Chapter Text
Though his daughter was just an infant, William Birkin was no stranger to parenting.
Babysitting, maybe, would be a better term for it.
Either way, he'd been doing it for years.
Once Umbrella had figured out that their favorite asset- one of the only surviving children of Project W- responded well to William's presence, they'd practically used him as an unofficial handler.
It was a fine arrangement by Umbrella's standards. They'd attempted, for a long time, to sew distrust and rivalry between the two men, but realized soon after that they worked better together than they ever did feuding- and as far as the extracurriculars were concerned, so long as that didn't get in the way of results they looked the other way.
Will suspected they preferred Wesker attached to a man anyway. It prevented him from having very public attachments, and mitigated the risk of damaging the Wesker bloodline they'd worked so hard to manufacture with a child.
Will didn't love that Umbrella had noticed his connection to Wesker, nor did he love that they used it so brazenly, but it did give him the occasional excuse to get out of town, and a very good excuse to keep Wesker put together.
Which, unfortunately, he needed. Now more than ever.
Umbrella really didn't know what to do with him these days. There were talks of deploying him as an espionage asset, but nothing had come to fruition yet- thank God-, so he just worked alongside Will in the lab every day and disappeared every so often, stir-crazy without the stringent structure that the Executive Training School had provided.
Which is how Will had landed in Albert Wesker's hotel room at 2:30 in the morning on a Tuesday without Albert Wesker actually present. He was waiting.
Waiting for Albert Wesker.
In Miami fucking Florida.
He'd been sent to retrieve him, but Will knew if he darkened the door of whatever horrible establishment Wesker had chosen for the evening, he'd get sucked into the party and they wouldn't get away until sunrise at the earliest.
To Wesker's credit, he'd actually booked himself a hotel room, which was more than could be said for his European disappearances, where he'd simply walk into a warehouse party on Friday evening and wouldn't leave until promptly before his return flight.
The lock finally turned and Will looked up from the report he'd been pretending to read. He wished he hadn't.
Albert stepped through the door carefully- a concerted effort not to stumble, clearly- looking like he'd been dragged backwards through every nightclub in Miami.
Of which there were many.
His jeans were practically painted on, held up by a belt that undoubtedly cost more than Will's mortgage payment. A black silk shirt with a wide, pressed collar hung off his broad shoulders and was unbuttoned nearly to his navel, exposing a pattern of hickeys, bites, and scratches that disappeared under- but almost certainly continued beyond- the silk of the shirt.
His hair was a complete disaster, and his pale blue eyes were blown wider than was natural. His sunglasses were clutched in his right hand, one of the lenses shattered.
Were he not grinding his teeth hard enough that Will could see every muscle above his collarbones jumping, it would be devastatingly attractive.
Fantastic.
For a moment, he just stood in the doorway swaying, clearly squinting against the light, trying to force his eyes to adjust to it, and then his gaze landed squarely on Will.
His entire face lit up, posture straightening instantly.
"William!" He gasped, delighted- like he was seeing wrapped presents on Christmas morning and not his deeply displeased lab partner. He shut the door and then blinked hard, bringing his free hand up to rub at his eyes. "You're real."
Will set aside the stack of paper he'd had balanced on his lap and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Very much so." He confirmed.
Wesker grinned- a rare, unguarded, bright-eyed smile that made Will's heart ache. This wasn't a social visit.
He crossed the room with impressive, clumsy determination and seized Will by the shoulders with a hard grip, bending hard at the waist- a fall more than an intentional movement- and kissed the top of his hair.
"Good to see you, darling." Wesker said, directly against Will's scalp, voice low and slurred.
Will closed his eyes briefly, selfishly soaking in the contact.
At least he was alive.
Will took in a slow breath, and brought both hands up, grasping Wesker's wrists hard and lifting them off his shoulders.
"Sit down. On the bed."
Wesker made no attempt to straighten up, just leaned hard against the contact at his wrists.
"Will-" He attempted.
"Sit!" Will snapped, forcibly pushing the other upright, face tight with irritation. He watched, blue eyes dark and clouded with fury as Wesker stumbled back and very carefully sat on the edge of the mattress, making the obvious overcorrections of someone pretending very hard to be sober.
Once Wesker was seated, Will stood, rolling his shoulders back slightly as he did.
"Do you know where we are?" He asked.
Wesker squinted, then glanced past Will out the window.
"Florida." He said, confident.
"Correct. Do you know why I'm here?" Will asked, stepping closer. The moment he was in reach, clammy thumbs found their way into his belt loops, weakly tugging him a bit closer. Will's fingers curled in frustration, but he didn't swat them away.
"Clearly, you missed me." Wesker said, with all the unearned confidence of a billboard DUI attorney.
"I was sent." Birkin replied, eyes narrowing as he looked down at the absolute mess of a man before him. "Pulled away from bedtime stories by an emergency page, and flown down private. Annette is fucking fuming."
"So you didn't miss me?"
"Actually, it's funny you ask that. I did miss you." Will said, sharp.
Wesker smiled at that, looking up at Will with a head slack on his shoulders.
"At work. It's TUESDAY right now. Lab was awful lonely without you there to critique my technique."
The smile dissipated immediately. Will could see the calculation happening behind wide eyes in real time, blond brows furrowing as the repercussions swam through a brain that was undoubtedly currently a soup of chemicals.
"They flew you down private? That seems excessive." Wesker mused.
Will groaned in frustration, bringing a hand up and pressing the heel of it against his forehead. Al should've been fucking grovelling, yet here he was commenting on Umbrella's choice of transportation.
He let his free hand find Al's arm, and recoiled immediately when he realized it was wet. He looked down at his hand and saw his fingertips were red and nearly jumped.
"Jesus Christ, Al, you're bleeding!" He breathed, hands immediately pulling the shirt from where it was securely tucked into the jeans.
"Minor injury." Wesker replied dismissively.
"God, you disgust me sometimes, you know that?" Will hissed, tugging hard at silk. "Are you wearing fucking shirt stays?"
Al just shrugged. He was absolutely wearing shirt stays.
"For someone so angry, you're trying awfully hard to get me out of my clothes." Wesker ribbed. Then, horrifyingly, his jaw twitched, the joint popping quietly. Will winced.
Al was fucked up.
Will managed to get the shirt untucked and moved onto the buttons.
"Because you need medical intervention." He said, pulling the hands clasping his belt loops away so he could pull his shirt off.
"I do not need an intervention." Wesker replied, offense crossing his face.
Will straightened up immediately, hands finding his hips, red staining immediately on his grey button-down.
"Medical intervention, Albert. You don't have enough people that care about you to have an intervention, and if you don't get your act together you're going to have one less." Will spat, pacing now.
Al made a horribly wounded noise and clutched at his now-bare chest like the words had hit him physically.
Will paused, biting the inside of his mouth. Perhaps that had been a bit harsh. He turned back around and stepped back in front of the other. He pushed the silk shirt off of his shoulders without meeting any resistance, and finally got a full look at the damage.
First of all, he was covered in glitter, which shined in the low hotel light underneath the sheen of sweat that covered his whole upper body.
And then there was the rest of him. His shoulders were bitten, the bites old enough to be mottled and bruised rather than fresh indents. Lipstick and hickies covered his hips, neck, and shoulders.
Jesus.
Albert Wesker wasn't shy. He was confident to a fault and in the right settings could be horribly flirtatious, but none of the marks read as loving or attentive. The bites, especially, seemed rather violent.
Will tried not to examine the rage that caused, and instead moved to his bloodied arm. There was poorly taped gauze on his upper arm, concealing a wound that likely needed stitches yesterday.
"Oh my- what happened?" Will asked, shifting and kneeling immediately by the armchair, pulling his medical bag from where he'd stashed it upon arrival.
"You'd really stop caring?" Wesker asked finally, like Will's prior statement had just truly landed.
Will didn't look at Al, lest he have to see the tragic look on his face, and instead started sorting through his supplies, looking for skin glue and antiseptic.
"Eventually? Yeah. But at this rate you'll be dead before I get the chance." Will said. "What did you take?"
"Not much."
Will turned, looking over his shoulder.
"I didn't ask how much, I asked what you took. If it were only coke, you'd be on a comedown by now."
"I fail to see how that's your business." Wesker said.
"I need to know whether or not you need naloxone." Will said, turning back to the bag.
"God, what do you think I am? A common addict? No, I don't need naloxone." Wesker replied, deeply aggrieved, the words coming just slightly too fast through gritted teeth.
"For fuck's sake, Al- just tell me. Do you even know?"
"Marijuana."
"And?" Will pressed.
"Cocaine." Wesker said, doing his very best to sound certain and final.
"That's a given. What else. Anything intravenous?"
"A few drinks."
Will turned sharply, a sharp glare landing on Wesker's face, which was contorted visibly in thought.
"Something I'm almost certain was MDMA."
"Almost certain." Will parroted, unimpressed, standing with an arm full of various medical supplies. "Great."
He dumped the supplies onto the mattress next to Al and picked up his arms, checking the crooks for punctures, sighing with relief when there were none.
"Poppers."
Will sighed.
"You're going to burn a hole in your sinuses at this point, Al." Will said, quiet, knowing it was going to fall on deaf ears anyway. He gripped the other's jaw hard and tilted his head towards the ceiling, looking at his nose. Sure enough, there was blood crusted around both nostrils, cleaned poorly. He let out an exhausted breath.
"Perhaps. Good thing I know this really sexy doctor-"
"Can it." Will cut in, tightening his grip on Wesker's tense jaw. Will used his free hand to grab a pen light from his pile of supplies and then shined it into Wesker's eyes.
He shied away immediately, squeezing them shut.
"I know, you're sensitive." Will muttered. He was well aware of Wesker's pale eyes and their sensitivity to light.
"Then maybe don't shine light directly into them." Al complained, the words muffled slightly by the harsh fingers squeezing his face.
"If you stopped treating your body like a science experiment, I wouldn't have to." Will said. "Open your eyes."
Wesker opened them, and Will stared into them, watching as his wide pupils failed entirely to react to the light. Will relinquished his grasp on the other's jaw.
"So it's okay when others do it?" Wesker asked.
"What?" Will asked, moving to the wound on Al's arm and peeling away poorly affixed tape and gauze. His brows pulled together in confusion at the question, trying to connect it to his last statement and failing.
Al snorted, a humorless noise despite the single rise of his shoulders.
"Treat me like a science experiment."
Will's posture fell immediately, but he kept working regardless, grabbing alcohol wipes from the pile of supplies and tearing one open with his teeth.
"No. It's not okay when anyone does it." Will said, quiet and heartbroken.
Albert Wesker contained multitudes.
Most people who knew him would laugh at the mere suggestion, but it was true. To the outside observer, he was simple: an arrogant genius. A man who viewed every other person as a rung on a ladder he was already at the top of.
That wasn't an entirely unfair assumption, but it wasn't the whole picture, either.
He was haunted, and time didn't seem to be healing that. He carried the wounds of his childhood around like they were tied to him- and some days they were a helium balloon, a weightless nuisance, and other days they were a ball and chain, hefty and loud and agonizing.
He had the capacity, too, for jealousy. Not the petty kind- never that- but something uglier. It surfaced when Will talked about Sherry, or complained about mowing the lawn, or mentioned taking Annette on holiday.
Not because Albert was particularly jealous of Annette- though on some level he was- but because he wanted the shape of it. The house, the child, the yard. Roots. Normalcy.
Maybe not even with Will- and maybe he didn't want those things at all, but he'd been robbed of the opportunity to have them, and for that he was horribly envious.
Will had been given the full picture. Project W. The future of mankind- the pursuit of godhood through a collection of children perceived to be perfect.
Al himself didn't have that context yet, and Will didn't have the heart to tell him. He also suspected that if he said something, he'd be killed for the indiscretion. He did understand, though, that he had been monitored and tested constantly for as long as he could remember- and the company that had circled that monitoring his entire life just happened to headhunt him at the age of only 17.
Despite this hard upbringing, he was also an immensely and fiercely loving man, though the world at large didn't get to see that. He loved like nobody Will had ever known, and he suspected he would never meet anybody with the same capacity for love again- and he considered himself rather lucky that he was the recipient of that intense attachment.
Most of the time.
On nights like tonight, though, it felt more like a curse.
Will swiped the small towlette around the wound, cleaning away blood and sweat and glitter and being careful not to actually swipe over where the skin was broken with it. Not because he particularly cared about the downsides of debriding a wound with alcohol, but because he knew Al would wince and complain. He pressed two fingers just above the wound for a moment, feeling to see if it was warm- checking for signs of infection.
Al's whole body was running hot, though, so he couldn't be sure.
"I understand the appeal of self destruction, but there's no way you can keep doing this and come out alive." Will finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, despite the harsh words.
"A little partying never killed anyone." Wesker said, the words rolling off his tongue easy.
A little partying had killed plenty of people. Jim Morrison and Janis Joplin came to mind, but Will didn't waste his breath.
"I'm just having a little fun." Al continued with a shrug of his shoulders, somehow completely unbothered by the fact that his arm was flayed open far enough that the skin was curled, and the shrug only served to worsen that. He was changing the subject- clearly Will had circled a little too close to the truth for his liking. "Not like we got to have it growing up."
"Oh, we had plenty." Will said with a scoff. The only reason they got away with half of the shit they pulled was because they were such promising students. "Even if you don't kill yourself, it's not like Spencer is going to keep you around if you fry your brain."
There was a pause as Will reached over for a bottle of Bactine spray.
Every muscle in Albert's body went rigid, and Will suspected it had less to do with the Bactine he was spraying into the wound, and more to do with the mere mention of Oswell Spencer. Even his breathing seemed to stall for a second.
"This is going to sting." Will murmured, keeping a close eye on the other. He was aware there was some kind of sick conditioning in place there, but hadn't thought about it before running his mouth.
"Does he know I'm here?" Wesker asked.
The question came with a shocking amount of clarity- no slur, no gritted teeth. There wasn't necessarily fear there, either, but the question still cut right through Will as he watched the oversprayed Bactine carry glitter and dirt out of the wound.
"Probably." Will replied honestly. He set the bottle down and reached for a packet of gauze. "Can't imagine who else would've had the resources to track you down. You work in my lab and I just submitted your absence as a sick day."
Al practically melted under his touch at that admission- at the realization that Will had acted protectively. Will watched it happen apprehensively, pressing gauze to the wound to soak up excess moisture and to stop what edges were still bleeding.
"A sick day?" Al asked, face falling from something fear-stricken to something much softer. "You always assume the best of me."
Will rolled his eyes and collected a pen of surgical adhesive from the mattress.
"PTO was the path of least paperwork." He said, letting his gaze flicker back to the other's face.
He was grinding his teeth again, leaning into Will's touch, face flushed more than before.
Will started carefully applying the adhesive to curled, gnarled skin. Stitches would've been better but he didn't bring the supplies- he'd assumed Al might need ibuprofen and some bandaids- not this.
"What even happened here, Al?" He asked, squinting at the wound, tongue between his teeth in focus.
"Bar fight." The reply came casually. "I won."
Of course you won, you're a living weapon.
"Ah, so you ran from the cops this weekend too." Will said, pressing the wound closed and holding it tightly to let the adhesive set. Wesker hissed out a pained breath- which was a good sign, it meant the euphoria was no longer outweighing the pain. He was coming down. "Illustrious."
"I'm lucky you're a doctor." Albert said, looking to his arm with interest.
"Just because your boyf-" Will cut himself off sharply, grimacing briefly. "Ah- best friend is a doctor doesn't mean you get to start fights and act like Dionysus when life gets hard."
"I heard that." Al said, lips pulled into a lazy grin. "You didn't have to correct yourself."
"I'm a married man." Will said, pulling his hand from the wound and letting himself smile as it stayed closed. He grabbed a roll of gauze and lifted Al's arm at the elbow, beginning to wrap it quickly to keep it under pressure and closed. "I have a daughter at home. She needs a good role model."
"That's not going to stop you from sleeping with me, and Annette knows that, so I fail to see how it should stop you from accepting a title that's rightfully yours."
Will stepped back, rising to his full height with a quiet grunt, exhausted and aggrieved at once. He inspected his work, satisfied that the wound wouldn't split open before he could get Al back to his office in Raccoon City where he had proper medical supplies.
And then he caught sight of the whole picture.
Albert Wesker, looking devastatingly pleased, telling Will that he should willingly accept such an important, exclusive title, while covered in evidence that he let anything with a pulse touch him all weekend.
Glitter, bruises, lipstick, bites, scratches deep enough for blood to bubble, hickeys. Enough evidence of completely absent decision making to fuel a small documentary. For a brief moment, he'd forgotten. The drug history and the wound had been easy: simple medical care without judgement attached- or, maybe with minimal judgement attached.
And while the conversation wasn't going to be comfortable regardless of context, the heft of the suggestion Albert had just made was going to make it a hell of a lot more uncomfortable.
"Okay." Will said, arms winding around his chest. He shifted his weight, cocking one hip. "So do you want me to address the next issue as a doctor, or as your potential boyfriend?"
The question seemed to throw Al for a loop- he squinted, eyes dragging over Will, taking in his posture and his displeased face.
"That feels like a trick question." He said, setting his hands into his lap and slouching a bit, fidgeting with both thumbs.
"That's because it is." Will said. "Smart man. A miracle, really, given that you're actively attempting a chemical lobotomy."
There was a pause.
"Answer it anyway." Will insisted.
"Well, both titles suit you. You're a doctor, and I consider you my boyfriend. So… both." Al said, seemingly confident he'd solved the riddle without being aware that he'd chosen the worst possible option.
"Okay, then." Will said, brows up, tone a warning of what was to come. "Both. We'll start with boyfriend, since you seem to be a glutton for punishment."
Wesker visibly swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing and shoulders squaring as he realized he'd miscalculated catastrophically.
"You said I'd still sleep with you- I wouldn't. Half of Miami already has." Will said, gaze unforgiving as it darted between bites and hickeys.
"You sleep with othe-"
"I sleep with my wife." Will said. "On occasion. With protection- which brings me to my next point- I don't believe that you used any, and if you told me you did I wouldn't believe you."
"What I do with my body-" Al tried again.
Will cut him off again.
"Is absolutely my business when I'm your primary care physician, and apparently your boyfriend. For a genius, you're a fuckin' idiot."
As he spoke, he paced to the minibar, dropping into a low squat and opening it.
The waters and food were, of course, untouched, but there was no liquor left in sight. Will huffed and grabbed a bottle of water he had no doubt would cost Al at least ten dollars, and then stood, crossing back to him and thrusting the cold bottle into his hands.
Al took the bottle and removed the cap with the steady focus of a pediatric heart surgeon, and then as soon as the lid was removed, his muscles tensed involuntarily, and water spilled from the neck of the bottle and into his lap. A pathetic sight, truly. Will deflated slightly watching Albert go from absolutely betrayed to horribly embarrassed.
"Infidelity notwithstanding- because I'd be an asshole to expect exclusivity- you could get sick, Al." Will said. "And I'm not putting myself or Annette at risk of the kind of diseases going around these circles right now."
He didn't need to say it, it was all over the news.
He moved back to the bed and sat next to Albert, collecting the water bottle for a moment and using a pad of unused gauze to soak up some of the water that had spilled into his lap. He placed the water gingerly back into trembling hands.
Then, he reached over and collected another ream of alcohol swabs, tearing one off, opening it, and beginning to work on one of the long scratches that ran down Al's chest. He tensed slightly under Will's practiced hands, breath catching at the sting of it, but Will paid it no mind. It was a surface scratch, a simple disinfectant would do.
Will watched out of his peripheral vision as Wesker downed the water like he'd never had it before.
"That's it. Let me know if you need some more." Will muttered, trying with steady resolve to quiet the fury currently tightening his chest. He heard the crunch of the empty bottle being crushed and set aside, and then felt a heavy head land on his shoulder.
"Why are you taking care of me?" Al asked, feverish, sweaty forehead immediately leaving a wet spot on Will's shirt where he rested it. Will let out a heaving breath, chest caving with it.
The question was so small, so sincere, and so unbelievably asinine.
Will would've liked to say that it knocked the fight out of him, but it only made it worse. He set the spent wipe aside and opened another, moving to carefully clean a bite at the crook of Al's neck.
"Professional obligation, not to mention the hippocratic oath." Will said, smirking. Wesker straightened up at that, looking up with eyes that looked wide out of hurt and not out of chemical alteration.
It had been a joke. Obviously it was deeper than simple professional obligation. At least it seemed obvious to Will- he was a bioweapons specialist, the hippocratic oath meant precisely nothing to him.
Will paused his cleaning with a resigned click of his tongue, shaking his head.
He set the alcohol wipe aside and caught Albert by both shoulders, physically turning him until they were facing each other.
"Has it ever occurred to you what happens if you die?" Will asked, one eyebrow pulled up in inquisition.
Albert frowned.
"Will-"
"No. Answer me."
The confusion etched into Wesker's exhausted features only deepened.
Will chuckled quietly, more disbelief than a display of amusement or humor.
"You overdose in some nightclub bathroom. You get stabbed in a bar fight. Something you think is safe is laced. What happens next?"
Albert just stared at him, at a loss for words for once.
Will's jaw tightened.
"You have no family." He said.
"Oh, fuck you."
"No- I mean it. Whoever's technically in charge of you? Spencer? Marcus? They're not flying to Miami to identify your body. Or Amsterdam or Berlin for that matter." Will said, soft but still stern at the edges. Deathly serious now.
"Do you know who they'd get great joy out of sending? Me. Because I'm the closest thing you've got. And they'd fly me over first class to stand in a morgue and say, 'yep, that's Al, alright. Poor soul'. And then they'd make me do the autopsy."
They both averted their gaze at once, the corporate art on the walls suddenly worthy of a second glance.
"Have you ever considered that I'd prefer not to do that?" Will finished, voice low and insistent. "I take care of you because I want you alive. Because we've known eachother for a decade and I can't imagine a world without you in it."
And with that, all the fight drained out of Will in one heavy breath. He used his grip on Al's shoulders to pull him in. He went easily, broad frame folding into something almost fragile against Will.
Will placed a chaste kiss into the sweaty mop of hair that landed heavily against him.
"If you keep this up, one of two things happens. You die in some city where nobody knows your name." He said. "Or, you make it back to Arklay sick or stupid, and Umbrella decides you're no longer useful. They'd put you down like a lame horse and take a tax write-off."
"William…" Al started, muffled by the way his face was firmly planted against him. "I- I know. Just- please- God, I feel like shit."
Will let his hand slide up and down the other's back with absent affection.
"Just promise you'll call me so somebody else doesn't have to. I'd rather drive across the city than fly for hours. This is the third time this year." Will said, resigned but deeply sincere. "I'd come."
And he would.
For a moment, Will felt horribly useless.
He was a doctor. He was supposed to be able to make things better.
He could treat bites and scratches, he could seal wounds, he could administer something to make the comedown easier- but the limits of his own extensive expertise weighed heavily on him here as he held a clammy, trembling thing in his arms.
He could diagnose the problem, but he couldn't treat it.
There wasn't a prescription he could offer that would carve out his childhood and replace it with something softer. There wasn't enough gauze in the world to pack the horrible wound left behind by the complete absence of normalcy in Albert Wesker's life.
Will himself was deeply aware that he was making that wound deeper by staying attached, but he feared it was so deep that if he pulled away now it would sever something.
And besides that, he hadn't lied. Albert Wesker was a structural fixture in his own life- when he thought about the future, one year, five years, ten years down the line, he was there. Right next to Will, where he belonged.
There was silence between them for a long moment, and Albert just let himself be held.
"I'll make no such promise. You're a busy man." Al said, straightening up all at once and breaking the peaceful silence. "Annette, Sherry, your work. The list just gets longer. It doesn't need my name on it- you're building something for yourself."
Will watched it happen in real time- watched him try and put his composure back together like a suit of armor. Posture first, then he dragged a hand through tangled, sweaty hair. He stood, swaying a bit at first but crossing the room with purpose to his overnight bag, hauling it up onto the other side of the bed and beginning to root through it.
"I have been busy since I was eleven years old- shit, maybe earlier." Will said, standing but not following Al. He knew this stage- angry, irritable. "It has not ever stopped me from making time for you."
"Aha." Al said, pulling his spare sunglasses from the bag. He slid them over his eyes and visibly relaxed a bit.
And then he kept rooting through the bag with increasingly manic, frustrated movements.
Looking for something with far too much intensity.
"You don't have the kind of time I require anymore, William."
Will crossed then, grasping one of Al's wrists with bruising force and yanking it out of the bag. Whatever might've been in there was not going to make tonight any easier.
"You only think that because you've convinced yourself you're not important enough to demand it." He said, tossing the wrist in his grip away and letting that hand land directly in the center of Wesker's chest, pushing hard, backing him away from the bag. "What do you want, do you want me to be cruel?"
Al hit the wall hard with an audible thud.
Will crowded into his space, palm pressed flat against his chest, pinning him against the wall with the length of his forearm, the point of his elbow braced hard at his stomach.
"You want me to get so fed up that I stop coming? You want to destroy yourself in peace? Fine, fuck it. See if I fucking care."
Al's face twisted immediately from shocked rage to something adjacent to terror as Will stepped away. He opened his mouth, but Will kept speaking before he managed to get anything out.
"They don't pay me to be here, by the way- I could say no. They send me as a courtesy, because sending Umbrella Security Service after your dumb ass would make the news." Will spat. "They call me in to ask if they think moving you somewhere secure might rein you in- and every time I act like I don't know what they're fucking talking about, like I don't see you chew through an entire pack of gum in a day in my lab."
"Will-"
"Will, what? If it's not 'Will, I'm sorry' or 'Will, I love you' I don't want to fucking hear it! Give me your wallet."
"What?"
"Give." A pause.
"Me." Another pause.
"Your." Will pointed at him.
"Wallet." He finished.
Wesker pointed at the bed, stunned, face drained of all color.
The leather billfold sat beside the overnight bag he'd just been rifling through.
Will snatched it up and shoved it into his pocket without even checking the contents. Then, he pulled out his own wallet, pulled a fifty-dollar bill from it, and flicked it towards Albert. It drifted to the floor unceremoniously.
Next came the overnight bag. He unzipped it hard, the sound sharp in the suddenly silent room, and started digging through it. A pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt were thrown onto the mattress with the dull rustle of fabric landing on fabric.
Will took the bag with him when he crossed the room towards his own belongings.
Bandage rolls disappeared into the medical bag in furious fistfuls. Antiseptic wipes, tape, gauze. It all got packed away with infuriated efficiency. From behind the armchair he produced his own backpack, first shoving the lab reports he'd been reading back into it before yanking the zipper for the main compartment open.
A hoodie emerged in his shaking fist.
A nice one- heavy rayon, Umbrella logo embroidered over the breast, his name and title stitched neatly underneath it. A ten-year service gift he'd received recently.
He threw that at the bed, too, and it landed in a crumpled heap with the t-shirt and sweatpants.
Then he collected his pager from the bag and started hammering out a message with enough force that the buttons creaked under his thumb.
"We're wheels up at Miami Executive in ninety minutes exactly. I won't be waiting." Will said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Get yourself cleaned up- don't shower, the glue on your arm needs a full day to cure."
He collected Al's overnight bag in one hand, and tapped his pocket to make sure he still had both wallets and the rental car keys before collecting his medical bag in the other.
"Use the money for a cab. Or don't. Use it to buy something that'll finish the job." Will continued, the words fast and ugly and a bit too loud. He paused then, the words see if I care about to fly out of his mouth when he got another look at Al.
Pale and exhausted and miserable, getting hit with reality at mach speed now that he was coming down- though Will suspected the alcohol and weed still in his system were keeping him just slow enough to prevent the kind of violent outburst he had been expecting.
Will hated him.
Not Albert Wesker, but the version of him standing in front of him. The one only half composed and hiding coked-out eyes behind sunglasses at three in the morning. Will dropped the carryon and the medical bag to the floor unceremoniously and caught Wesker hard at the jaw, pulling him into a kiss that was harsh enough to be punishing more than it was tender or sweet. A violent clash of lips and teeth that practically bled desperation.
Please make the right decision.
It was brief and it was angry, but it was a kiss nonetheless.
"If that's a goodbye kiss." Will said, already picking his bags back up. "So be it."
And then he stormed out, leaving Albert Wesker behind with nothing but $50, some clean clothes, and nobody but the mirror to be angry at.