Did another quick Wip. Self insertion at it's finest because I've had one hell of a week and life is rough and sucks and I simply love no sunglasses Wesker.
Zeno x female!Reader
Chapter 9: Stay
Masterlist
I am so sorry for the long wait but here we are. Work and life have been crazy but I am happy to say that I wrote this while being on the clock so I got paid for making me a little happier. Enjoy!
In Zeno's existence, there was not much that made him hesitate.
There was the expected pain of needles and viruses. There were the sky-high expectations of The Connections for him to become better than Albert Wesker ever could be.
It was predictable. And predictability gave you an advantage against your enemies.
Then she happened.
She was unpredictable, emotional, physically so much weaker than him, and yet she acted as though none of that mattered. She didn't treat him like a project. She didn't treat him like a weapon. She didn't look at him as something created to surpass a dead man.
Her man.
She treated him like he was simply a man.
She wasn't scared of him. She wasn't intimidated by him.
She liked him.
That realization still had the ability to make his thoughts slow down.
Nobody had ever liked him before.
People admired his potential. They valued his usefulness. They saw him as the perfect weapon and the perfect tool for everything they had planned.
And with her around, he was beginning to hate it.
That was dangerous.
Because hating what you were created for and wanting something else came with consequences.
It only got worse every time she showed him something new.
Normal things for her. Entirely new experiences for him.
"Can I stay?"
The question left his mouth before he had fully formed the thought.
They were standing in her quarters again. A few days had passed since the hug. He had been asking for one more more often now, though neither of them acknowledged how frequently it had started happening.
The thought of leaving tonight simply felt wrong.
She looked up from what she was doing and tilted her head slightly.
That little head tilt.
Something she always did when she was thinking carefully about something someone had said. Like she understood her answer mattered.
He realized, in that moment, that he liked that head tilt far more than he should.
"You mean overnight?", she asked.
They both already knew the answer.
"Yes."
He was mildly annoyed to notice his heart rate increase.
Another side effect of being around her.
"I would like that."
Her answer came softly, gently.
It took him a moment to react.
From the outside, all he did was nod.
Simple.
Controlled.
Inside, his heart did a traitorous little jump that he immediately ignored.
An hour later they were lying next to each other in her bed, and he noticed several things at once.
First, there were no hidden cameras in her room.
None. No blinking red lights. No concealed lenses.
Nothing.
Second, her bed was significantly more comfortable than his.
The mattress was soft. The blankets were warm. The sheets smelled not chemically clean but faintly of flowers and her.
And lastly... He was simply existing beside her.
No awkwardness. No calculations.
No wondering if he was too close or too far away.
For the first time in a very long time, his thoughts had quieted.
He liked it. It felt safe.
For her part, she fell asleep faster than she had in years.
There was a steady presence beside her.
Warmth.
Safety.
For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't wake from nightmares. She simply slept.
Neither of them noticed how, over the course of the night, they slowly gravitated toward each other.
At first it was barely noticeable.
A hand resting lightly against another.
A shoulder brushing fabric.
Then, little by little, they shifted closer.
Zeno was actually asleep.
Not the light sleep he normally allowed himself, with his awareness still sharp enough to react to every sound and movement.
By morning they were sharing the same pillow.
Bodies resting comfortably against one another.
When they woke, it was gradual.
No sudden return to awareness.
No instinctive retreat.
They both became aware of their closeness at the same moment.
Of how their bodies were touching. Neither moved away.
"Good morning."
Her voice was rough from sleep.
Zeno shifted slightly so he could look down at her, and his breath caught.
He had seen her soaked by rain.
Seen wind tug at her hair and clothes.
Every single time she somehow still looked perfectly put together.
This was different.
Her hair was tousled from sleep. Her eyes still held traces of dreams. She looked peaceful.
Comfortable. At ease.
"You are beautiful."
His voice came out quieter than intended.
All he could do was stare.
Taking in every detail. Memorizing it.
And then a dangerous thought formed.
He wanted this again. He wanted this every day.
He wanted to wake up and find her next to him looking exactly like this.
The thought settled heavily inside his chest.
It only became worse when a faint blush spread across her cheeks and suddenly he understood.
He understood why Albert Wesker had willingly let her into his life.
Why he had kept her close.
Why he had protected her.
Why he had made sure nothing touched her.
Because she was everything.
They remained like that for a while longer.
Her heart thumped steadily inside her chest.
His occasionally stumbled whenever he noticed something new.
A stubborn strand of hair that refused to stay out of her face.
The way she smiled every time he brushed it back.
The way she unconsciously leaned into his touch.
The way her hand had found his beneath the blanket and intertwined their fingers.
These were the kinds of things ordinary people experienced every day.
Without fear.
Without expectations.
Without consequences.
And it made something ache inside his chest.
Because he knew his existence had never been built for things like this.
Maybe it never would be.
So he allowed himself to sulk in the moment.
To breathe her in.
To memorize everything.
Eventually they would have to get up.
Eventually reality would return.
The trajectory of his entire existence had not truly changed in a single night.
But for now, they were here.
And that was more than he had ever known enough to wish for.
Zeno x femaleReader
Chapter 8: Red String
Masterlist
There had been a time in her life when she believed everything happened for a reason. That life followed some invisible red string of fate, guiding you exactly where you were meant to be, at exactly the right time.
Then she met Wesker.
And suddenly it felt less like fate and more like his string had been cut too short, while she stood there trying to give him pieces of her own.
Now she stood here again. In front of his grave, or at least what she used as one. A fixed point for everything she still carried inside her. Somewhere to place the grief that never really left.
âI am struggling,â she said quietly, pacing in front of the worn, weathered stone. âI promised you I would find you in the next life. And I still mean that. I always will. But I am struggling to figure out if⊠maybe Zeno is part of that.â
She exhaled sharply and tilted her head back, her eyes lifting to the sky.
It was too blue, too clear.
The air was warm, soft against her skin in a way that felt almost insulting. It should not be this beautiful outside while she was standing here trying to piece together something inside her that had been broken years ago.
âItâs infuriating,â she went on, her voice tightening slightly. âI donât want him to be a replacement for you. You could never be replaced. Not by anyone.â
She let out a quiet, frustrated breath, her shoulders tensing.
âBut he isnât you,â she admitted. âHeâs softer. Less refined. More human in ways you would have hated to be.â
A small pause.
âAnd I really like that about him.â
A low groan slipped from her as she dropped her head forward, pressing her chin briefly to her chest.
âI like him. And thatâs dangerous,â she muttered. âBecause I donât want to hurt him. And I donât want to get hurt either, especially when he doesnât even understand whatâs happening.â
The thought lingered, something she would have to ask him later. Carefully. If she even found the right words.
âI know theyâre watching us,â she continued after a moment, her tone shifting again. âOf course they are. Theyâre terrified after everything that happened with you... of what he might become.â
A humorless laugh slipped out as she shook her head.
âItâs kind of ridiculous, isnât it? The impact I have. All because I fell in love with the most dangerous bioterrorist the world has ever seen. And hopefully ever will see. You donât need competition in that.â
That one actually made her smile, just a little, and the wind picked up around her, tugging at her hair like it was reacting to her joke.
âI donât want anything bad to happen to him,â she said more firmly. âNot more than already has. I donât even know the full extent of what they did to him. They made sure I never got access to his file.â
Her gaze settled on the gravestone again, as if she expected some kind of answer.
âBut I do like him.â
Silence.
âYou could at least send me a sign or something, Albert,â she added, her voice softening again. âA message from Hell. Just a little confirmation that Iâm not completely losing my mind here. Or that this is an even worse idea than the time I threatened to hide all of Krauserâs protein shakes because he annoyed me.â
That memory pulled a quiet laugh from her.
âI am losing it, arenât I?â
The gravestone remained still, unresponsive.
The wind quieted and or a moment, the entire cemetery seemed to fall into a strange, heavy silence.
She let out a slow breath.
âYou were never a man of many words,â she murmured. âMaybe Iâll just take the silence as your blessing.â
Her gaze softened as she looked at the stone.
The grief was still there. It always would be. But it had shifted, just enough to make space for something new. Something she had never expected to feel again.
Different but not unwelcome.
She stayed a few minutes longer, letting her thoughts settle, before finally turning to head back to her car.
Then she stopped.
Her eyes caught something on the ground near the driverâs side, and her brows drew together as she crouched down.
ââŠSo Hell does let you send messages,â she murmured under her breath.
A red string lay there.
Two ends, tied together in a firm knot, turning it into one continuous piece.
Carefully, she picked it up, half expecting the knot to come undone the moment she touched it.
It didnât.
It held.
She let out a quiet breath and slipped it into her pocket before getting into the car.
Her mind felt clearer. More certain.
More steady in what she wanted, and what she believed was the right thing to do.
----
âWe are being watched.â
Zenoâs voice broke the quiet as he stood in the middle of her quarters, his gaze moving curiously over everything around him. It was his first time in someone elseâs space, and it showed. He looked unsure, like he didnât quite know what he was supposed to do with himself.
âI know,â she replied easily. âBut I also know that if they donât like what weâre doing, Iâll be the one they deal with. Youâll be fine either way.â
She shrugged lightly.
âThey invested millions, maybe billions, into you. Not into me. So youâre worth more.â
When she turned toward him, one of his eyebrows was raised slightly.
âYou donât fear death.â
âOf course not,â she said without hesitation. âDeath is inevitable. Iâm honestly surprised Iâve made it this far. So I might as well make the best of it now.â
The lie came easily.
She knew if someone had asked her that same question the day before, she would have laughed in their face and told them she was just waiting to die.
Funny, what a visit to a grave and a piece of red string could change.
âI have a question,â she said after a moment. âAnd you donât have to answer if you donât want to, Zeno.â
He didnât respond.
He just looked at her, waiting.
Not granting permission. Just expecting the question.
She paused briefly, taking note of it before continuing.
âThey never let you outside. They never gave you a choice. But... did anyone ever tell you that you were doing well? Or hold you? Or make sure you understood that you matter beyond just being a clone and-â
âNo.â
He cut her off.
Firm. Immediate. Certain.
Her gaze snapped up to meet his, and for a moment neither of them moved, the weight of that single word settling heavily between them.
âIâm so sorry,â she said quietly, her voice faltering despite her effort to stay composed.
It wasnât hard to imagine. She had seen it before. The patterns, the conditioning, what it did to someone when they were raised only to become something greater than themselves.
But with Zeno, it felt even worse.
He had never been given space to fail. Never been given anything except expectations he was meant to exceed. Expectations built on the remains of someone else.
Her apology made him frown slightly before his expression smoothed out again. He looked like he wanted to dismiss it.
He knew it wasnât her fault.
She hadnât even known he existed a few weeks ago.
A part of him wondered, sometimes, what she would have done if she had known. If she had seen what they were planning.
If she would have stopped it.
Irrelevant.
âYou donât have to apologize for something that was never in your control,â he said, choosing his words carefully.
âItâs not about control,â she replied softly. âItâs about the fact that you deserved something different. Everyone deserves at least a hug every now and then.â
She didnât realize the weight of what she had said until she looked back up at him.
His expression had changed.
The mask wasnât perfect. Not like Weskerâs had been.
Something slipped through.
Something raw.
Something hurt.
âOh, Zeno...â she started gently.
What he said next made something inside her twist painfully.
âThe only time someone hugged me,â he said, his voice flat in a way that made it worse, âwas when they were holding me still to inject something into me.â
Her hands clenched at her sides without her noticing. Her jaw tightened as she bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from reacting the way she wanted to.
He had never experienced anything good from touch.
Nothing.
Every instinct he had was wired to expect pain.
âMay I hug you?â she asked after a moment.
She gave him a choice.
A real one.
He felt the difference immediately.
And it stirred something in him that a few weeks ago he would have dismissed as weakness. Something inconvenient.
Now it felt... different.
Not unpleasant.
âY⊠yes,â he answered, the slight break in his voice surprising even himself.
His body tensed instantly, bracing.
Waiting for the familiar.
Pain.
Dizziness.
The sharp, splitting headache that usually followed.
But none of it came.
Instead, she stepped closer and gently wrapped her arms around him.
Not to restrain him.
Just to hold him.
Warm.
Careful.
Safe.
It took him a few seconds to process it. To place it somewhere in his mind, to understand what this was supposed to be.
And then, slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his arms and returned the gesture.
Awkward at first.
She felt small like this, like he could easily hurt her if he wasnât careful.
And he knew he could but she wasnât afraid.
She stood there, holding him simply because she wanted to.
Gradually, the tension in his body eased.
His breathing steadied.
Not controlled.
Just calm.
This wasnât about control.
It was something else entirely.
Something new.
And he liked it.
They stayed like that for a while.
Neither of them rushing to move away.
On the counter nearby, the red string lay where she had placed it earlier.
The knot still holding.
And for the first time since his creation, Zeno felt something that came close to safety.
Chapter 7: Inevitibility
Masterlist
I apologise in advance. There has been a lot going on IRL and I am coping hard.
This Chapter purely has Wesker in it. So enjoy.
She knew they were being watched.
The time she had spent with Wesker had taught her exactly how the system worked. Who was valuable until a certain point. Who would be discarded the second they stepped outside the lines drawn for them.
And she knew she was deviating again, from everything expected of her.
She had not been brought back to The Connections after his death as some kind of reconciliation. There had been no desire to make amends, no sudden kindness. Someone had simply made sure she would not be alone afterward.
Somehow, that made it worse.
There were days, and more often nights, when she wished for solitude. No low hum of the facility. No endless drone of ventilation systems pushing cold recycled air through steel corridors. Just her, her thoughts, and the grief that never fully loosened its grip.
The day she saw the footage of him dying, something inside her broke.
Not loudly.
There was no screaming. No desperate pleading for someone to turn back time and change what had happened. He had made sure she was far away from Tricellâs reach, far from Excella, far from Africa itself.
Before his death, they had called.
A secret phoneline, impossible to trace.
The moment they hung up, she had known.
It had settled inside her like something ancient and inevitable, a dark certainty creeping through her veins. No matter what she did, no matter how badly she wanted to, she would never be able to stop what was coming.
And then she had watched him die.
Watched Chris Redfield win.
She held no grudge against Chris. She had sworn to herself she never would.
Albert Wesker had been, by every definition, the enemy. He had killed thousands, made millions suffer, and had planned to reshape the entire world into something built solely in his image.
That truth did not make losing him hurt any less.
âHow honest would you like this phone call to be tonight?â she had asked, leaning against the doorframe with the phone pressed to her ear.
There had been a pause before he answered.
For him, that hesitation alone was enough of an answer.
âI think very honest seems fitting.â
She had moved to the small living area of the safehouse and lowered herself onto the couch, exhaling slowly as though trying to steady something unraveling inside her.
âIâve been thinking,â she began, her voice careful. âAbout why youâre trying to change the world.â
A quiet huff of amusement came through the line.
âAre you psychoanalyzing me?â
âNo,â she said softly. âIâm understanding you in ways no one ever cared enough to.â
That made him fall silent.
A full minute passed.
And somehow, that silence hurt more than if he had laughed.
âI donât think youâre trying to destroy the world because you hate humanity,â she continued. âI think youâre trying to create one where you finally feel like you belong. After everything Spencer did. Everything Umbrella made you into. Everything they told you.â
She paused, gripping the phone tighter.
âI think this world has spent your entire life telling you that you do not belong in it.â
He did not interrupt.
âI think you want a world where you can just exist. Where you can feel human without constantly having to prove yourself. Without always needing to be seven steps ahead of everyone else.â
Her voice softened further.
âYouâre tired, Albert. And itâs okay to be tired.â
One thing she had learned quickly was that he rarely showed emotion.
Arrogance, yes, though she never counted that as emotion.
But honesty? Vulnerability?
Those things were buried so deeply inside him that even he seemed afraid to touch them.
âDo you think that-â
He stopped.
Too close.
Too dangerous.
She could hear the battle in the silence that followed. The years of conditioning, of control, of everything forced into him refusing to let the question fully form.
âAlbert,â she whispered. âAsk it. Please.â
Her voice was too gentle for a man like him.
And he knew it.
He knew he did not deserve someone who looked at him with adoration not because of his power, or his wealth, or the fear he inspired, but because she had somehow seen the man hidden beneath all the locked doors and still chosen to stay.
On the monitor before him, Chris and Shevaâs locations continued to update.
Getting closer.
âDo you think,â he finally asked, his voice quieter than she had ever heard it, âthat in another life, we would find each other again?â
Not if this life had gone differently.
Not if he had met her sooner.
Not if there had been another path.
In another life.
Her eyes closed.
He never asked questions like this.
He never entertained the idea of his own death.
And yet here he was.
âI think,â she said carefully, her voice trembling despite her efforts to steady it, âthat I would find you in any life. I found you in this one. Iâll find you in the next.â
The implication settled heavily between them.
Neither spoke for a long moment.
Two full minutes passed in silence, neither of them rushing to fill it.
Then his voice changed.
The softness vanished, tucked away behind the cold precision she knew so well.
âI need to go. Chris and Sheva are almost here. There are still things I need to take care of.â
âOkay.â
Her throat tightened around the word.
âDo you think... you could call me after?â
The rawness in her voice was impossible to hide.
And they both knew.
This was the last time they would ever hear each otherâs voices.
âDearheart.â
He ignored her question.
That was answer enough.
Outside, Chris and Sheva were dealing with what remained of Excella. Nothing was unfolding according to plan. Everything he had spent years building was slipping through his fingers.
âYes, Albert?â
He stared at the monitors.
At the cameras tracking his enemies.
And for one brief moment, every emotion he had spent a lifetime suppressing fought to surface.
But he was too far gone.
There was no undoing what he had done.
No path backward.
No redemption waiting for him.
There was only this ending.
âI love you.â
His voice broke on the words.
And on the other end of the line, he could hear her breath hitch.
Could almost feel her heart breaking.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
âI love you too, Albert,â she whispered, tears already falling. âIn this life, and the next, and every one after that.â
He closed his eyes.
She knew.
Of course she knew.
âGoodbye.â
The word was barely audible.
âGoodbye, Albert.â
The line went dead.
In the darkness of the safehouse, she slumped forward, elbows on her knees, the phone still clutched tightly in her trembling hands.
The tears came hot and relentless.
It felt as though her insides were burning, hollowed out by the crushing weight of helplessness.
There was nothing she could do.
There never had been.
The outcome had always been inevitable.
He had to die.
She understood that.
She only wished they had been given more time.
âIn the next one,â she whispered into the empty dark, her voice raw and shaking, âIâll find you again. And Iâll make sure you never have to suffer like this.â
Her words dissolved into the silence.
And somewhere, on the shores of Africa, Albert Wesker was fighting.
Summary: Wesker never really knew the exact day of his birth. So, you just kinda picked one and threw a party!
Fluff, with angsty undertones
Pretty please go easy on me, ya boy is trying to get back into the swing of writing.
Wesker felt like he was forgetting something. Which, was a fucking problem because Wesker never forgot anything. At all. Ever. That wasnât an exaggeration. He still remembered that bitch Mason Carter from the boys home that thought it would be funny to try and trip him in the mess hall, then had the audacity to tattle on Wesker when he retaliated by throwing his tray at Carter's head.
So then what was Wesker forgetting? Was it nothing? No, it couldnât be nothing. If it was, it wouldnât be bugging him so much. He got the samples sent out, made sure Ada got the debrief on her next mission for him, responded to the connections offer with a counter offer, what the hell was he-
Oh.
His eyes finally glanced down at the tiny calendar on his computer. It was August 25th. His birthday. Well, kinda his birthday. He didnât actually know the specific date of his birth, just the year- 1960. The actual date and month was never deemed important by the boy's home he was raised in, and when he finally did get his hands on his birth certificate- it just said the year. It was hardly a birth certificate, having the bare minimum information that Spencer decided was necessary to document. He shouldnât have been shocked. Birthdays were frivolous, after all.
No. It was you who decided his birthday was August 25th. It was still one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for him.
He still remembered walking into the R.P.D expecting just another day at the office. An expectation that was quickly squashed when he noticed how many officers were looking at him, while trying very very hard not to look like they were stealing glances. He went straight to Marvin, him being one of the more tolerable officers in the R.P.D, and giving him a reason to procrastinate going to the S.T.A.R.S office, where there was no doubt some catastrophe waiting for him.
âLieutenant Branagh,â Wesker said, hiding the smirk that came with watching Branagh stiffen with nerves, giving Wesker his full attention.
âCaptain Wesker?â Marvin asked.Â
âWhat should I expect when I walk into the S.T.A.R.S office today?â
Marvinâs eyes darted around the room, looking to focus on anything other than Wesker's face. âIâm not sure what you mean sir. Iâm assuming your regular S.T.A.R.S related duties?"
Wesker snorted out a humorless laugh. âBold of you to be both snarky and a bad liar in the same breath Branagh, Iâm impressed.â
Marvin looked confused, trying to catch the eyes of any of his coworkers for rescue. Of course this is the one time they were actually doing their jobs. âThank you, sir?â He asked more than said.
Wesker nodded, âYouâre quite welcome. Now, the truth, Lieutenant. I havenât got all day.âÂ
It was then Chris came around the corner, as if he was an angel answering Marvin's prayers. âCaptain!â Chris said, rushing over to Wesker, âThere you are! I almost thought you were actually late.â Chirs laughed.
Wesker gave Marvin one final, âthis isnât overâ look, then turned to Chris. âHave I ever once been late, Redfield?â
âNo, that's why I assumed you died.âÂ
That- took Wesker off guard. âYou assumed I died?â
Chris nodded as if it was perfectly normal to assume your boss died because they were five minutes late for work. âYeah, obviously,â Chirs, what? âAnyway, I need you in the office. We have aâŠsituation.â
âA situation?â Wesker asked, hoping for more context.
Chris nodded, âYeah, thereâs a package on your desk and weâre all arguing over whatâs inside of it.â
âThatâs hardly a situation, Redfield.â
âTell that to Forest. He keeps saying heâs going to open it, and he doesnât care that itâs a felony.â
Wesker let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. The members of S.T.A.R.S were the best of the best, that wasnât up for debate. But Wesker often wondered if they were also just giant middle schoolers pretending to be special forces agents, and doing a really fantastic job of it. âAlright, let's go.â
The walk was quiet, but not awkward. It was something Wesker always appreciated about Chris- that he saw the value in comfortable silence. It was a trait you actually shared with him. As they reached the office, Chris hesitated with his hand on the door. He turned back to Wesker. âHey, your duty weapon has the safety on, right?âÂ
That question instantly put Wesker on high alert. âWhy?â he asked, his tone leaving no room for shenanigans.Â
And yet, the shenanigans continued. âJust curious.â As Wesker opened his mouth to argue with his point man, Chris opened the door and rushed into the notably dark room.
Wesker followed without hesitation. âRedfield, what are yo-â
He didnât have time to finish his sentence. It didnât matter in the end anyway really, because Wesker instantly found out why Chris asked.Â
The lights snapped on, and every single member of S.T.A.R.S jumped out from their hiding place yelling âSURPRISE!!â And to Chrisâs credit, he knew his captain. Wesker's first instinct in fact was to put his hand on his gun.
Until he saw you, all puppy dog eyes and smiles, and proudly presenting a homemade cake. âHappy birthday Captain!â You grinned.Â
Regrettably, Wesker felt a warmth in his chest seeing you, but thankfully confusion was the prevailing emotion he felt- so he didnât have to think about the fuzzies for too long. âI think Iâm missing something.â He said as he took the cake from your hands, going and setting it on his desk. The S.T.A.R.S office was decked out for a birthday party, full of balloons and streamers. He found the âYou Were Born!â banner particularly amusing. Your handiwork, judging by the hand writing.Â
âWeâre throwing you a party!â Chris said, batting a balloon back and forth with Kenneth.
âA birthday party!â Kenneth so helpfully clarified.
Wesker knew he had been too lenient with them, letting them celebrate their birthdays and holidays. He made a note to not do it again. âYes, I see that,â He said, looking around, âIâm wondering why?â
You stepped up. âWell, everyone else gets a birthday party,â you explained, âit felt unfair to leave you out.â Reluctantly, he deleted his âno partiesâ mental note.
âDid you ever think maybe I wanted to be âleft out,â as you put it?â
You ignored him, âBut you refused to tell us when your birthday actually is. So, we just picked a day! As long as it happens at the same point in the year, itâs all the same right?â You said as you walked over to the snack table, grabbing a soda and bringing it to him.
Wesker looked down at the can to avoid your eyes. âHmm,â He muttered, thoughts running faster than he could process them, âAnd why today?â
You playfully elbowed him, giving him a grin, âBecause I wanted you to be at the start of Virgo season, but we were doing training when it actually started.â
Wesker blew a puff of air from his nose, finally opening the can. âVery well then.â As he spoke the words, the others cheered, happy to have permission to fuck around all day. You grinned, pulling him back over to the cake.Â
Jill was putting candles on it, five to be exact. She looked up at Wesker and smiled. âI wasnât sure exactly how old you were, but I figured you were at least five,â she shrugged. You ushered Wesker to his seat as Jill lit the candles and the other S.T.A.R.S. members filed into or around the entry of his relatively small office.Â
You pushed the cake closer to him. âI figured weâd just get the worst part of birthdayâs out of the way first.â You smirked with a wink.Â
Wesker was confused about what the hell you were talking about, until you and the rest of the group started singing. âHappy birthday to y-â
âNo! no, weâre not doing that.â Wesker said over the choir,
âOh come on!â you said, âDonât be like that.â
He shook his head. âI will allow the party, but I can not be expected to endure Richardâs singing.â
âHey.â Richard whined.
Rebecca put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but nodded her head in agreement with Wesker. âI kinda see where heâs coming fromâŠSorry Richard.â
âItâs fine. Iâve heard it before.â
âOkay fine,â you relented, âBut, at least make a wish?â Wesker hesitated, so you pushed further. âPlease? For me?â
He sighed and leaned forward, quickly blowing out the candles as everyone cheered him on. You smiled and hugged him, which in a rare act of affection he returned. Even if it was only with one arm. âSo whatcha wish for?â You whispered to him as Jill cut the cake and the party started to commence.Â
Wesker gave you a sly smile. âSadly, I canât tell you my dear, or else it wonât come true.â It was really just a cover for the fact that he didnât wish for anything, because why would he, but apparently it was an effective cover, because you gave him a playful pat on the shoulder before joining the others.
The party was one of the few purely positive memories Wesker had. Chris played a few songs on his guitar, including a rather decent cover of The Man Who Sold the Word- Wesker's favorite song. Jill set up essentially an arm wrestling tournament just so she could humble those stupid enough to take her up on the challenge. Rebecca, as sweet as she was, made sure everyone ate and even brought some leftover cake to the more tolerable cops on the force.Â
For the most part though, it was just the team being together. A bonding experience, with them laughing together, and teasing each other, and relaxing together. Like a family. Wesker didnât like thinking about it now, or then, but that was probably the closest he ever got to being a part of a family. A family he would later single handedly bring to its grave. He probably should have felt worse about that than he did.
Looking back, he liked to think he felt the same then as he did now- indifferent. But late at night, when he was left with nothing but his own thoughts, the grip of guilt he felt back then was almost enough to make him feel a twinge of it today. And if he was being viscerally honest with himself, heâd quietly acknowledge the fact he missed you.
âWell?â You asked all those years ago, looking up with eyes that he still saw in his dreams.
âWell what?â He asked. Wesker had retreated to his office, never having really been one for crowds. For the most part, the other S.T.A.R.S members respected his space and continued with their festivities. You on the other hand went to find him the moment he vanished. He wished that bugged him more. He wished he liked your attention less.Â
You snapped him out of his spiral. âWell, what do you think of the party?â You asked.
âI think itâs a waste of time.â Albert shrugged, choosing his truths carefully.Â
You shrugged, going and sitting on his desk. If it was anyone else, Wesker would have deemed them rude and snapped at them to get down. But, it wasn't anyone else was it? âAnd yet you still let it happen,â you hummed, âand why is that?â
Wesker thought for a moment, trying to choose his words carefully. âYou clearly put a lot of effort into this. It would have been bad for morale if I shut it down.â Was the half-truth he ended up settling on.
âRight.â Your tone made it clear you didnât believe him. âSoooâŠâ
âSo?â
âJust when exactly is your birthday captain?â
âToday.â He said without much thought.
You laughed and shook your head. âNo, for real. When is your actual birthday?â
âItâs today.â Albert reiterated. You were right, in the end it didnât really matter what day he was born on. And the look on your face at that moment was well worth the white lie.
Your mouth was basically on his desk. âNo way!â You gasped, âI guessed right?!âÂ
A ghost of a smile graced Albert's lips. âI was shocked too. For a moment, I thought you must have somehow stolen my birth certificate.â
âYouâre kidding!â
âI donât kid my dear.â He said with a gentle shake of his head. Did you actually guess his birthday right? Hell if he knew- but probably not. That being said, you were the only person who had ever cared enough to give him one. So accurate or not, he was going to keep it. If for no other reason, than to remember that at one point in his life, he had someone who cared enough to celebrate him.
You laughed, staring at him in disbelief. âHoly shit, really?! That's so funny, oh my god, I gotta tell the others!â You announced as you hopped off his desk.
He didnât like that idea for some reason. âBe my guest dear,â He said, leaning back in his desk chair, âBut Iâll deny it. No one will ever believe you.â
Your laughter almost instantly turned into a pout. âWhat?! Why!â You demanded.
Albert simply shrugged. âIts more fun for me this way honestly.â
You scoffed, jumping back into his desk. âYouâre a dick.â you accused.
âIf you say so, but I must disagree. I think Iâm perfectly lovely.â
âYeah right,â You snorted with a shake of your head. âWell, the least you could do is give me a sucker for my troubles.â You playfully pouted.
Wesker rolled his eyes, regretting that he ever told you he kept sweets in his desk. Even so, he pulled the drawer open, only to stop when his eyes caught a glimpse of colorful paper. His eyes shot to you, your poorly hidden smile confirming what he suspected. âWhat is this?â He asked.
âI believe that is a desk sir.â You nodded, very proud of your answer.Â
Albert rolled his eyes, grabbing the small box and holding it in front of you as evidence. âItâs a bit small to be a desk, in my experience.â He said flatly.
âOh wow, thatâs crazy, who put that there?â You asked, not even attempting to be sneaky. âYou should open it, it looks important.â
Albert sighed as if it was a giant inconvenience to hide the fact he was actually really curious to know what his first ever birthday gift was going to be. He carefully undid the wrapping, much to your dismay, and revealed the box for a zippo.
âOpen it!â You prompted. Normally that would have made him put the box right back in his desk, but lucky for you he was curious.Â
Opening it revealed a custom made Zippo, brushed chrome and engraved with the S.T.A.R.S crest. He flipped it to the back, only to find more engraving, small cursive text along the bottom of the lighter.
âS.T.A.R.S Never Dieâ
No one would be able to tell by his face, but something about the phrase hit Albert with a tidal wave of dread. One Wesker quickly shook off.
You dropped a bit. âOh no. Itâs too cheesey, isnât it? Or morbid? Ugh, Chris said it was a stupid thing to put-â
âNot at all.â Wesker cut you off, âI actually find itâŠcharming. Comforting in a way.â
âReally? You like it?â You asked.Â
âI do.â Albert confirmed, flicking open the lighter to make sure it had fuel in it. Pleased to find that it in fact did, he gave you a rare warm smile. âCare to join me for a cigarette break?â he asked.
You grinned as you jumped down from his desk. âAnd here I was starting to think youâd never ask.â The two of you walked out to the smoking area of the RPD, and as you did you bumped your shoulder playfully into his.
âHappy birthday Captain.â
đŹđŹđŹ
Wesker leaned back in his office chair, as if leaning back away from the memory. That was all so long ago, and yet even now Wesker found himself living with your ghost. Which, was fucking ridiculous, considering you were still alive and therefore there was no ghost to live with. You just absolutely despised him now. Not that he could really blame you for that.
He sighed as he sat up and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of red 100s and a zippo, engraved with the S.T.A.R.S crest. He lit his cigarette, leaning back once again as he took a long, deep drag. He let the nicotine do its magic to his nervous system as he looked up at the tile ceiling. âHappy birthday. Asshole.â He muttered to himself, as he finally went back to his computer to continue his work.
Not the dream.
Not the memory.
Not the way it still lingers beneath his skin like something that doesnât belong and yet refuses to leave.
He buries it the way he has been taught.
Filed away. Contained.
Irrelevant, unless it serves a greater purpose.
The following day unfolds exactly as it should.
The same sterile hallways. The same recycled air filtering endlessly through the vents. The low, constant hum of machinery threading through every corridor like a second heartbeat. Voices remain distant, controlled. Footsteps echo, but never linger.
Everything is in its place.
Everything as it should be.
And yet there is a subtle dissonance now.
Something just slightly off rhythm.
Like a system running perfectly on the outside⊠but no longer feeling right beneath the surface.
He notices it in the pauses.
In the moments where his thoughts take a fraction too long to settle. In the way his attention drifts. Not outward, not aimlessly, but inward.
Toward something he cannot quite isolate.
âYouâre quieter than usual.â
Her voice reaches him before her presence does.
Another deviation.
He looks up immediately.
A little too quickly.
If she notices, she doesnât say anything.
âI am within normal parameters.â
The response comes without hesitation. Clean. Precise. Practiced.
She watches him for a moment.
Not like the others do. Not searching for flaws, not measuring his response against expectation.
She looks at him like there is something there worth noticing beyond that.
âWe really need to work on your vocabulary.â
He blinks.
Just once.
And for a brief, unfamiliar moment he doesnât have a response.
She notices.
A quiet chuckle slips from her, soft and unforced.
âCome on,â she says, already turning slightly. âFollow me.â
There is hesitation.
Brief. Barely there.
But real.
He should ask where they are going.
He should question it.
He should refuse.
Instead, he follows.
His attention drifts. Not to their surroundings, not to potential surveillance points or inefficiencies but to her.
The way a loose strand of hair falls forward before she tucks it back behind her ear. The slight tension in her shoulders, like she has already made a decision and is fully aware it will have consequences. The way her eyes catch the cold overhead light and still manage to reflect something warmer.
They move through the corridors in silence.
He notes the direction automatically.
Less populated sectors. Fewer cameras. Areas that serve no immediate function in his daily routine.
âThis path is not efficient,â he states after a while.
âI know.â
No justification.
No attempt to correct it.
He watches her for a second longer than necessary.
Then follows anyway.
They stop in front of a door he has never registered before.
Or perhaps was never meant to register.
It blends into the wall, unmarked and unremarkable. Easy to overlook unless you know itâs there.
She hesitates just briefly.
Then pushes it open.
The change is immediate.
Cold air rushes past them, sharp and unfiltered.
It carries something unfamiliar.
Something raw.
Zeno steps forward slowly.
He doesnât notice the way his hand brushes briefly against her side; light, almost instinctive, like he is anchoring himself without realizing it.
The space opens.
No walls.
No ceiling.
Above him, the sky stretches endlessly.
Heavy, layered in shifting gray.
For a moment he forgets how to breathe.
Something touches his skin.
Light.
Cold.
Again.
Zeno lifts his hand slightly, watching as droplets land against his skin, gather, and slide down before falling away.
There is no pattern.
No uniformity.
Nothing regulating the way they fall.
âThatâs...â
The word falters.
Catches somewhere between thought and voice.
She steps up beside him.
Close, but not touching and smiles.
âRain.â
The word is simple.
It shouldnât matter.
And yet something in him reacts to it in a way he doesnât understand.
He tilts his head upward.
The sky feels too vast. Too open. Too uncontained for anything he has ever learned about it.
The droplets keep falling.
Catching in his hair. On his skin. Against his lips.
Then the wind follows.
It moves around him, tugging at his clothes, pressing against him without intention or adjustment.
It does not react.
It does not correct itself.
It simply exists.
ââŠItâs inefficient.â
His voice is quieter than he has ever heard it.
Less certain.
âYes,â she says softly. âIt is.â
They stand next to each other, both looking up.
The rain falls steadily around them, soft but persistent.
âYou donât have to understand it,â she says after a moment. âOr try to make sense of it. It just⊠exists. Rain, wind, snow. The weather doesnât need a reason.â
A small pause.
Then, quieter she adds.
âBut you deserve to be able to see it.â
Something in him tightens at that.
Deserve.
He doesnât deserve anything.
He was not made for that.
He was created for something greater. More precise. More controlled.
Better than what came before.
Not this.
Not standing on a rooftop, in the rain, next to her.
Her fingers against his sleeve.
The memory presses in before he can stop it.
Zeno exhales slowly, forcing his focus back to the present. To the cold air, the steady rhythm of the rain, the pressure of the wind against him.
Anything but that.
They remain there in silence.
And for once he does not try to categorize what he is feeling.
----
Somewhere deeper within the facility, the silence is different.
Controlled.
Observed.
Shadows move the way they always do.
Unseen. Unquestioned.
âIs she compromising him?â
A pause.
Measured.
âYes.â
âShould she be eliminated?â
Another pause.
Slightly longer this time.
One of them tilts his head, gaze fixed on the monitor in front of him.
Two figures stand on the rooftop.
Still.
Unaware.
Rain distorts the image, but not enough.
âNo. Not yet.â
A quiet shift in tone.
âPerhaps she can be used.â
The other figure adjusts slightly.
âAnd if she becomes a problem?â
A beat.
Cold.
Certain.
âThen she will be removed.â
A brief pause.
âWe donât need another incident.â
The words settle heavily in the room.
âUnderstood.â
The shadows remain.
Watching.
Always watching.
Because she was never a variable anyone accounted for.
Not then.
Not now.
And yet she does exactly what she did before.
She stands beside someone who was never meant to be understood.
Her voice is light, teasing but thereâs something softer underneath it, something that lingers.
Sheâs leaning against the desk, papers stacked in careful piles behind her. A small smile plays on her lips, not forced, not polite; real.
âI am observing.â
His voice is low, smooth. Controlled, as always.
She huffs a quiet laugh at that, shaking her head.
âYou always say that,â she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. âMakes it sound like Iâm some kind of experiment.â
Thereâs a pause.
Not long but noticeable.
âYou are.â
The answer is flat. Honest.
It should sting but it doesnât.
Instead, something in her softens. Her shoulders, the line of her mouth. Like she hears something in it that no one else would.
âThen youâre a terrible scientist,â she says under her breath. âYou keep getting distracted.â
That lands.
Not visibly. Not in any way most people would notice.
But itâs there.
A flicker beneath the surface. A crack in something otherwise seamless.
His eyes narrow just a fraction. A second too long before he answers. A breath that comes just slightly slower than it should.
He steps closer.
Not abruptly but enough that she has to tilt her head up to keep looking at him.
âYou assume distraction.â
âThatâs what it looks like.â
âIt is not.â
The words come easily.
Too easily.
And they both know itâs not true.
Not because of what he says it but because of the hesitation before it.
Her fingers brush against his sleeve.
Careful. Light.
Like sheâs testing the edge of something sheâs not supposed to touch.
âYouâre doing it again,â she whispers.
âDoing what?â
He doesnât move away.
Doesnât pull back.
âThe thing where you pretend you donât feel anything.â
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then his hand moves.
Slow. Deliberate.
He catches her wrist before she can pull away. Not tight, not restraining, just enough to stop her.
âYou misunderstand.â
She doesnât resist.
Doesnât look afraid.
If anything, she leans into it, just slightly.
âThen explain it to me.â
Her voice is soft.
Too soft for this room. Too soft for him.
Silence stretches between them. Longer this time.
He can feel it. Something building, something unfamiliar. It doesnât fit. Not with the precision, the control, the structure heâs built everything on.
Itâs messy.
Uncontained.
Human.
His grip shifts.
Not holding her back anymore.
Holding her.
And when he speaks, itâs quieter than anything before.
âI do not pretend.â
She studies his face, searching.
For a moment, it feels like even the air stills. Like everything is waiting to see what happens next.
Then she says softly.
âYouâre really bad at lying.â
That should be the end of it.
It should snap everything back into place. Distance. Control. Silence.
It doesnât.
He exhales. Barely there, but real.
And then he leans in.
The kiss isnât rushed.
It isnât desperate.
Itâs controlled. Measured. Like everything else he allows himself.
And yet thereâs something underneath it.
Something that doesnât belong to logic. Doesnât belong to a man like him.
She melts into it like sheâs been waiting.
Like she knew this was there, even if he refused to acknowledge it.
Her hands slide up, resting against his chest.
And there it is.
His heartbeat.
Strong. Steady.
Faster than it should be.
----
Zeno wakes with a sharp inhale, like heâs been dragged back to the surface.
The sheets are tangled around him, twisted tight like heâs been fighting something in his sleep.
For a second, nothing makes sense.
Then the ceiling comes into focus. Cold, sterile, wrong.
The lab.
Not that room.
Not her.
His heart is racing. Too fast. Too loud. It doesnât feel like it belongs to him.
ââŠThat wasnât mine.â
His voice is quiet. Unsteady in a way he doesnât like.
Zeno pushes himself up, pressing a hand against his chest like he can force it to slow down.
It doesnât help.
Because the feeling is still there.
That echo.
That connection.
Her.
Wesker.
That moment.
It lingers in his body like something remembered instead of something seen.
And thatâs what makes it worse.
He wasnât there.
It wasnât his.
So why did it feel like he was the one standing in front of her?
Like he was the one holding her wrist, feeling the warmth of her skin under his fingers?
Like he was the one she looked at like that?
With trust. With something dangerously close to certainty.
Zeno exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.
No.
Those arenât his thoughts.
Not his emotions.
They belong to Wesker.
They have to.
ââŠWhy would he keep that?â
The question slips out before he can stop it.
Not data.
Not strategy.
Not power.
That.
Her.
Zenoâs gaze drops, unfocused.
A memory imprint shouldnât feel like this. It shouldnât bleed into him, shouldnât sit this deep under his skin.
And yet it does.
Because it wasnât just a memory.
It was something Wesker chose to keep.
Not a weapon.
Not an advantage.
But a person.
Someone who didnât belong in his world. Someone who didnât try to reshape it or control it.
Someone who just... stood beside him.
And saw something in him no one else ever did.
Or maybe something no one else ever wanted to see.
youâre getting ask if you used AI btw bc you had the ânot yetâ in your last chapter of the fix which is like a very AI writing thing. Iâm not saying is AI, just letting you know!
Really enjoying the fic so far đ
Ahhhh I see! Glad you enjoy the Fic though.
But yeah, no use of AI. English is not my main language but I definitely don't use AI.
Thank you for letting me know though! I will learn from it for the future chapters to avoid to sound like an AI. đ„ș
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