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It takes you a while to notice it but something about Wesker seems off, he’s more irritable than usual, he looks like he hasn’t been sleeping and he snarls practically every word. Not that any of those are cause for concern individually. It’s Wesker by conventional standards he is usually quite ‘off’ but something is different this time and normally it wouldn’t bother you, because you can trust him to take care of himself. So you try to ignore it, this sort of thing happens sometimes and past experience has taught you that you do not want to be the one who brings it up. The emotional state of your boss is none of your business, well it’s none of your business until it starts affecting the project, but really is none of your business. After a week and a half you are forced to concede you are worried about him, especially when you realise that this sudden mood change is coming right off your rather unfortunate abduction by forces as yet unknown.
So you stride into Wesker’s office, like you usually do with a stack of files. The door closes sharply behind you and his head snaps up to glare at you. He looks tired.
“What do you want?” he snarls, glaring at you.
“Latest security reports, last months expenses and that personnel analysis you wanted.” You say dropping the whole pile on the edge of his desk.
His face does not soften as he looks from the files to you.
“Of course.” And an incline of the head is the only acknowledgement he gives you, which usually means you are dismissed.
Wesker does not look well, he looks tired, which is unusual and worrying. You are used to him seeming never to sleep, being in the lab at all hours but he never seems to look it, the troubles of mere mortals never seem to touch him. Another thing to add to your list of concerns about your boss.
“Will there be anything else?” You ask, making no move to leave.
“No, that will be all.” Comes the curt reply, dismissing you from his office.
“Boss, have you been sleeping?” You ask, bracing yourself.
If anyone was watching this encounter, it would seem like Wesker does not react, beyond a shift to give you his full attention, but you know him well enough to see catch the subtle way he tenses, unsure.
“I do not believe you are being paid to babysit me” He snarls.
“No I am not, but you’ve started snarling at all the techs, instead of just some of them and you’re threatening the security staff, which they have been taking offence to.” You reply as calmly as you can manage walking this knife edge.
“I fail to see how that is any of your business.” His voice is dangerously low.
“I’m your chief of staff, this is exactly business. Whatever’s going on you are paying me to deal with it.” It is an oblique statement but this is not the kind of job where you can explicitly offer support to your boss after a traumatic experience.
“Your concerns are noted.” Is the only response you get as he returns to his work and all the tension bleeds out of the room.
You nod respectfully, as you leave, on the threshold you turn, “I’ve got your back if you need anything.” You say and just to be safe, you are out of the door before Wesker can respond and… You’re not really sure what you’re worried he’d do to you for overstepping but you are not eager to find out. The offer seems to come to nothing, until nearly a week later you hear a knock at your door.
You have been in the business long enough that you have the funds to sort your own lodgings and despite many of your employers offering you reasonable accommodation, you always rent yourself somewhere with a little more privacy, when you can. Never anything fancy, just a quiet, cash in hand, no questions asked kind of place. You never tell anybody that you do this and you are quite hard to track, it gives you peace of mind that any of your less trustworthy colleagues wanting to go through your kit or kill you in your sleep will have to put in the work to get the chance. For your current job you have a small studio flat on the middle floors of a crumbling highrise. At this point in your career you could probably afford somewhere that doesn’t threaten to collapse when you run a tap or catch fire when you turn on the light, but after a few security upgrades you have everything you need for cheap, you also learned a long time ago that you are intimidating enough that landlords tend not to question what you’re doing.
It is three AM and there is a deconstructed pistol on the table and someone is knocking on your door. Rising quietly you cross the short distance to the door, pausing only to draw a knife from its hiding place under the chair. First you check the security chain and the locks, then you peer cautiously through the peephole. The sight before you surprises you, outside your door at an unholy time in the morning is Wesker looking despondent and out of place. Disregarding any possibility of a trap, you quickly set about unlocking everything and throwing the door open.
“You look like hell boss.” You say before you can stop yourself.
Wesker doesn’t respond, he just steps into your apartment and you let him. You do not ask him how he found you.
“What do you need?” You ask.
He does not respond, he just stands there between the kitchen and the rest of the room.
“Boss?” You try.
Still nothing, his gaze darts around the room, breath coming in short audible gasps. Something is obviously very wrong with your boss and you have no idea what to do. Moving slowly you sheath the knife and assume a non threatening stance.
“Albert?” You hesitantly ask, that worked last time.
His head snaps to you and you are sure his eyes are boring into yours from behind his sunglasses.
“Albert, what do you need?” You repeat, keeping your voice soft and even and your eyes on his, but you have a creeping suspicion that sudden moves would be a mistake.
Again Wesker does not respond, just stares at you, his breath comes in harsh panicked rasps. Suddenly he rocks forward and seizes you by the shoulder, his grip is tight like he is using your presence to ground himself. Suppressing a wince, you place your hand gently over his.
“I’ve got you.” You say, as reassuringly as you can manage, as the grip on your shoulder tightens, it’ll probably bruise by tomorrow but you can’t bring yourself to care about that at the moment.
This is not how you were expecting your evening to go, but this is not the first time you’ve done something like this and it is not likely to be the last. All you have to do is help your boss to come back to himself, in such a way that makes him feel safe and not inclined to kill you for seeing him like this. How hard can that be? Probably quite hard actually, but needs must when the devil drives. In your rather limited experience, with yourself and a few buddies from your storied career, what Wesker needs is a safe place to rest and sleep, then when he wakes up something to eat. This is just one of those situations when someone needs a little extra help.
“Okay boss, I know you haven't been sleeping, so let's get you some of that,” you say very gently, guiding him across the room “and see where we can go from there.”
Wesker doesn’t resist when you help him out of his coat, drape it over a chair and sit him on the edge of your bed.
“Albert,” you begin gently, “I’m going to help you get comfortable, if you want me to stop, tap me twice on the hand, you understand?”
He nods, it’s the first proper response you’ve had from him since you let him in, which feels like progress. and, making sure to telegraph your movements, gently guide him out of the waistcoat, which joins the coat over the back of the chair. His hand grips your wrist as you work on his shoulder holster.
“Easy boss I know you can sleep in it but you’ll sleep better without.” You reassure, and wait for him to decide what to let you do.
The hand on your wrist retreats and you slip the holster off and over the chair with his coat and waistcoat. You take the time to make the weapon safe before continuing and loosening a few shirt buttons so he can breathe easier. Next you drop to a knee next to the bed, and set to work on his boots, the heavy sort of combat boots with good support and a lot of laces, you begin working at the knot.
“Gods damn boss, what sort of knot is this?” You say a little incredulous, how does he ever get out of these, “Next time we need to restrain someone I’m leaving it to you.” You continue.
When the first boot finally gives you have to rapidly stifle a display of triumph, there’s no need to spook Wesker any more than he already is. The other boot is easier now you have defeated the first, then you pair his socks and stuff them into his left boot. Now is the dangerous part, or the more dangerous part, none of what you are doing right now feels particularly safe.
“I’m going to empty your pockets and get your belt free, then we’ll get you some sleep.” You say.
First you do the pockets, of which there are many and the contents are varied and interesting, you drop them into his right boot. Then comes the belt, you fumble with the buckle trying to avoid eye contact, questioning why Wesker has to dress well instead of just using a webbing belt with a side release buckle, but you finally get it and slide it free catching the knife and sheath as you coil it on the table.
That is the hard part over, if he was going to kill you tonight it would have been then. You slide his knife under your pillow for the night and go for the lights, plunging the small apartment into darkness, the only light now creeping in under the door from the hall. Returning to Wesker’s side, you guide down and under your blankets. Finally you reach for his sunglasses and fold them on the bedside table, you can see the faint orange glow of him watching you in the dark.
“Albert, it’s safe, sleep, I’ll keep watch.” You state, it still feels weird using his first name.
The plan is to sit with a gun and hope he feels himself in the morning, but he catches your wrist again as you turn.
“Stay.” He says it's the first time he’s spoken since he arrived.
“What?” Is your only response, he couldn’t possibly be asking what you think he is.
Then he tugs your wrist, he’s strong enough to pull you off balance, he does mean what you thought.
“I’ll stay.” You soothe, stretching and sliding in beside him.
This is definitely not how you expected to end your day, but if this is what he thinks will help who are you to argue. You cross your arms and roll to put Wesker at your back and keep an eye on the door. Just like you would in the field, your body between him and any danger.
Falling asleep wasn’t the plan, neither was waking up with your boss tightly wrapped in your arms. If he wakes up like this he is definitely going to kill you on principle. Swearing in your head you try to shift gently and untangle yourself only to be met with a pair of red-orange eyes.
“Shit.” You mutter, pulling all your limbs back with such haste you end up on the floor.
Wesker props himself up on an elbow to look at you in your heap, “I cannot claim to have had many bed partners, but I have never had one recoil like that in the morning.” He says exasperated by your antics.
You pick yourself up awkwardly, trying not to notice the way his hair falls out of place across his forehead.
“Boss, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put hands on you like that.” You say, evenly masking a flurry of emotions with professionalism.
“I assure you if I had been displeased with the arrangement you would not have woken up.” He states, it sounds like he is suppressing a sigh and only half succeeding, but the usual bite isn’t there.
“Of course sir,” you agree, relaxing a little, “would you care for coffee?” You ask finally, looking for anything to do.
He accepts your offer with a nod and you busy yourself with finding two clean mugs, a rather hard task, whilst he puts himself back together. When you return to his side, Wesker is as put together as usual. He thanks you for the coffee. You find yourself standing at something close to attention as you sip at your own mug trying to ignore the strangeness of it all.
“Thank you.” He says quietly when he places the now empty mug in the sink.
“It’s nothing, sir.” You shrug.
“It is more than nothing,” the exasperated edge is back in his voice, like you are missing something obvious, “I appreciate you allowing me the space to-” he pauses again like he is trying to find the right word, “to recover.” He settles on.
You shrug again, “These things happen sometimes, I’m glad you trusted me with this Dr Wesker, I’ve got your back if you need anything.” You say it like it’s the most simple thing in the world, not something bordering on the extremely unprofessional.
With that Wesker inclines his head to you, slips his sunglasses on and exits your apartment, you hadn’t even realised he had allowed you to look into his eyes for so long. After a few minutes it was like he was never there, just an unmade bed and a mug in the sink.