. It seemed that Mila had been getting worse lately–expected considering that it was a degenerative disease, but he hadn't expected her to become so sickly without warning. Her disability was a dynamic one, with its level of effects differing at different times, but it had seemed that lately… It was not as dynamic, and more stagnant. He couldn't recall the last time he had seen her without a cane.

He reentered the laboratory at a brisk stride, but came to a dead stop at the sound of crying. "Mila?" He called out, voice caught a little in his throat. Albert Wesker knew how to deal with many things, but crying unfortunately wasn't one of them. He turned the corner to see Mila with her head in her hands, legs shaking beneath her, still rocked with spasms.

"I'm sorry." She said, not lifting her head. "I don't mean to cry. I know you must already be frustrated." She let out a little hiccup of a sob, burying her face even deeper into her palms.

Wesker could see the teardrops staining her pale slacks. He stopped for a moment, watching her as she cried. He let the sound sink into him, deep into his bones, and suddenly stopped thinking of the project.

He put the food down and knelt to the floor, pulling up the flowing fabric of Mila's pants to reveal her bare legs and the softest of hair there, and began to massage the muscles gently. "It's alright, Mila. I'm here."

Mila peeked out from between her fingers, eyes bloodshot. "Albert… I'm so sorry. You don't need to do that."

"I do it because I want to. Because I care about you." His fingers expertly kneaded the muscle, coaxing them to relax and stop the violent spasms. In tandem with the medication and drink, it began to work wonders.

"But… I'm like this." Mila whispered. It was silence between them for just a moment, the hum of machinery filling the empty space. "You're so much better than me. I see how frustrated you've gotten and how much… How you…" Her words trailed off into a quiet sob.

Wesker stared up at her and reached up, taking her hand in his own. "Oh, Mila," He said. He realized how cold and off-putting he had been, obsessed with finding an answer to the equation rather than finding a cure for Mila. He had been selfish acting that way, pushing her harder through unnecessary testing, and this was the result. It was his fault.

Usually Wesker wouldn't give a rat's ass about such a thing, but now… Now something had changed.

"I could never be frustrated with you, my lady. You are…so much to me. I was becoming obsessed with wanting to find your cure, and I was not considering how I was acting toward you, and pushing you far too harshly. I just want to help you." He meant what he said, and that surprised him. He felt himself flush, and for once he wasn't thinking of himself or what his colleagues thought of him. It was all Mila, and that was all he wanted. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I just… I don't want to be a burden." Mila's fingers clasped around his hand. "But it hurts so bad. It's been getting so much worse, Albert. I don't know what to do."

"I'm here. I will figure something out, all we need is time and analysis. I'll bring Birkin in to take a look at it as well instead of working on this alone. Request more resources if necessary." He rose up, pulling Mila into him. He held her there and let her cry for a moment. "I will help you, Mila. That, I promise."

Mila pressed her face into his stomach and held onto him like a life preserver. "I… I hope so." She choked out. "I don't want to live like this anymore. There's days I don't even understand why I was born."

He out a finger to her chin and tilted her face up, his glasses shielding his eyes but his stare penetrative all the same. "You were born because you are brilliant, Mila. It is a gift to be in your presence. It is a gift to be with you, to eat with you, to laugh with you. I never had that before. You took a chance with me and I took a chance with you. And now all I know is that I'm the happiest I have ever been."

"Do you really mean that? Even with how I am?"

"I love all of you." Wesker said. He meant it, and he suddenly realized that scared him, but he didn't care.

He just wanted to keep holding her.

"Why don't I take you home with me tonight?" Wesker said, cupping her cheek. "Let me take care of you."

"I would like that." Mila answered, sniffling. "A lot."

"Good. I'll take you by your apartment and grab a few things and then we can head to my home. I'll spend the night making up for today."

"That's not necessary, but I won't say no to the company." Mila smiled sweetly.

"Good. I am pleased you've agreed. Now…eat your food and I'll prepare for us to go. We're leaving early today."

A/N: This one was shorter, but I also expect a lot of these chapters will be shorter as this is a quick conceptual fic that I didn't want to spend terribly too much time on. I hope yall still enjoy regardless!

This was also a hard one to write--as a disabled and chronically ill person, I tried to take from my own life experience on the frustrations here.

Also writing Wesker basically learning how to be human is a lot of fun.