Chapter Text
He hated the smell of hospitals. Sterile and covering up all sorts of death and disease and failing miserably at that. The tiled white walls only made him think of how much shit has been washed off of them, how many people bled out while clinging to one. It made his stomach turn when he heard a disembodied voice overhead calling a doctor into the ER. A nurse walked past him, arms full of bandages and sterile solutions that made him take a step back. Someone was talking to him, but the words made no sense as he continued to just stare.
It wasn't right. He was always perfect. Always prepared for anything and ready to have an answer, know the right action, do the correct thing that would end in a success. So why was he lying there so silently? His hair wasn't even proper. Someone messed it up and it looked wrong. His uniform had to be taken off and he couldn't see it anywhere and his hand closed tighter around the item he held. The soft beeping of the machine beside the hospital bed was too mechanic. Too fake. What if it would suddenly go faster? Or just in a straight line? What then?
The steady drip of a clear liquid was an unnerving sight and he never understood what it was for. A large dose of medicine like that couldn't be correct. Water made no sense. But at least he understood the blood bag, the Umbrella logo stamped clearly on the front, above the tiniest writing he had seen. Or maybe it was bigger, but he was staring from behind a clear window as a man in a white coat wrote something down before stepping out.
"You can go see him, but he's not going to wake up for a few more hours because of the sedatives. Good news is that he will recover and can be discharged in a couple of weeks." Those words finally made sense and he slowly looked to the man. An older doctor, so he probably had experience and knew what he was talking about, so why didn't he feel comforted? Why did it feel like a lie? "You're members of his team then?"
"Yes, S.T.A.R.S., team Alpha." Barry was the one to speak, perhaps the most composed of them all. Come to think of it, he was the one who got him to join S.T.A.R.S. and he had known the man for a while now. Maybe if he had been there instead of him, then the man lying in the awful hospital bed would be fine now. This was all his fault after all. Again he clutched at the item in his hand before a hand on his shoulder loosened his grip.
"You alright? I got some coffee. Come on, let's go see him." Jill's voice was soft and suddenly he found himself holding a plastic cup full of dark liquid. It should be burning his fingers, but it wasn't. Watching Barry go inside the room he could not move, still frozen to the spot. The weapons supervisor didn't stay long though, just lightly squeezed at the unconscious man's shoulder and walked out.
"He'll be fine. It takes more to kill off that man and you should know it. Come on, go inside and see him." Walking out he smiled, but there was no comfort in the expression. Before he could do anything, or even try to say something, Jill dragged him into the room and briefly he caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink.
It looked wrong. The blood on his body looked so wrong, because it wasn't his own. It dried into an ugly dark brown against the green and he wondered if his eyes looked the same. A disgusting brown that looked like the dry blood of the man who tried to save him. And was now lying there motionless, not even aware they were there. It should have been such an easy mission, too. Go, save the hostages, arrest the culprits, done. Nothing special. Nothing they hadn't done a hundred times before.
And it wasn't like blood was a new thing for him, either. He had been injured plenty of times before, saw people bleed out to death, more blood staining the ground that was now soaked into his clothes, yet this was nothing like that. This was different. It was his fault and he forced himself to tear his gaze away from his reflection and instead stared at the man in the bed.
If only he had listened. If only he had realized years ago that being discharged from the Air Force was for a reason. That being disobedient and stubborn was not a good quality and the arguments he got into were his fault. If only he had stayed away from this kind of thing, then none of this would have happened. The culprit wouldn't have fled the scene with the crying kid. He wouldn't have followed in spite of the orders being yelled at him. But at the time it made sense. Do everything to save the hostage, even at the cost of your own well-being.
He was a good marksman and he knew it. Granted, nowhere near his level, but close. If anything, it pushed him harder to improve and seek his approval and the smallest nod was the greatest praise to him each time. Whenever he was acknowledged for his skills his chest swelled with pride and he tried even harder, greedy for more. So when he saw the kid held in front of the man, a gun aimed at him, he knew what to do.
And it worked perfectly. The shot hit the man in the thigh, the shock knocking him off balance and he released the kid who ran off quickly into the safety of Jill's arms. He thought he won, saving the hostage and being able to apprehend the man like this, but then there was a gun pointed at him and he was too slow to react, a smile frozen on his face as two shots were fired. He didn't have time to brace himself for any pain and it never came, instead a weight leaned against him and he heard the clatter of something onto the damp ground.
Something warm pressed against him, spreading as the body became a dead weight and his hands came away damp with red as he stared at the man. This was all wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen. He knew that he disobeyed, but instead of paying the price for that he was... why? He never noticed that Barry took out the man who shot as Joseph shouted for a medic somewhere behind him. He wasn't aware of anything, only that he refused to let go of the man in his arms until he was forcefully pulled away from him and watched his body lay on the stretcher, the sirens soon echoing in the street as the white ambulance drove away.
"Strange to see him like this... but he'll be fine. The doctor said it was a clean exit and the bullets missed his heart. He'll just have to take it easy for a while, right?" Jill was trying to smile, to be strong, but even she knew that this kind of sight was wrong. Walking over to the bed she reached out, hesitating before trying to smooth the hair back into its usual place, failing as it slid back into his forehead. "I wonder if his hair looks like this when he wakes up in the morning..."
Did it? No, he was always perfect. Always prepared for anything. Always had the right answer, the solution that everyone sought and he knew what to do. Even if he was sometimes a pain in the ass and demanded the same diligence from his team, they followed him for a reason. Even if he never joined them in a bar after work, even if he never smiled or showed any hint of emotion, he was there and he was the best of them.
Albert Wesker was simply perfection.
And now he was lying there and all he could do was stare at the man and try his best not to cry. Or maybe he was crying, he wasn't sure any longer. "You should go and clean up. The nurse is back and about to kick you out. Sterile environment and all." Jill was looking at him now and slowly he looked down, seeing the blood. There was just so much of it... why? How could he be alive after so much blood spilled? It was impossible. His eyes burned and soon he noticed a few clear droplets on the floor beneath him, another joining them soon. Then another two and his face felt wet. This wasn't right at all. It should be him lying there and not Wesker. Not the man he looked up to so much.
Looking up from the floor he stared at Wesker once more, aware that Jill was saying something, but he couldn't hear her. He only heard the echo of the last thing Wesker said before his weight pushed him down and the warm blood seeped into his clothes. It was the first time as well, which would have made him so happy. At any other time, he would have been ecstatic, but now he just wanted to vanish. Still staring at the man he felt his heart stop for a moment as the pale lashes fluttered and ice-blue eyes slowly focused on him.
"Chris..."
The plastic cup fell from his hand, clattering to the floor and spilling mediocre coffee over it as he took a step back, unable to stand the intensity of the gaze. It was too much.
"Chris? What-Chris!" He hard Jill yell, but he was out the door before she could do anything to stop him. He ran away like a coward, tears blurring his vision as he fled the hospital. He had to get away and running was the only way he knew how. And he did, unaware of how he ended up back at the station. His lungs were burning as he fought to catch his breath, still clutching at the object he picked up what felt like hours ago. The shades Wesker always wore cracked as they fell, one of the lenses ruined and just looking at them made him want to cry all over again, but he had no tears left.
---
"Captain! You're awake!? But the doctor said-"
"Valentine... too loud." His head was throbbing and the excitement in her voice was not helping. Seeing Chris run away like that worried him, even more as she didn't go after him, but one look around showed the reason for that and the events all came back. The man who used a child for a shield, his Pointman going after him in spite of being told not to, thus ignoring another direct order, rescuing the child and being shot at.
Wesker recalled the pain and then darkness, but it was strange warm and comforting. Moving his hand he grunted in disapproval as he realized that he was actually hooked up to a blood bag and once his eyes focused he saw his name on it. Of course. The Umbrella logo was annoying as well, but he could deal. Moving his other hand, glad to see that one was at least free, he touched his chest. Heavy bandages and pain, but he was alive. But that didn't surprise him. After all, he had no plans to die just yet.
"I'll get the doctor!"
"Don't... waste of time..." Frowning for a moment he looked at Jill. The lights were too bright and after a moment he became aware that he was missing his shades to protect them from the strong lights. Seeing his look, Jill was quick to hit the lights and instead lit the lamp beside the bed that he found much more comforting.
"Sorry, Captain, but the doctor will want to see you since you're awake. I'll also get someone to clean up the coffee mess. Chris is... he's just worried, that's all. I'm sure he'll come back to see you when he calms down." If only her voice sounded as reassuring as her words, but even she had doubts. "I'll be right back." She left and Wesker enjoyed the moment of silence. For a while.
His thoughts would not leave him alone now and he was aware of what happened. Being shot was an uncomfortable feeling, but his body was already healing the damage. The doctors would not understand unless related to Umbrella or Spencer in any way, which would only cause trouble in the long run. And Chris...
The sight of the tear-streaked face wouldn't leave him no matter how much he tried. He had never seen him like this. The blood on his clothes was dry, so not his own and he was moving around fine. So he didn't get hurt. That was all Wesker cared about. He protected his Pointman, protected the young, ambitious fool who disobeyed yet another order and put his own life in the way of saving another. Always so eager. So when the shots came, Wesker moved without thinking. And he didn't regret it. He would heal from something like this within a few days at most. Chris might not have and he wasn't about to test that theory. So why did he run away like that?
The absence of his shades bothered Wesker, but that wasn't something he could fix at the moment. Something else though was and he slowly raised his hand, brushing his hair back into its usual sleek state, or as much as he could without a mirror, feeling better once he was done. A nurse came in to wipe the mess from the floor and he saw Jill return with the shocked doctor who told her to stand outside after a moment.
"The sedatives usually keep a grown man under for at least twelve hours."
"I presume that goes for most cases. Either way, kindly remove the equipment so that I can leave-"
"You're not going anywhere. You were shot twice and your body can still go into a shock. A week at least is what you'll be spending here. You can send the girl-"
"The girl is a S.T.A.R.S. operative and will be addressed as such, doctor."
"...S.T.A.R.S.?" There was a hint of recognition on the man's face and Wesker sighed. "Well, you can send your operative to retrieve some personal items if you wish to, as well as clothing you might need later, but for now you are to stay here." Such a smug attitude.
"I assure you, I have no intention of staying that long. I have things to do." For one, he had to deal with Chris Redfield.
---
He still looked awful. Washing his face with cold water did nothing to help and even now he was staring at the blood on his clothes. It seeped through the tactical vest and into his shirt. And he still felt the sensation of sticky, warm blood on his hands no matter how hard he scrubbed. That was two hours ago. Now he was sitting in the corner of Wesker's office, face buried in his knees. His Captain risked his life to save him and nearly died. He never felt as useless as that very moment.
His hands still shook as he stared at the cracked shades. Seeing Wesker without them made the man seem so vulnerable, so... fragile. He had only seen him without them once before and even then it was by accident. Coming to work early to catch up on the report he neglected he stumbled upon Wesker in the locker room, the man obviously just finished changing into his work clothes and his shades were resting on the shelf in his locker. When their eyes met, those icy-blue hues staring straight at him, Chris could not move.
He wasn't sure he even said anything to his Captain, fleeing the locker room, startled by the sight of his eyes like that. When he came back later the man was already in his office and working and Chris took longer to change than any other time, still thinking about his eyes. So many discussions had been going on about what colour they were and he felt special knowing. And though they were an icy blue, he couldn't help thinking that they were oddly warm and how badly he wanted to see them again.
But not like this.