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I can't lose you, babe (Albert Wesker x f!Reader)

Tags: No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert; Blood and Violence; Gun Violence; Canon-Typical Violence; Presumed Dead; Grief/Mourning; Crying; Heavy Angst; Unplanned Pregnancy; Single Parents; Kidnapping; Non-Consensual Drug Use; POV Alternating; Established Relationship; Mutual Pining; Albert Wesker Lives; Soft Albert Wesker; Protective Albert Wesker; Reunions; Getting Back Together; Family Feels; Happy Ending

Word Count: 17,754

Summary: Your and Albert's paths diverge when he takes the Alpha Team to Spencer's Mansion while you go off on your own mission. Fate conspires to keep you apart: you go missing and get declared dead, Albert is assumed to have died in the Mansion. Neither fact is true, but neither of you know that.

Going deep into hiding while carrying Albert's baby isn't how you envisioned your life to go, but you make do. That is, until you get kidnapped by someone from your past several years later and your daughter finally gets to meet the father she only heard about. And Albert? He isn't going to let you die on him for the second time - he is going to get you back, no matter what it takes.

Also on AO3: Here

Requested by anon here

a/n: don't come for me if you're a gideon fan pls

The explosion knocks you aside so forcefully that all the air leaves your lungs all at once as your back hits the ground harshly. You wheeze, holding your ribs and hoping nothing is broken, as the facility you were sent to investigate – ostensibly because of a string of recent disappearances, while in reality Umbrella is just trying to take out the competition again and sent you to gather intelligence from the company's private servers – goes down in a pile of rubble and flames.

The plan was easy – get in using your clearance to ‘investigate’ the premises as a S.T.A.R.S. officer, do some corporate espionage under the guise of looking at their employee records, then get out with the promise of calling them for a follow-up on the investigation should it become necessary. Only… neither you, nor Albert, nor Umbrella for that matter counted on the competition getting wise about the true motive behind your presence here nor Umbrella's involvement in the disappearances that gave you a reason to be here to begin with.

Their research facility blowing up sky high was not, however, in either of your plans, if you had to guess.

You barely made it out with seconds to spare. All your equipment, including your badge, walkie-talkie, and gun are somewhere in the rubble – the mercenary these people hired to take you out wasn't out to play and it took everything in you to escape him with just a few cuts and a lot of bruises, even if you had to sacrifice your stuff in order to get away.

Now here you stand, leaning up against a tree for support, as the flames lick ever higher in front of you, dark smoke rising up and choking the evening sky in its entirety.

What to do?

The research facility you're watching burn down to a crisp was placed, rather originally in your humble opinion, in the middle of fucking nowhere on the edge of a forest about an hour outside of Raccoon City. Your car is useless, having been parked too close to the building, and no other vehicles are in sight. You can't call for backup either, not with your only source of communication lying somewhere between the pile of rubble and the flames in front of you.

You heave a deep sigh of exhaustion and annoyance as you realise your only option is to pick a direction and walk. Civilisation is bound to jump at you at some point, right? If nothing else, stupid tourists are always hiking alone in places they aren't supposed to, maybe one of them will have a satellite phone on them that you can borrow.

As you begin the slow walk in the direction you're pretty sure you came from – hard to be certain given the mild concussion you suspect you're sporting and the rapidly falling darkness making everything look the same – your mind drifts towards home and, more importantly, towards Albert.

You've known Albert Wesker for about five years now, ever since you started working for Umbrella as a young prodigy researcher. At first, your run-ins were minimal and infrequent, both of you working on separate things and very rarely having cause to acknowledge each other for more than pleasantries. But a little over a year ago you were assigned to the Tyrant Project as an assisting partner to Drs. Wesker and Birkin, as well as co-opted as a member of the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team Wesker has been captaining since its inception, and that's when everything changed.

The cold and aloof man you thought Albert to be was actually deeply funny in a dry yet ridiculous way. Long nights spent working overtime in the labs with him led to you doubling over in laughter with cheap takeout in your lap, choking on your noodles, while Albert picked at his spring rolls with an entirely too self-satisfied smirk on his face at making you lose composure.

Boring days spent writing useless reports and investigating nonsensical cases while trying to act like you had no history with Captain Wesker were followed by geeking out over samples together in the evening – while trying to very seriously pretend like you both had more composure and professionalism than that – and gossiping about which member of S.T.A.R.S. you found most aggravating to work with.

It was gradual and it almost snuck up on you both, but slowly yet surely your professional relationship transitioned into one of deep, mutual respect and infatuation. Around three-four months ago, when neither of you could take the unspoken tension anymore, it culminated in you jumping his bones in the middle of the lab one day and Albert taking you back to his place so he could ravish you in all the ways he'd been fantasising about for months up until that point.

It's new and maybe hasty, but you love him. And you know that he feels the same even if he can't say it – it's in his eyes when he wakes up to find you still in bed next to him the morning after you went back to his place together, it's in the arm he wraps around your waist when you're walking down the street, deftly pulling you closer just in time to avoid getting knocked over by a speeding kid on his bike. It's the little things and the big ones and you honestly think, in the moments when you allow yourself to imagine a future beyond Umbrella and beyond Raccoon City, that you've found the love of your life in him. That you wouldn't mind spending the rest of your life at his side, whatever that life might look like. You'd follow him to the ends of the universe if he asked.

Which is why you're very loudly cursing Umbrella out under your breath as your tired feet trudge through the darkening woods in search of some proof of civilization in order to get help.

The plan was to go on this last mission so as not to arouse suspicion, then cut your losses after Alpha Team's mission at the Spencer Mansion concluded. Albert wanted to use this opportunity to gather some data on the Tyrant you've worked so hard on while also getting his hands on as much insider Umbrella knowledge as he could and you – well, you just follow wherever Albert goes. You can recognise a sinking ship when you see one so you would've packed your metaphorical bags and jumped overboard regardless, but with Albert having a more solid plan in place, you were down to cut and run together after fucking Umbrella over one last time.

But now with this mission going pear shaped in the most wonderful of ways you won't be able to do that. Alpha Team is probably in the middle of getting killed up in that Mansion by now and providing Albert with all the combat data for the Tyrant that he needs – you were supposed to be done here hours ago and be ready to leave that wretched city as soon as he returned. Now, you'll be lucky if you don't get killed by a wild animal by the time the sun rises over the horizon.

The night is cold even in the middle of summer and the oppressive darkness doesn't help. You trudge through the forest tiredly, grateful that at least your flashlight survived your showdown with the mercenary, and try to think about Albert's warm hands rubbing feeling into your exposed arms or his hot breath against your neck, sending shivers of another kind down your spine. You miss him. You wish you were back at his apartment, snuggled up with him on the couch and watching bad Spanish soap operas on TV while making fun of the ridiculous plots, not freezing to death and trying to ignore the aching in your entire body after a surprise assassination attempt.

By the time you run into another human soul you feel like a stiff breeze could knock you over and out. Your salvation comes in the form of a single mother commuting to the next city over from Raccoon City so she can drop off her kid at her ex husband's. The idea of going all the way there and then back to Raccoon City isn't exactly your idea of fun, but Albert doesn't pick up when you try calling him from the woman's phone and you don't want to risk waiting around for hours on the side of the road for the next person headed in RC's direction willing to give you a ride.

Grateful but exhausted beyond words, you accept the woman's help and climb in the back seat next to her daughter, where you fall asleep and become dead to the world as soon as the car starts driving again.

The kind woman letting you hitch a ride with her doesn't ask too many questions on the way back. You make small talk just to be polite and she seems more than happy to ramble for the hour it takes to get back to Raccoon City from where she dropped her kid off. Hearing her talk about said kid, though, captures your unwilling attention. From the way she talks about her daughter you'd think that kid invented goodness in the world. It makes you wonder…

You've never given children too much thought until now, honestly. You weren't the type to dream about that white picket fence fantasy as a little girl, more focused on your own stuff and on planning your academic future instead. Albert has never brought up the idea either, one way or another, and you haven't considered the possibility of creating a family of your own with him until now. Obviously, now is not the time for children, but your mind can't help but wander towards a far-off future where your last name might be Wesker and whatever house you're living in with Albert is filled with not just you and him, but a tiny combination of the two of you as well.

You don't hate the idea as much as you thought you would. Not if it's with him.

You get the woman to drop you off a few blocks away from Albert's place, thanking her for the ride and promising to be more responsible in the future about having a ride home after going hiking alone – weak excuse, but she seemed to buy it – but when you get within eyesight of his building you have to stop dead in your tracks, feeling your heartbeat get stuck somewhere in the middle of your throat.

Those are Umbrella soldiers. Two SUVs are parked in front of his building, a dozen or so men milling about and waiting for someone to buzz them in. You don't know what time it is – sometime in the afternoon, if you had to guess – but Albert should be back from the Mansion by now. And Umbrella should be nowhere near his residence.

One of the hired guns lifts his head right at that moment and, unfortunately, spots you from across the street. He yells something you can't make out, then lifts his gun and aims the scope right at you. You gasp and turn on your heel then start running like you've never run before, flinching when the building facade next to you explodes in a shower of debris as a spray of bullets hits the place you were just in.

You use every bit of combat experience and stealth training you have to confuse your pursuers and lose them in a crowd before doubling back in the direction of your own apartment. You haven't been living there full-time for weeks now, not since Albert suggested moving some of your things into his place – for convenience, he said aloofly, since his apartment was closer to the R.P.D. – but you still have important stuff stashed away there, like a packed bag for emergencies and a spare weapon. Umbrella knows your address, but they also know of your involvement with Albert, so you hope that they won't think to come here just yet or if they do, that they'll think it too obvious a place for you to go to immediately after nearly being gunned down in the streets by their own men.

You observe your apartment building and the surrounding area for five minutes, give or take, before you decide that either it's safe to go inside or the risk is worth it anyway. You nod in the direction of the doorman but hurry up the stairs before he can wonder at your disheveled appearance and ask any awkward questions.

Your apartment is dark and, for all intents and purposes, seems empty. The air is stale since you haven't been by to air the place out in a while, but at least it comforts you with the proof that nobody has been circulating fresh air in here since you last visited. You don't turn any lights on. On muscle memory alone, you navigate your place and find the bag you stashed a long time ago in your bedroom, checking to make sure you have everything you need before pulling the gun and knife out of their compartments and stashing them in their holsters on your person.

You're straightening up, ready to shoulder the bag and hightail it out of here before trouble arrives, when the floor creaks and you hear your front door clicking shut. The noise is nearly silent – or would've been if you weren't on high alert and in survival mode right now.

You swivel around in one swift move and have your arm raised, knife at the ready, just in time to parry the hit that would have knocked you out cleanly. An Umbrella soldier greets you but before you can think or say anything else, she starts attacking. All your mind can focus on is eliminating the threat after that, leaving no room for asking questions.

While you're grappling with the woman in front of you, another soldier emerges from behind her – probably the one who closed the door behind him – and you have to kick the woman away from you and dive behind the dresser to avoid being filled with bullet holes. You whip your pistol out of its holster and return fire, but the weapon gets knocked out of your hands by a swift kick from the woman you were just fighting. You yell in pain and frustration then tackle her to the ground, grunting while you parry every other hit from her but raining fists down on her face in retaliation. A well placed punch to the jaw has her stunned for just a moment and it's just long enough for you to pull your knife out once more and stab her viciously in the neck. She gasps, gurgling wetly as she chokes on her own blood, then goes limp as you remove the knife from her neck and let her blood spray everywhere before jumping off of her and turning back around to face the other remaining soldier.

Chest heaving and covered in blood, you come face to face with the barrel of your own gun. The sight brings you up short for the moment and you freeze.

“Come quietly now or I pull the trigger.”

You stare up at the man cross-eyed for a moment, giving the illusion that you're thinking about it, before you sneer at him and spit on his shoes in response.

“I prefer option number three,” you reply before jamming your knife in his wrist at the same as you push the hand away from you. He presses the trigger on reflex and the gun goes off uncomfortably close to your ear, deafening you for God knows how long, but you don't have time to spare a thought for that. In the same movement, you yank the knife out of his wrist and kick him in the balls where you know their armor is shit, then throw the already bloody knife straight at his face where it lodges itself in his left eye. He screams, stumbling back into the wall, but before he can fully wrap his hand around the handle to yank the knife out – bad idea, at any rate – you drag him forward by his vest, knock him to the ground, then place your boot on top of the handle and stomp. The knife goes all the way in with a squelching, crunching sound that grates on your good ear, the man screams some more, then he falls silent. He probably passed out from the pain, if you had to guess, but you don't waste too much time thinking about that.

Every single bone or joint in your body protests as you straighten up. You yank your vest off and use it to wipe away as much of the blood on your person as possible, then throw it to the ground and grab a baggy hoodie from the closet and yank it on over your undershirt. You leave the knife where it is, unwilling to waste time trying to yank it out of that idiot’s face, but scoop your gun up from the ground and stash it under your hoodie, kept out of sight but where you can quickly pull it out and use it should you have to. Then, without wasting any more time, you grab your emergency bag and leave the apartment as quickly as you entered it.

You go up to the roof instead of going down, knowing that if these two chucklefucks followed you inside then there are bound to be more Umbrella goons waiting for you downstairs. The rooftop is blessedly empty but you make sure to prop a wooden plank against the doorway and jam the biggest brick you can find against it as well, for good measure.

One thing you've always hated about this apartment building is how close the next one is to you. You've often argued with the bastard whose window is right opposite yours because he always turns the music on at the highest volume possible after midnight and leaves the windows wide open – even with yours firmly shut, getting away from the noise is impossible.

But now, that bad architectural design is working in your favour. Swiftly and without hesitation, you make your way to the edge of your building and nimbly hop over to the rooftop of the neighbouring one. Once up there, you jump down to the fire escape, the rooftop access door here being firmly shut, and in a few quick jumps you find yourself back on solid ground, landing right next to the dumpsters behind the building.

A couple of stray cats startle at your sudden appearance and hiss at you in disgruntlement, but you simply roll your eyes at them and start walking.

Despite it being the end of July, the grey hood of your hoodie goes up so it can hide your disheveled appearance better and, hopefully, help you not be as recognisable. You look towards your apartment building out of the corner of your eye as you walk casually in the opposite direction and you aren't surprised to see the same Umbrella goons from Albert's apartment standing around in front of yours. Thankfully, you pass by unnoticed this time around and manage to get away and out of their sight successfully.

You walk like this, paranoid and on your guard while trying to seem relaxed and unbothered, for a few more blocks. Finally, when you feel like your body might give out from all the strain you’ve put it through in the past twenty-four hours, you reach a small parking lot in a residential area where a nondescript Toyota Camry is waiting for you. You crouch down next to it, bending your arm under the car and patting it down until you find what you're looking for, then emerge victorious with your prize: the car keys.

You unlock the car, throw the bag in the passenger seat, then get behind the wheel.

You let your forehead rest against it for a few, precious moments, while you take a few deep breaths and try to get yourself under control. You're exhausted even with the brief nap you caught in that woman's car earlier. You likely have a couple of bruised ribs, some cuts and scrapes, about a million bruises all across your body, and the mother of all nauseas. And you're worried about Albert.

Honestly, if you weren't so stressed and tired, you'd probably be crying like a baby right about now, but fortunately for you, your body can't even handle that at the moment. Instead, you take a few deep breaths while trying to ground yourself in the present, then lift your head back up and put the keys in the ignition.

You pull out of the parking lot then take off out of there without a backwards look, making for the exit out of Raccoon City and thinking only of getting as far away as possible, praying to whatever might be listening or watching that Albert is safe, and hoping that you'll get to reunite in a few days at most and laugh together about Umbrella's failed attempt to kill you over a glass of wine at some fancy restaurant somewhere sunny and foreign of his choice.

Your knuckles tighten on the steering wheel and make the bones jut out with the strength with which you're gripping it. You have to hope it will happen, otherwise you'll go insane thinking of the alternative. Your eyes stray over to the bag sitting innocently in the passenger seat, the phone you stashed there whose number only Albert knows remaining worryingly silent. He's okay. He's fine. He has to be. If you keep repeating that to yourself it might even turn out to be true eventually.

***

Two days you spend jumping from cheap hotel to even cheaper motel, waiting for any sign of life from Albert. When nothing happens, you give in to your worry and desperation and find the nearest public library in whatever small town you've holed up in today and hack into the R.P.D.’s database for any clue about the fate of the S.T.A.R.S. team and their captain.

What you find chills you to the bone.

Dead.

Albert Wesker, PhD, S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team Captain, and your boyfriend, is dead. Killed in action. Body never recovered.

You stare blankly at the computer for a long time, the black words on white background swimming in front of your eyes and failing to make any more sense than they did the first time you read them with every minute that passes. You only wake up to the reality of your situation and future when the screensaver comes on and forcibly breaks you out of your stupor.

Silent tears track down your cheeks and leave a fiery path behind but you wipe them away quickly and blink the wet spots out of your eyes. You click through the recent reports uploaded to the police database to see that you've also been declared missing, presumed dead, while most of the S.T.A.R.S. members have also been killed in action: among the survivors you can count Officers Redfield and Valentine, as well as Burton and Chambers. Your eyes narrow momentarily at those names, cursing them silently in your head and wondering what kind of world you live in where a stupid, naive rookie like Chambers is alive but your beloved Albert isn't. But you don't allow your bitterness to overwhelm you.

You leave the police database as cleanly as you entered, leaving not a trace of your presence there, then erase your browsing history and get back to your feet. A wave of nausea washes over you and you have to hold tightly to the chair you just vacated so you don't tip over, then shake your head to clear your vision and will your stomach to settle down before leaving the library and making your way back to the motel you're staying in tonight.

Once you reach the room you rented, that's when you finally break down. You curl up in the middle of your bed, ignoring the cheap laundry detergent scent invading your nostrils and the scratchy surface of the bedsheets, and bury your face in the top pillow as you start crying like you've never cried before in your life. Loud, ugly sobs escape you and you feel like your world has come to an end. A gaping wound sits where Albert is supposed to be. He can't be dead. Not him, not your Albert.

What are you supposed to do without him now? What even is the point of anything? It was supposed to be you – the two of you together, giving Umbrella the middle finger and going off to be successful scientists on your own. Now, all of that is over before it could even begin. That tentative future you envisioned a mere few days ago has shattered and all you can do is stare down at the pieces and try to create a new picture out of the mismatched shards. All you end up doing is cutting yourself open on the sharp edges, though.

For days, you wallow. Your routine becomes waking up dehydrated, with puffy eyes and a pounding headache in your skull, then emptying your stomach for approximately twenty minutes while you regret every life decision that has brought you to that moment. Then, you order room service while you halfheartedly brush your teeth and fix your appearance as much as possible, and end up spending the entire day holed up in your room, thinking about Albert and spiraling.

A week after learning of Albert's fate, you wake up drenched in sweat after a dream of attending his funeral with a crying toddler hiding their face in your chest. You barely make it to the toilet in time.

The dream, while incredibly cruel and distressing, is useful for one thing: it makes a light bulb light up in your head and give you a possible explanation for why you've been feeling so inexplicably sick for the past week or so. With more than a little dread in your heart, you go to the nearest pharmacy and pick up a bunch of pregnancy tests then take them all to the shitty bathroom of your accommodation and wait for your fate to be decided by a bunch of plastic sticks with pee on them.

The sight of those two red lines on all the tests doesn't surprise you, but it still makes you slide down to the cold, tiled floor and break down into heartbreaking sobs for the second time this week.

You make the decision to disappear that very night. You knew you couldn't stay in this limbo forever, a decision needed to be made sooner or later in spite of the overwhelming grief in your heart. You don't know what to do about the fetus – you have nowhere near the necessary mental capacity to deal with that right now in a way that wouldn't be influenced by grief and despair one way or another – so you just shove that knowledge to the back of your head and jump back in your getaway car before taking off once more.

You can't stay here. Umbrella know you aren't dead, though why they're publicly pretending like you are eludes you. Regardless, their reach is wide, especially in the United States, and you can't risk them finding you and killing you or worse. The choice is easy after that.

Having prepared for this well in advance, it's not that hard to use the fake documents you had forged for you a couple of years ago and get on the next flight out of the U.S. You pick somewhere remote though not cut off from civilization, small and pleasantly quiet but where you won't stand out too much by looking like a foreigner. It doesn't take long to set up a new life there and within a month, you have a house, a job, and a brand new, civilian-friendly past that makes you blend in perfectly with the locals.

You also gather the courage to visit a gynecologist. The blood tests and ultrasound spell it out very clearly – you're pregnant with Albert's baby. In spite of being cautious and using protection, the strong little heartbeat pounding like a war drum in your ears is a testament to your and Albert's relationship, proof of his life and presence in your life, a reminder of what he meant to you and what he still does. The smart thing to do would be to get rid of it. You know that, the fetus probably knows that. Albert would advise you to do it, too, if he could tell you that. You aren't in a position to be pregnant, not when Umbrella could show up at your door at any moment and drag you back to one of their facilities or kill you point blank.

Besides, what do you know about raising a kid? How can you take care of a baby when you still wake up with wet tear tracks on your cheeks, crying out Albert's name in a dark, empty room? The kinder choice would be to spare the poor thing the experience of having you as a mother and forgetting about the whole thing entirely.

But your heart squeezes in your chest, the muscle threatening to burst out with your agony, when you think about removing that tiny kernel of life out of you, the last piece of Albert that you have. It's so illogical and irresponsible. It's downright stupid. But you can't bring yourself to do it.

You end up keeping the baby.

To your eternal relief, Umbrella don't track you down to your small little town in the middle of nowhere. The life you're building for yourself is not easy but it's peaceful – the baby in your stomach keeps growing day by day and you fall in love with it with every whispered story about their daddy that you speak to it late at night, when the phantom touch of Albert's hands makes your chest ache and your lower lip tremble.

You find out it's a girl and name her Athena, deciding that if she can't have her father in her life then at least she can share an initial with his name instead. You raise her the best you can – sometimes you fumble and you both end up frustrated and in tears, but you also try to make it right and make up for her lack of a father. You love her more than life itself and make sure to teach her how to defend herself, how to survive in this world that is so much darker than the one you've built around her to protect her. You tell her about Albert every day as she grows up – she doesn't know his voice or what he looks like, but she knows as much about him without ever having met him as a human being could.

When Athena is twelve, you find out that he's alive. It's by complete accident that you do – the news of Kijuju being shut down and quarantined as a consequence of a mass outbreak of some ‘as of yet unknown’ virus sounds too similar to a B.O.W. incident for it not to raise any alarm bells in your mind. Despite being firmly out of that world and doing your best to remain that way, you've kept yourself aware of stories like this, always wary of being found out after all or simply caught up in a similar incident – the last thing you want is your daughter experiencing something like what happened in Raccoon City after you left. You only heard about it and it was enough to make you have nightmares for weeks after the fact.

So when you hear about Kijuju, you look into it. You know how to go in and out of places without being detected by now so you don't bother with checking official sources, knowing better than to expect real facts as opposed to heavily edited government propaganda. You go digging. And what you find leaves you in a daze. For the second time in twelve years, you read world-shattering news about Albert on a computer screen and are left staring back at it in a complete state of total shut-down.

You don't know how you function during those next weeks following the discovery. Athena is worried – even at her young age, she is very perceptive and knows you as much as a child can know their sole parent when most of their universe revolves around them – but you try to push through and act like everything is alright. You're conflicted.

On the one hand, you feel elated, happier than you remember being in a long time. The love of your life is alive after all. Your daughter's father is alive. Your dear, precious Albert. You want to track him down immediately, call him, find him, visit him, burrow into his skin and never let him out of your sight again. Athena deserves to know her father from something other than stories. Albert deserves to know that he has a daughter and to get to know her even if he's twelve years too late. You deserve to stop feeling like half of your soul died in a Mansion in the Arklay Mountains and to start living again for someone other than your child.

But common sense kicks in sooner than you'd like.

What Albert is doing is dangerous. What he tried to do is dangerous. That life is dangerous. Ever since you decided to keep Athena, you've been doing everything in your power to keep her as far away as possible from everything that has to do with the life that almost killed you and which you thought killed him. Going after Albert and dragging him into your lives would only mean dragging danger back too. For Athena, who is innocent and pure and should remain that way, untouched by things like bioweapons and viruses and corporate espionage, but also for Albert. You and Athena would only be a weakness, a distraction, something to exploit by his enemies and use against him as leverage or as a bargaining chip.

No, it's better if he doesn't know about you. It's better if Athena doesn't know about him. It's cruel to both of them and it kills you inside to make this decision for them, you know neither of them would probably forgive you if they knew… But it's the only decision you can rationalise making. It's simply the safest option.

“Mom, are you sure you're okay? You know you can talk to me, right?” Athena eventually asks over dinner, shortly after you've made your decision.

She's picking at her pasta worriedly and it makes a heartbroken smile appear on your face to see her little pouty face looking so down and worried on your behalf.

“I know, baby,” you answer softly and extend a hand towards her cheek so you can rub some sauce off of it and make her scrunch her nose at the invasion of her ‘bubble’. “I've been feeling a bit down but I'm okay now, I promise. Everything is alright now.”

Athena throws you a dubious look but thankfully she loses that wrinkle between her brows that is an exact copy of Albert and resumes eating her dinner with a bit more enthusiasm. “If you say so.”

“Pinky promise,” you vow, washing down the guilty lump in your throat with your glass of water, then change the subject before she can see the haunted look in your eyes by asking her when she wants you to take her to the botanical garden for that playdate she mentioned yesterday.

It's not easy, looking your daughter in the eye and lying to her, but you do it anyway, no matter how much it kills you, because you know that it's the right thing to do. She can hate you later in life when she finds out the truth, you won't begrudge her that – she can do whatever she pleases, anything at all, if it means that she'll remain safe and happy and won't know the pain of losing a loved one to the harsh realities of the world like you do.

That is your cross to bear and you bear it gladly. Even if it might very well kill you one day.

***

Some might call you crazy but your motto for the past sixteen years has been “it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you” and if you're being honest, it really hasn't let you down even once in those very long years. Ever since finding out about Albert still being alive four years ago, your paranoia levels have gone through the roof when it comes to your and your daughter's safety.

It might be illogical – after all, Albert has been alive the entire time and nothing happened in those first twelve years you were ignorant of that fact. But it feels like the universe works on Looney Tunes logic sometimes, like if you look down then that's when gravity will start to affect you. Because of that, you've been living in a constant state of overpreparedness and vigilance, as if simply knowing Albert is alive is going to attract Albert-sized problems and send your carefully built house of cards tumbling to the ground with just a look.

And in your defense, while the proof of your paranoia is about four years late to arrive, arrive it motherfucking does.

You see, for the past two weeks, you've noticed heavier traffic on your street than usual. Cars that look normal enough, with license plates that match the area, have been parked around the neighbourhood, and somehow always in places with a good vantage point for monitoring and observing your house. Nothing about them screams weird out of context and from an outsider's perspective, but you, nonetheless, know the truth. And if that weren't enough, you've also noticed suspicious glinting lights coming from high up places – such as nearby rooftops – that somehow always manage to disappear when you take a closer look in that direction. You know the glint of a sniper in the sun when you see it.

You don't know who your secret admirers are. You don't know what they want. Your only consolation is that they seem to be interested in you specifically and not your daughter. It's not much, but it puts your mind slightly at ease.

You dust off all your weapons while Athena is at school, taking your gun apart to clean it and oiling it for the first time in quite some time. You start hiding straps under your clothes, around your thighs and ankles, at your wrists, where you keep knives you can take out at a moment's notice. When you and Athena retire for the night, you double and triple check the locks, arm and rearm the security system until satisfied, then stay up an extra hour past your usual bedtime just to make sure that no one is trying the locks or getting other funny ideas.

Honestly, if it was just you, you'd also be changing up your routine to make it extra harder on the stalkers to get a grasp on you. Unfortunately, Athena would notice immediately and start getting worried – your darling daughter is like a momma bear when it comes to you, always so sensitive to your moods and quick to try to find what's wrong and fix it; she's taken it upon herself to be ‘the man of the house’ and you're far too amused and charmed by the prospect to put a stop to her behaviour, especially since you are very careful to reinforce the idea that you are the parent and not the other way around. She seems to enjoy the ‘responsibility’ and the idea that she is taking care of you the same way you've been taking care of her since birth. It's cute, honestly.

But that being said, your overprotective teenager will certainly catch on that something's off if you suddenly start switching up the routine, and that's the last thing you want to happen. Athena needs to be protected; she doesn't need to know when that is actively happening.

Still, you aren't paranoid for nothing.

As the suspicious behaviour continues to happen, you prepare. You start tracking Albert down in earnest, needing an actual location instead of the general knowledge of his whereabouts that you've been holding for the past four years – yes, you've been keeping vague tabs on him because you are a fool in love who loves torturing herself with having the man she loves so close yet so far away (and also because if you don't make sure he's still alive every other month or so you might actually go insane). He's not an easy guy to track, let me tell you, but you're not you for nothing. You've been in love with this man for so long and you got to know him so well during the brief period you got to have him in your life that you know to look where most people wouldn't.

Once that's done, you get to planning. You buy two plane tickets with no fixed date – and nearly drain your savings account but who's counting – and stuff them in an envelope together with all the important documents pertaining to you and Athena. You pack a bag holding essentials for Athena and bare minimum for you and stash it all behind the washing machine in the laundry room, the one place guaranteed to not be snooped into by your daughter.

And then, you get to writing.

You write two letters. One is for Athena. You explain everything about your former life as clearly yet as succinctly as possible. You tell her about her father, about finding out about his status four years ago, and about choosing to keep that a secret for everyone's safety. You apologise but tell her you'll understand if she can't forgive you. And then you give her Albert's details and instructions on how to get to him, telling her in no uncertain terms that she is to seek him out and stay there. Under no circumstances is she to get any ideas and go looking for you if anything happens to you and she has to make use of all these instructions.

‘By any normal person's standards, I will most likely deserve anything that might befall me after everything I did when I worked for Umbrella. This isn't me seeking penitence – I knew what I was doing was bad as I was doing it and I doubt I would change anything, not even in retrospect, since all my bad deeds are what brought me to your father. No, this isn't me feeling sorry for myself. I simply don't want you anywhere near the kind of people who would come after me. Your father and I might be bad people who've done bad things, irredeemable by all standards. But that doesn't mean you have to be one too. Be better than us. Be kinder. Hate us, if you must, just stay alive long enough to do it. Stay safe, my little warrior. And remember that you make me proud every day that you are alive. Love, Mom’

The other letter is for Albert.

You put both of them in individual envelopes, writing their names clearly on each of the missives, then place them on your nightstand in a place you know Athena will find them if she goes looking – which she will, if anything happens to you.

The dreaded day, as expected, isn't late to come.

You drop Athena off at school in the morning as usual, accepting her kiss on the cheek with a smile before returning it with one on the forehead, and leave her with a reminder to turn in her essay today if she doesn't want her teacher throwing a fit again. You pull out of the parking lot with a sigh then switch lanes when you approach the stop light so you can head in the direction of your workplace. When you look in the rear view mirror, one of those suspicious cars is idling right behind you.

When you get out of your car once you arrive at your destination, you can hear the slamming of car doors and heavy, decisive footsteps heading in your direction. You pull a knife out of its hiding place and your gun, readying yourself for a fight, but you are already too late to resist. Something stabs into your neck, a tiny pinprick that paralyses you almost immediately, and you have to hold on to the open car door for balance as you half turn to regard your assailant through eyelids that are getting harder and harder to not let close.

“Ah, Mrs. Wesker. We finally meet. But that's not quite right, is it? Should I say instead… Doctor? You haven't practised in more than a decade, though, from what I've been able to gather. Regardless, my name is Doctor Victor Gideon, glad to make your acquaintance. I'm sorry about this, but we have some business to attend to, you and I. Don't worry, these gentlemen right here will take excellent care of you on the way to our destination. Wouldn't want to damage the goods, now would we?”

You stare up at the unnaturally tall man with the weird goggle-contraption on his head and the foul-smelling breath but you don't get to formulate a response before whatever dart you were hit with completes its effect and knocks you out entirely. You feel arms catching you and hear murmuring voices above your head, but it's like hearing it all as if you're underwater. Your last thoughts are of your daughter and the weird vindication of having been right.

It really isn't paranoia if they're truly out to get you.

***

When you aren't there to pick Athena up from school at the end of her day, she doesn't think much of it at first. Sure, it's a bit odd that you didn't say anything about running late or not coming at all because of a work emergency or something, but Athena is a big girl and she can get home all by herself without issue. It's not the first time she's had to take the bus home and it probably won't be the last either, even if you usually prefer to drive her places instead of entrusting her safety to the city's public transport network.

Athena bids her friends goodbye after ten minutes of waiting for you without luck, then she starts walking towards the bus station. The text thread with you remains silent, her messages left on delivered but not read which– yeah, it doesn't mean anything, you might just be really busy at work or your phone died and you haven't had a chance to charge it yet but… This smells fishy to Athena. You just don't do this kind of thing.

You're the most laid back overprotective mom in the history of moms. You let Athena do pretty much anything as long as she's being safe about whatever it is and comes to you for help the second something goes wrong, but you also require regular check ins, her location turned on at all times, and you always make sure that she can reach you at all times, regardless of what you're doing or where you are. It's just not like you to not pick her up from school without prior warning and to go radio silent in both texts and calls afterward.

Athena starts chewing on her bottom lip in worry as she settles in to wait for the bus to arrive.

When she was younger, she used to make up all these wild scenarios in her mind whenever you were gone for more than twenty minutes at a time. If you said you'd be home at five thirty and the clock struck five thirty five with you nowhere in sight? Oh, she was already planning the funeral and wondering what kind of family she'd be placed with after she was declared an orphan.

One time, when she was about seven years old or maybe older, she can't remember, you had to do some overtime at work and it just so happened that it started raining so hard Athena was worried the windows were going to give out under the strength of the downpour that very same evening. And because she knew you didn't have an umbrella with you and your car was in the shop for a minor repair, little Athena had the brilliant idea to sneak out of the house while the old neighbour who watched her while you were at work napped on the couch without a care in the world, all so she could bring you an umbrella so you wouldn't get soaked on your way home.

All of this to say, Athena worries about you. Always has, always will. You're her mom, the best there is, the prettiest, the smartest, the most badass. She wants to be like you when she's older and she will fight anyone on your behalf if given half a chance.

So when you pull a disappearing act like this on a random day in the middle of the week without explanation? All those wild scenarios of finding you dead in a ditch somewhere rapidly come back and make a home for themselves in her mind.

It's after she gets on the bus that it occurs to Athena to just call your workplace and see if they can put you on the phone for her real quick. She's never called there before since she's never needed to, but you made sure to save the front office's number as well as your direct supervisor's in Athena's phone in case of emergencies. Fumbling with her phone for a second, Athena scrolls down until she finds the right number and presses call, lifting the phone to her ear with trepidation and hoping that she's just being stupid.

“Hello? Uhm, this is Athena, I'm calling to see if you could put my mom on the phone for me? I can't reach her on her personal cell,” she says as soon as the call gets picked up, giving your name to the person on the other end and waiting for the confirmation that you'll be there shortly. Unfortunately, her hopes are dashed.

“I'm sorry, kid, but she didn't show up today. We've been trying to reach her all morning after we realised she wasn't simply running late, but we haven't been able to get a hold of her yet.”

“Oh… That's–” Athena can feel herself getting choked up so she clears her throat and blinks repeatedly until she feels more in control of her emotions, then resumes speaking as if nothing happened. “Thank you for letting me know and sorry for the bother.”

“No bother. Hey, are you a minor, though? It might cause problems if you've been left unsupervised and we didn't alert the authorities. So actually could you–”

“Nope, I'm all good! Gotta go, bye!”

Athena slams the end call button with more force than necessary before blocking the number entirely and releasing a very heavy breath in response. She fiddles with the now locked phone anxiously, biting her lip and trying not to cry. What the fuck is she supposed to do? Something is going on here, something that is very clearly wrong. You never showed up at work? You never miss a day unannounced unless Athena needs you home. You were clearly on your way there after you dropped her off in the morning!

And now you're not answering any of her calls or texts either.

The panic and anxiety in her chest don't lessen once she gets off the bus and starts walking home either. All sorts of scenarios, each one more outlandish than the other, run through Athena's mind as she walks towards home without any sign of life from you. By the time she finally gets home and puts her key in the lock, she's almost managed to convince herself that you just fell suddenly ill after dropping her off so you went home, and she's just going to find you half-delirious with fever on the couch but perfectly alive and all in one piece. But when the front door swings open and nothing but silence and the ticking clock in the living room greets her, fear grips Athena's heart and refuses to let go.

“Mom?” she calls out tentatively as the door falls shut behind her and her school bag drops to the floor in the middle of the entryway without ceremony. “Mom! Are you home? What the hell happened? Mom!”

There is no answer.

Athena almost rips her shoes off her feet, not sparing a glance to where they land when she throws them away, then starts searching the house frantically, running from room to room and yelling your name as she goes. Her voice gets louder and more panicked the longer she goes without finding hide nor hair of you. She can feel her heartbeat in her temples, a broken staccato that spells danger, death, tragedy. No. Anyone but her mom. Nothing is supposed to happen to you! You're mom!

Finally, Athena bursts into your bedroom, the farthest from the front door and the last room to remain unchecked, but your bed looks untouched from when you made it in the morning and there is no sign that you've been in the room since you left it. Full of despair and not knowing what to do, Athena collapses on the edge of your bed and grips her hair tightly as she starts crying uncontrollably.

She sobs and whines your name between hitched breaths for long minutes. Every time she thinks she might calm down, the reality of her situation crashes down upon her once more and sends her into a fresh spiral. It's ironic in a way – that something terrible has clearly happened to you and all Athena wants is for you to be here so you can tell her what to do.

She's not a grown up. She's as far from being a grown up as humanly possible and this fact has never hit her as hard as it's hitting her right now – hopeless, helpless, and alone.

Eventually, Athena's tears subside and she emerges into the real world with not an ounce of a clue about what she's supposed to do. She should call the cops probably, right? That's what you're supposed to do in these situations. Maybe you got into a car accident and the other driver ran off. You could be dying slowly without help on the side of the road somewhere as we speak. Or worse, what if a creep got a hold of you and you're being held against your will somewhere, scared and fighting for your life? That stuff happens more often than you'd think!

But still… Athena can't imagine you in either of those scenarios. You're the most careful and skilled person she's ever met and she isn't saying that just because you're her mom. You're a goddess with a gun in your hands and don't even get her started on knife handling. Athena knew how to disarm a fully grown adult before she learned how to roller skate.

You're no ordinary mom, that much Athena has gathered over the years. You're tight lipped about your past, giving nothing away beyond ‘being a former special forces officer and a medical researcher’, but Athena knows this much: you wouldn't let yourself die in a car crash so easily and not many people could probably get the drop on you, least of all your run of the mill local creep.

“Fuck! Where the hell are you, mom?!” Athena groans, despair creeping back into her voice, and as she rubs a stressed hand over her face her eyes fall on your nightstand.

She knows the contents of that nightstand better than her own. She's always bothering you and getting all up in your space, after all. ‘Like velcro,’ you said once, years ago, with a fond smile on your face and so much love reflected in your eyes. So Athena can consider herself something of an expert on the things she is likely to find in your room and, more specifically, on your nightstand. And that is not one of them.

With trembling hands, Athena reaches for the conspicuous envelope propped up innocently on the wooden surface and grasps it cautiously between her fingers. To her surprise, the envelope is thicker than she expected, but when she inspects it closer she realises that it's not just one but rather two. One bears her name, which in and of itself is worrying enough. But then she flips the other one over and her heart stops in her chest for a second: this one bears a name she's only ever heard but never truly known, a name she only knows how to pronounce with love and longing and grief wrapped around the syllables because that is the only way you've ever spoken it. The name on the envelope is her father's.

“Mom, what…?” Athena mumbles, mystified, and gingerly places the package bearing her father's name on the bed next to her in favour of opening the one clearly meant for her.

What she finds in the letter encased within is not what she expected. Words like ‘undercover’ and ‘Umbrella’ and ‘bio-weapons’ float in front of her eyes without making much sense. It's like she knows all those words individually but not put together. But then it gets worse. You tell Athena about her father not being dead and about hiding that fact from everybody for the past four years. And then… Then you tell her of your suspicions about being watched and your expectation that something might happen to you. Athena reads your instructions about grabbing the bag of stuff you stashed in the laundry room and finding her dad and she can't believe her eyes.

You… You are such a moron.

So determined to protect her, to keep her safe, to spare her the knowledge of the horrors of the world… and not once remembering that she isn't quite the naive little kid she once was, that you don't have to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders and suffer alone.

A small part of Athena feels hurt that you kept such a big part of your life hidden from her for all these years. A bigger part feels betrayed that you didn't tell her the truth about her dad. But mostly… Mostly, Athena feels heartbroken on your behalf. You've dedicated your entire existence to raising and protecting her, not once expecting anything in return for all the sacrifices you've made for her. ‘That's my job as your mom,’ you always say and sure, it is, but Athena has seen what other people's parents are like and she feels like you deserve a little more recognition than that.

This entire time, for the past four years, while Athena was living her life without a care in the world, entirely clueless, you were suffering silently through the knowledge that the man you love more than anything is alive somewhere in the world and you can't do anything about it without possibly putting all of you in danger.

And now you're sending her to him, the man you loved so much you made Athena love him without ever having even met him, and you're telling her to not go looking for you, to leave you to your fate and hate you for keeping secrets if that's what it takes, anything, everything, as long as it means she is safe and sound.

Athena can't do that. She loves you too much for that to ever be a real option.

But she will follow your plan, that she can do. She'll grab that bag and go to the airport. She will use one of the plane tickets you purchased, she will get on that plane, and she will find her dad. And then she will make sure to tell him that it's his turn to do something for her for once and that is tracking you down and bringing you back home in one piece.

That is Athena's plan. And honestly? She likes it much better than yours.

***

For the past sixteen, nearly seventeen years, Wesker has been living half a life. He's gone through the motions, made plans, executed them, failed, tried again – he's done everything he was supposed to do and everything he envisioned in his future.

But throughout it all, there has been an empty space at his right, a hole in his heart, a name on the tip of his tongue but never uttered.

He did it all. But he did it alone.

When he awoke from the Tyrant's fatal hit, much later than he'd planned but still with time to spare to get out of that accursed Mansion, his first thought was of you. After he cursed Umbrella and the Red Queen AI for locking him out and derailing his plans of snatching important insider information so he could trade it, as he went through the Mansion and fought Lisa Trevor time and time again, as he ran through the woods to get away from the explosion before it could tear him to pieces – all of his worry turned to you.

Where were you? Had your mission gone alright? Were you safe? Were you waiting for him?

He couldn't call you because his phone had been destroyed somewhere between the Tyrant and his escape from the Mansion. His arrival back in Raccoon City was delayed as well. He couldn't exactly just waltz back in, not with S.T.A.R.S. likely assuming he had perished in the laboratory and Umbrella even more likely being out for blood as payment for his double crossing.

He would never regret anything more than he regrets taking so long to get back to Raccoon City. But he wouldn't know to regret that until much, much later.

When he finally made it back, it was to find his apartment ransacked with no trace of you. You were a smart girl, you knew not to wait around for him and get yourself caught or possibly killed, so he wasn't too worried when he didn't find you there. But then he went to your apartment and what he found there… He didn't want to believe his eyes at first. Signs of struggle, thrashed apartment, dried pools of blood covering nearly every inch of your bedroom floor. And in the middle of it all? Your vest – bloodied, torn up, and singed in places.

Wesker was not an overly emotional and easily shaken man. He was quite logical, in his own opinion. But as he stood there in the middle of your apartment staring at your ruined, bloody clothing and that pool of blood… He felt like a cavern had opened up inside of himself and was rapidly sucking up all the life out of him.

He didn't want to believe the worst. After all, no body, no crime, right? But when he went to your last known location, that damnable mission he hadn't wanted to let you go on alone, all he found was rubble and charred splinters. If you'd ever even been there at all, all evidence was likely lost or left for the authorities to find among all that debris.

Hacking into the R.P.D.’s records hadn't yielded any results either: you had never reported back after your mission and, after several attempts to contact you and no luck in tracking down your whereabouts, coupled with the evidence in your apartment, you had been declared missing and presumed dead.

Days, he spent tracking you down. Long, precious days that he wasted trying to find a ghost that just wasn't there. If Umbrella had you, then they had hidden you well. If you were hiding from everyone, including him, then he had no hope of finding you unless you wanted to be found – you were very good at turning invisible when you wanted to. And if you were dead…

Wesker didn't want to accept that possibility. It made no sense. It was unacceptable. He was a god, had finally surpassed his humanity, had shed his weaker, human limitations, had, at last, rid himself of Umbrella and their oppressive, narrow visions of what the world should look like – he couldn't lose the most precious thing he had now, not when he was finally getting everything he'd ever wanted!

He remembered only too late that slip of paper you gave him months ago, before you even took that next step in your relationship and became more than just colleagues, but when he did… When he punched in the numbers and dialed and waited for the ringing to start and for your breathtaking voice to answer the phone and call out his name… He was met with a beep that rang out with finality and a robotic voice telling him the number was not in service.

He moved on. He had to. He left Raccoon City, set his plans in motion, tried to tell himself that he was just doing what he had always planned and that a few months-long tryst would not be his undoing – Albert Wesker was above such petty human ailments.

But his heart knew better. He had loved you. More than he ever thought himself capable of, more than he could bear. Your sudden, violent, mysterious disappearance from his life left a gaping hole in everything that made him up and left him feeling adrift in a world that suddenly lost all meaning. What was the point of any of it if you weren't there to bask in it with him? What was he changing the world for, if not for you?

Wesker tried to move on, he truly did. He buried himself in his work, dedicated all his energy towards achieving that end goal of a perfect world that he believed was his due as well as his duty as the god he had become. But in the quiet moments between experiments and death defying battles, memories of you haunted him and his heart ached as he almost felt the ghost of your touch upon his tense shoulders and the whisper of your breath against his ear as you leaned in to tease him about working too hard.

He never gave up on you, even if all his searches ever yielded were disappointment and dead ends.

Nowadays, Wesker's life is rather meaningless, even more so than it used to feel like in the early days of coping with your disappearance. The grand culmination of his decade-long planning and testing ended in disaster. He is lucky to have escaped that volcano with his life, even if his pride took a rather devastating hit. Ever since Kijuju, Wesker's plans have come to a rather sudden halt. He hasn't bothered to come up with anything else, hasn't thought of how he might still achieve his initial plan. That uncomfortable brush with death put things into perspective in a way that left him feeling aimless once more. He was alive, true, but what was he doing with his life?

His thoughts, as they once did in the beginning almost obsessively, turned towards you once more and all he can think about is how to find you. Even if it's just to get confirmation that you're dead, he needs that closure. You haunt his dreams and darken his days with the glaring absence of your light – he needs to know what happened.

It's on a random day that has the makings of being special not at all when his vast and complicated alarm system blares with the presence of an intruder. Wesker lets out an irritated sigh, expecting a false alarm due to some curious wild animal or worse, nosy villagers getting too close to his hideout yet again. When he checks the security cameras, however, that is not what he finds.

The girl standing in front of his gates couldn't be further from a curious animal or meddlesome villager if she tried. She's young, a teenager if he had to guess by her appearance and style of dress, and she's wearing a bulging backpack that is weighing her down but which seems rather important, given the way she's wearing it backwards and the arms she has wrapped around it. She looks uncertain, anxious perhaps, as she bites her lower lip and shifts her weight from foot to foot, but she keeps resolutely staring at the camera and waiting to be acknowledged.

In spite of himself, Wesker buzzes her in. After all, what could a mere teenager do against him in a fight?

He observes her trek from the gates up to the front steps, something familiar about the way she carries herself, how she checks her surroundings, or maybe how she looks niggling at him and brushing up against that tender, still raw sore spot in his heart that bears your name, but he banishes the feeling to the back of his mind as he finally rises from his chair and walks out of the room so he can meet his uninvited guest in the entryway.

She has her back turned to him when he arrives, very clearly taking in the architecture, and for a moment – just one – he feels like he's looking at you. But when the girl turns around her features are all wrong, jumbled up and mismatched, and the illusion breaks.

For a long time, silence stretches unpleasantly like chewing gum between his shoe and the sidewalk, as they find themselves in a staring match. She has blue eyes, Wesker notices, and the shade is so eerily similar to the one of his once human eyes that it makes his stomach turn as his slitted gaze regards her where she stands. Her nose reminds him of you, the way it seems to curve in the same exact way yours did, but it's not just that. He can't put his finger on it, but it's like staring at a blurred picture and filling in the blanks, like the more he focuses the less he sees, but if he takes a step back and unfocuses his eyes he can see your face exactly, staring back at him in a near perfect mirror.

It makes discomfort swirl in his gut as he takes a subtle step away from this strange creature. Maybe you've been on his mind too much lately, if he's seeing you in the faces of teenage strangers nearly twenty years after he lost you.

“You're older than I thought you'd be,” she says at long last, being the first one to break the silence.

Wesker's eyebrows rise in surprise and baffled offense as he makes his head turn back to face her.

“Excuse me?”

“No, yeah, I always thought you were, like, close to her age. All those stories I heard and not once did she think to mention how old you were. Bit of a cradle robber, weren't you?”

Wesker rears back in shock as the kid just ignores his words and continues to insult him. Just what the hell is going on here?

“What are you talking about?” he grits out, fists tightening in frustration. “And who are you, exactly? What is your purpose for coming here? How do you know me?” Because he certainly doesn't know her.

At that, the teen's shoulders draw up as if she's readying herself for battle, the corners of her eyes and mouth tightening with determination, perhaps even worry. It makes Wesker curious, God only knows why, and he watches her intently for what comes next.

“I know you from my mom. You could say I grew up with you, in a way, even if we don't know each other. I thought you were dead until, like, a day ago, so trust me when I say that this is as much of a surprise to me as it will be to you. As for the rest… I think you should probably read this first. Then, we can talk.”

Her nonsensical words don't clear things up any more than the prior silence did – if anything, they just make Wesker even more confused. And when she unzips her backpack slowly and pulls out an envelope from its depths, holding it tightly between her fingers for a moment before visibly steeling herself and handing it over to him with the clear message that he is supposed to take it, he grows even more baffled. Still, he takes it from her hands, his grip steady even if his heart has started beating like a war drum in his chest for no apparent reason.

When he looks down at it, his own name stares back at him, but it's not that fact that makes him stop and stare at it as if he's seen a ghost. No, it's the fact that the handwriting is familiar. So familiar that, for a moment, he thinks he might be hallucinating.

Wesker's eyes dart back up to the teenager in front of him, clearly asking a question he cannot formulate verbally, but she gives nothing away. Her eyes are guarded and her stance is too, as if she is bracing herself for something bad but won't move out of the blast radius if it kills her.

“You should open it. I don't know what it says, but I'm guessing it's important.”

Wesker looks back down at the envelope. His hands tremble visibly now as he gently, slowly tears it open and pulls out the contents inside: a letter and a handful of photographs. Before he even starts reading, he knows what he'll find inside. He can feel it, he can almost taste it – the things he missed all those years ago, the way fate worked so beautifully to keep you two apart, your thought patterns as you tried to solve a problem you only had half the information on in front of you. Not unlike him, for that matter. But he starts reading nonetheless. How could he ever do anything else?

'My dearest Albert, Words cannot express how sorry I am that these are the first words you hear from me in more than sixteen years, but that is how things must happen and I will not apologise for my actions. When Umbrella was after me and I thought you dead, the most heartbreaking yet wonderful of news reached me in the form of debilitating morning sickness (which, by the way, why is it called that when it lasts throughout the day?): I was pregnant with your baby. Perhaps I should have aborted her, it might have been kinder, but the thought of erasing the last trace of you from the world and my own body was unbearable. So I kept her. I ran away and hid us both so well no one could find us. Or so I thought. I named her Athena and raised her the best I could. I told her all about you and made sure she knew you even if you weren't with us. She is so smart and so kind and strong, so much like you but still the best of both of us. She makes me proud just by existing. I know you'll feel the same when you meet her. If this letter reaches you then it means my worries have borne fruit. Someone has found me. I don't know who or why or how but I know that Athena must be protected at all costs. Please look after her and don't resent her for not being me. Love her the way I've loved her and make sure she stays the same kind girl I've been blessed to raise for the past sixteen years. There hasn't been a day that I haven't dreamt of you, your touch, or your kiss. I wish I could've seen you one last time before I go. I wish I never had to make the choice to stay away for all our sakes. I wish a lot of things had been different. Please don't hate me for what I did, you know you would have done the same. And don't forget that I love you, more than words can say. Please forgive me. Eternally yours, Your dear heart.'

Wesker doesn't realise it but tears have been steadily falling out of his eyes and dripping onto the letter from the moment he read the first word on the page. His eyes trace your handwriting obsessively, making note of every familiar curve and loop, every comma and full stop, every spot where you pressed the pen too harshly into the paper as emotion overtook you for a moment before you could resume your writing.

He lifts his head slowly, damp letter clutched in one hand like a lifeline, and looks at the teenage girl standing nervously in front of him and truly sees her for the first time since she got here.

The familiarity makes sense now. The fun house mirror effect, the way his heart ached just looking at her. She is your spitting image but with hints of him thrown in, the most obvious of all being his eye colour standing out so clearly on her face.

“Can I… May I touch you, Athena?” he asks in a voice so hoarse he doesn't recognise it as his for a moment. His eyes drink her in and his heart pangs when her eyes widen in surprise and she nods so very hesitantly in response.

Wesker takes a step closer, then another. His hand is slow to reach her, as if he is afraid that his touch will make her crumble into dust and disappear from his life as swiftly as she entered it, but when his fingers come to rest upon her cheek she doesn't flinch nor wither away. Her skin is warm and soft, a baby really, in the grand scheme of things. He cups her face so tenderly and looks down into her eyes as his heart fills with so much love and longing and regret.

“You are… as beautiful as your mother. And just as smart, if she is to be believed,” he adds, lifting your letter to eye level meaningfully.

“Nah, she just likes to talk me up. She's biased,” Athena denies instantly, though her cheeks heat up with abashment and her eyes light up with this very pleased sort of pride that he recognises well.

“Naturally. We often are about the people that we love,” he agrees. He runs his thumb gently across her cheek one last time before pulling away reluctantly, loath to invade his daughter's personal space more than he already has. He is, after all, a stranger to her. “I'm sorry for not giving you the reunion you might’ve wished for, but your mother is in danger and I did not like how final that letter sounded at all. What can you tell me about what happened?”

“Oh my God, yours too?! I'm gonna have words with her next time I see her!”

“Glad to see that we are on the same page,” Wesker concurs in response to Athena's exasperation and clear intention to not leave you to your fate simply because it would be too dangerous to track her down.

“I was gonna emotionally blackmail you into helping me anyway so this just saves me time, not gonna lie,” she admits without shame, shrugging her shoulders in a ‘what can you do?’ way. She truly is his daughter, isn't she? “So, here's what I know…”

***

Your awakening is slow to come but violently harsh when it does. There is pressure behind your eyelids and at the back of your skull, a persistent headache accompanied by dizziness the second you try to move your head to relieve it. It doesn't take long to recognise the effects of sedation.

Harsh, white lights are assaulting your vision, which doesn't help with your lightheadedness at all, but you squint stubbornly in spite of them and ignore the urge to puke as you take in your surroundings. The room you just woke up in doesn't tell you much about where you are, but it gives you very unpleasant, familiar vibes – old-fashioned yet sterile somehow, it reminds you of the Spencer Mansion.

You're sitting in a leather armchair, slumped over somewhat but tied down with intricate rope that you might be able to get out of if you had access to a knife. However, when you start wiggling around to reach one, you find that your holsters are empty.

“Planning to leave us so soon, Doctor? Very disappointing, I must say.”

You startle at the sound of that deep, slightly raspy voice, head whipping in its direction and body becoming tense with the anticipation of danger instantly. You didn't hear him come in. The man who stands before you is an abomination – around seven feet tall, if you had to guess, with unkempt, unwashed hair, cracked, reptilian-like skin, and a pair of rather confusing goggles covering his eyes. He's dressed oddly, too, not sporting the standard white coat you'd expect of a doctor, as he proclaimed when he kidnapped you, but rather a leather one, made of snakeskin at a guess, that goes past his knees.

You glare up at him when he starts approaching you.

“I don't enjoy being kidnapped, so no, I wasn't planning on sticking around.”

“Ah, but what a shame that would be,” he retorts as he walks slowly towards you, footsteps loud and deliberate in the empty room. “We have so much to discuss, after all! So many interesting things to go over.”

“And what would those be? I haven't put my degree to use since Raccoon City fell, I'm afraid my skills are a little rusty. Besides, I'm not looking for a job at the moment.”

Gideon tuts in response as he gets near. A hand reaches towards you, just as grey-looking and cracked as the rest of him, and brushes against your temple in a way that is entirely too intimate for your liking. You flinch away from it, angling your head the other way, but that hand strikes quickly, snake-like, and grasps you by the chin so it can force you face to face with the monstrous doctor.

“Such lip on you,” he growls, hisses really. It's at this close range that you notice his tongue is forked like a snake, too. “I remember you used to be more respectful in your Umbrella days, Doctor. Of course, that was before you caught Wesker's eye and forgot all about us mere mortals. Fitting, that his betrayal ruined everything for you, too. How's the single mother life treating you?”

You hiss and spit in his face in response to that and he rears away from you with a disappointed sigh as he snags a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the spit away.

“Keep my family's name out of your filthy mouth,” you warn in a low voice trembling with anger. “I don't remember you, though you clearly know me, so that must mean you were some insignificant sycophant running around the place, right? So what is it, did I steal your spot on the research team and now you're back for revenge? Or were you a Spencer fanboy and your feelings got hurt because I dared disrespect his company by leaving when it started sinking?”

Gideon's posture changes throughout your speech and you know you hit jackpot when he jabs a finger in your direction rather angrily, even as he keeps his distance this time.

“You and your paramour were nothing but double-crossing cowards! Him even more so, after his assassination of Spencer in his own home.” Well, that's certainly news to you. You have no idea why Albert would kill the old man, not with having missed so much of his life, but you're sure your love had his reasons. “But no, my dear Doctor, that is not why you are here. You see, I've been working with an independent organisation to finish Spencer's work and I'm afraid I've hit a snag.”

“And you think I can help you with that?”

Gideon laughs loudly, throwing his head back as if you've said the funniest joke he's ever heard.

“No! God forbid. I doubt you'd have any worthy insight into the problem even if I trusted you not to mess things up on purpose out of pettiness. Which I don't. No, Doctor, what I need from you is much, much simpler. I simply require you to be here.”

You raise a confused eyebrow in response as you scoff.

“That's it? How does that possibly help you?”

“It's quite simple, really,” Gideon begins as he starts to circle around you once more. His towering frame comes to a stop right behind you and the predatory aura radiating from him makes your body tense all over as you wait for him to strike, unable to turn around and keep him in your sights as you are. “We just need to wait for your daughter to run home to daddy and fetch him for us, see? We knew we couldn't capture Albert Wesker on our own, nor get him to come to us willingly. So I had the brilliant idea to track you down and use you to lure him here instead. And you played right into my hand, didn't you? Now we just have to wait.”

Your eyes widen in horror as you realise what you've done by planning for Athena to go to Albert in the event of your disappearance or death. You know Albert could never sit back and let you be hurt, not even if he is furious with you for staying away even after knowing he wasn't dead. He may have changed in the years you've been separated, but his devotion to you and your safety you do not doubt. But because of that very same devotion, he might be walking into a trap right now. All those years you stayed away, all the suffering you went through at being separated from your love for your family's safety – all of it useless. You were always doomed to be used against him, you just didn't know it.

“No… No! What do you want with him, you foul-smelling beast?! I won't let you hurt him, you hear me?” you scream as you start thrashing around in your bindings, trying to turn your head around so you can spit in his face once more. The monster doesn't let you, though, and soon you feel the pinprick of a needle in your neck for the second time as your eyelids start to droop once more.

“Nothing he doesn't deserve, Doctor. Of that, I can assure you,” Gideon murmurs in your ear, his words entirely too unsettling, before you lose consciousness once more and drop your head forward.

***

The next time you wake up, you feel still half asleep – an error in dosage, probably, that caused you to wake up while still feeling the sedative's effects. You're strapped to a table though, curiously, only your feet are tied down. In your arm, a needle connects your veins to a blood bag, hung up on an IV pole, and you can see that it's nearly full.

This time around, you're alone and it even seems like you may remain that way for a while. You don't want to know what Gideon wants with your blood nor do you wish to find out and, even though you still feel sluggish from the drug he injected you with to knock you out, you force yourself into a sitting position and gingerly take the needle out of your arm. It hurts like hell and blood wells up where you took the needle out, but that is not important right now. Gripping the needle as steadily as you can, you bend forward with a groan trapped between your teeth and start fiddling with the locks on the straps trapping your legs to the gurney until they finally give, opening with a blessed clicking sound and letting you free your legs.

You stumble to your feet, feeling dizzy for a moment as gravity reasserts itself, then you scan your surroundings. You're in the same room you woke up in the first time. It's bare and holds nothing of interest, so you make your way towards the door and try the handle. To your relief, it opens.

The hallway you emerge into is dark and eerily silent. You walk on light feet, trying to mask your presence as much as possible, but you have to stop for a few seconds every now and again to lean against the wall and let the nausea pass.

“C'mon, keep going. Albert needs you, don't stop now,” you mutter to yourself through gritted teeth and push away from the wall once more as you force yourself to endure.

It's a bit of a walk but eventually your eyes latch onto bright light spilling into the corridor ahead of you and when you get there, you find yourself staring down at what looks like the reception area of whatever medical facility Gideon took you to.

You have to give it to whoever designed this place, it certainly looks elegant and imposing. It'd look much better if it wasn't completely devoid of life and if it didn't send shivers down your spine in response, though.

As you stand there, frozen in indecision about where to go first – stay behind and try to take Gideon out, even if you don't have a weapon, or make a run for it and hope you meet Albert on the way and he doesn't walk into a trap you're not even in? – Gideon himself walks into view, bursting into the foyer from a side door at the end of the double staircases converging on the receptionist area. His back is to you so he doesn't see you. Instead, his focus seems zeroed in on something out of your sight – the entrance slash exit, if you had to guess.

You get your answer less than a minute later when you hear doors banging open and, before you can even process that, Albert walks into view.

Your breath stutters and you fear that it might stop completely at the sight of him. You drink in the sight of him, unable to tear your eyes away, and a lump forms in your throat as tears start gathering at your lash line.

He is so beautiful. Your hands yearn to reach for him, to run your fingers over his skin and feel the warmth of him, the solidity, the proof that he is here and he is yours. He looks older, more worn down, and his eyes are a different colour now, but that fire burning in their depths and the murderous, protective rage in his stance tells you all you need to know – he is still your Albert, your darling, precious love.

“Where is she?!” Albert demands, voice raised in pitch though not quite yelling.

Gideon, either a stupid fool or an arrogant one, remains unfazed in the face of such barely restrained anger.

“Doctor Wesker. How kind of you to join us. Please, come in.”

Albert takes a threatening step forward as he stares Gideon down, his eyes blazing a fiery red instead of the tumultuous gold they were before.

“I don't have time to spare for your clever speeches, Gideon. Give me back my beloved before I bring this building down on top of your corpse.”

Your heart leaps in your chest and squirms with longing and relief at his words. He can't be too mad at you if he's using that term of endearment even now, nearly two decades later.

But you don't have time to dwell on it or bask in the warmth Albert's words provide because Gideon is a sneaky son of a bitch and your love is too consumed by rage to see the trap laid out for him. You lean over the railing slightly to get a better look at them and that's when you see the gun in Gideon's hands – both the real one and the medical injector one.

“You're right, you're right. We really shouldn't delay things further,” Gideon agrees silkily and before you can do more than open your mouth in a warning that dies in your throat, Gideon shoots Albert. You gasp but the sound is drowned by the reverberating gunshot that echoes in your ears rhythmically, matching the rapid pace of your heartbeat.

You expect to see Albert on the floor or at least several feet away as he staggers from the violent force of being shot point blank, but instead you see him a few inches to the left of where he initially stood, with a perfect hole in the wall that was, before, at his back. What the…?

“Cute,” Albert drawls. “If I were still a pathetic human like you, I'm sure that would have worked on me.”

“Oh, but you underestimate me, Doctor Wesker. I know exactly what you are. In fact, I was counting on it,” Gideon replies, voice dark and sinister. Things click into place in those split seconds between Gideon saying that and him raising his hand that holds the medical gun – whatever virus has given Albert the power to… what? teleport? dodge bullets at the speed of light? whatever it is, Gideon has accounted for. He knows he can't subdue Albert in the usual ways. So he fires off a regular gun, gets Albert to lower his guard and not expect Gideon to attack again once it becomes obvious that such methods would be futile, then he fires off another round when Albert doesn't expect it, only this time it's not a bullet.

You don't think about your next move. It's not even a question. With a cry of Albert's name, you jump straight over the balustrade and onto the desk below, then use it as a springboard so you can tackle Gideon from behind and wrestle the gun out of his hands. At least, that's what you try to do. In reality, what ends up happening is that Gideon turns around at the sound of your voice – you would've loved the element of surprise but you didn't trust your speed and accuracy so you had to verbally warn Albert too – and catches you mid-air, letting your legs dangle several inches above the floor as he holds you up by the throat. You gasp, feeling your airways constricting, and try to futilely scratch at his hand to get his unfairly strong grip to loosen.

“You disappoint me, Doctor,” Gideon tuts angrily. “Maybe I should just snap your neck right now. After all, you are of no use to me anymore.”

Your eyes widen as tears fill your eyes and you desperately look over Gideon's shoulder to lock eyes with Albert. You try to convey sixteen years’ worth of unspoken things in that look, pouring all the love and regret you've been harbouring in your heart where Albert is concerned. Gideon's fingers tighten around your neck and you open your mouth in a desperate brain's attempt at survival even as you know you're not getting oxygen through there any time soon, lips vainly trying to form words meant for your love and only him.

Albert snarls, eyes blazing a deep crimson that looks downright demonic, and before your rapidly fogging mind can grasp what's happening, you see Albert's arms wrapped around Gideon's head and pulling, twisting his neck unnaturally before there is a crunch and a pop, followed by a spray of blood shooting upwards. The hand that was holding you aloft and suffocating you slowly disappears abruptly and you fall to the tiled floor with a series of coughs and wheezes as you try to get air back into your lungs.

“I don't like people threatening what's mine.”

You look up through eyes blurred by tears and blood to find Albert standing tall behind Gideon's fallen body, the man's head held in his hands for a moment longer before he throws it away like trash and steps over the corpse without sparing it another look. His eyes find yours immediately and then he's rushing to you, all traces of composure gone from him as he falls to his knees next to you and grasps your face between his broad, warm palms.

“Beloved. Dear heart. There you are. Oh, how I have dreamed of this. You're okay, you're alive, you're here.”

Your eyes well with proper tears now and you let them spill as you nod back at him in reply. All the fear, the worry, the pain you've kept locked up for the past few hours, days, weeks, years, come pouring out and you clutch at Albert's shirt with the force of a newborn baby, shaking and trembling with the need to have him near.

“Albert…” is all you can say before you're sobbing loudly – with exhaustion, with crashing adrenaline, with relief. Albert doesn't hesitate to wrap you in his arms, pulling your bloody mess of a body into his own and cradling you like you're the most fragile gem in all the world. You sag into him and you finally feel like you can rest. You're home now. You don't have to keep fighting, to shoulder everything and worry yourself into an early grave – you can rest now and let him hold you, let him handle it and be in charge.

You rub your dirty face into his chest, inhaling deeply and breathing in the scent of him – sweat, soap, and traces of days-old cologne. Something in your chest splinters open and spills magma into your insides, melting you down into a puddle from the inside out, and all you can do is cling to him and trust him to put you back together at the end of it all.

“My love, my heart, my beloved,” Albert murmurs into your hair and maybe he's been saying it the entire time but it's only now that your hearing starts to work again and you register the sound of his voice as well as the rumbling in his chest as he speaks. “I've got you, I have you, darling, it's okay. It's alright now, you're home. I have you.”

You just keep sobbing into his chest as he repeats those words to you over and over again, strong, familiar hands keeping you together and running gently through your hair and down your spine.

When you finally run out of tears and the shock of it all seems to leave you, you feel like you could crash for the next two business days at a minimum. Your head feels heavy and your throat hurts when you swallow, and to top it all off, the nausea and dizziness are back.

“I don't think I can stand,” you say when Albert gently pulls you up so you can stop lying sprawled out on the ground.

“That's fine. I can carry you,” Albert brushes off easily.

As promised by both you and him, your knees buckle as soon as you try to stand under your own power, vision whiting out for a moment as your stomach rebels, so Albert simply scoops you up as if you weigh nothing and cradles you against his chest as he starts walking, once again stepping over Gideon's corpse as if he's part of the decoration.

The world sways gently with you in his arms and you close your eyes briefly, both to calm down your nausea and to let yourself get grounded in the moment, in reality. When you open them again, you look up at Albert's face curiously – at the new lines around his eyes and mouth – and study his peculiar irises and pupils intently.

“The cat eyes are new,” you decide to comment at length after Albert has walked out of the building with you and started down the steps leading out of the property entirely. You notice several dead bodies in various stages of dismemberment along the way but you don't pay them any mind.

“Do you like them?”

“Hmm… Well, I don't hate them.”

Albert's lips twitch in amusement as he spares you a brief glance.

“I'll take it.”

You lift up your right hand and place it gingerly over his cheek, rubbing your thumb over it as you feel the now wrinkled texture, altered with age and years you missed, in stark contrast with the smooth skin you remember from your memories. Fresh tears well in your eyes and you can't do anything but swallow painfully.

“I missed… so much. So many years wasted, Albert. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I stayed away even once I knew. I was just–”

“None of that, beloved,” Albert interrupts gently yet firmly. He leans into your touch since his arms are busy carrying you, but his eyes bore into yours with all the weight of the seriousness and sincerity of what he has to say. “You are not to blame. You did good, hiding away and protecting yourself and our child. You did what you had to do. And now you are home, back where you belong. Both of you. I won't let anything happen to you ever again. I will keep you safe now.”

You nod tearfully, too drained and emotionally wrung out to argue any further, and you catch the edge of Albert's smile when you let your hand drop back down so you can lean your head back against his shoulder before you close your eyes again. You fall asleep against him before you're even through the gates but that's okay. Albert carries you the entire way to the helicopter without complaint, buckling you in and keeping your head cradled in his lap as he gives the pilot the all-clear to take off and take you home. Athena awaits you and beyond that? Whatever it is, it has to be good – after all, you'll have Albert with you this time around.

EPILOGUE

Your life post-kidnapping doesn't change much, all things considered. You still have your job – a sudden illness that you had to be taken out of the city for treatment for on short notice easily explained your abrupt absence and smoothed things over with your bosses – and Athena still has her classes, her homework, and her friends. The house you've lived in for the last decade and a half is the same, as is the bed you're sleeping in.

But now there is Albert.

He's there when you get off work, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder and a ridiculous apron tied to his waist, warm food bubbling on the stove or roasting in the oven as he comes up to you and greets you with a kiss on the lips. He's there to pick Athena up from school and take her to the botanical garden or the planetarium, letting her ramble on and on about the little things she's obsessed with with a smile on his face even when he already knows everything she's telling him and more besides. He's there in every room of the house, little traces of him everywhere that tell you that you're not hallucinating and you haven't gone insane; he really is here and he's here to stay.

And best of all, at least in your very humble opinion, Albert is there in your room and in your bed. Every night, his strong arms wrap around you from behind and pull you into his chest so he can hold you as you fall asleep. Every morning, his warm, solid body is pressed up against you in some way and it reassures you of his presence before your waking mind can even remember that it's supposed to send you into a panic about his whereabouts.

You have a ring on your finger now and his last name attached to yours. He calls you wife and you call him husband and Athena calls both of you gross and embarrassing but she still smiles this dopey little smile when she catches you and Albert being disgustingly sweet and in love.

It's not perfect, of course. Despite growing up on stories about him, Athena is still getting to know Albert as a person and getting used to having him in the house and in her life. She still mostly defaults to you as an authority figure, not that Albert begrudges her that – in many ways, he is also getting used to being a parent and learning all that it entails. But the important thing is that you're together at long last. You're there to smooth the way for them and unruffle any feathers when they clash – which they do, often, because of course Athena had to take after her father in all the ways that cause you headaches – but even when they have to settle on the mutual silent treatment for a few hours before calling a truce and going back to normal, your husband and daughter will also agree on one very important thing and that is you. Their love for you and interest in making you happy and your life easier will always bring them together and make them compromise on things – anything as long as it puts that quietly elated look on your face at seeing them get along and make progress in their relationship.

And honestly? You couldn't ask for more in return.

You love both of them so much it's hard to quantify sometimes. You never thought you'd get to have this: both your daughter and your love, living with you and being happy, the family you once envisioned on a hitchhike back to Raccoon City after nearly getting blown up in the woods.

It's weird and all out of order, but it's yours. And that's really all that matters at the end of the day.

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