Chapter Text
One week later…
Jill was waiting for Wesker in his office when he arrived at the R.P.D., her fingers tapping the top of his desk impatiently when he entered the S.T.A.R.S office.
“Miss Valentine, isn’t it a little early?” he asked, placing his shoulder bag on the desk.
“I’ve been waiting for 15 minutes, did you sleep in Captain?” She asked, adjusting her beret in annoyance.
“Where is Chris?” He asked, now eying her suspiciously.
“I asked Barry to take him out for bagel sandwiches this morning, because I needed to talk to you,” Jill mused, fussing with one of her fingernails for a moment before locking eyes with her reflection in Wesker’s sunglasses. “I need you to take Chris this weekend. There is some family stuff I have to deal with and I need to take tomorrow off.” She blurted out, her eyes searching his blank expression as he shifted uncomfortably.
“I can’t–”
“You can, and you will. And to be honest, you have to. Forest’s apartment is absolutely disgusting and I do not trust that Vicker’s will bring Chris back on Monday in one piece.” She continued, as Wesker attempted to clear his throat.
“Barry-”
“Barry has the kids, and they are going on a family camping trip this weekend,” Jill interrupted, her voice unwavering as she continued. “In all seriousness, Captain, no one is going to suspect a thing. Everyone is just going to think that our thoughtful Captain is looking after his prized Pointman, so please don’t be weird about it. You know no one else here is going to take good enough care of Chris, and I don’t want to spend the weekend worrying if he is consuming anything other than alcohol and pizza if left in the hands of Forest or Brad.” Jill huffed as she leaned back against the chair she was sitting in, pausing for a moment before adding “Nevermind the fact that he obviously misses you.” She added, cringing slightly as she did so.
Wesker contemplated Jill’s reasoning, not wanting her to elaborate on what kind of deplorable conditions Chris could be subjected to all weekend, never mind what kinds of trouble he could get in with the S.T.A.R.S team’s number one and number two instigators.
“I understand your concern Jill, and I accept your terms. Chris may stay with me through the weekend. I can pick him up tomorrow on my way into the station if that is acceptable?” Wesker said, eyebrows raising when Jill exhaled in relief.
“And here I thought I was going to have to dump him at your doorstep and drive off. Such a big soft spot you’ve got for my partner, Captain.” She teased, knowing she was pushing her luck.
“That’s enough Miss Valentine, unless you would like to relieve Mr. Vickers of the crossing guard duties you have somehow passed onto him.” Wesker said, a serious but light tone in his voice causing Jill to excuse herself as politely as possible.
~
When Wesker pulled up to the curb in front of Jill’s apartment building, he found Chris already waiting outside. Sitting on the cushion of his knee scooter, Chris picked at the tape wrapped around the bottom of his crutch, a duffle bag beside him on the curb.
“Christopher? What are you doing out here alone?” Wesker asked when he exited his car, not taking his eyes off of Chris as he popped the trunk.
“Jill left early this morning, it's a long drive for her. I wasn’t sure what time you would be here…And I know it's kind of a hassle with all this stuff, I just didn’t want to be the reason we were late,” Chris said, gesturing to all of the items he had around him.
Wesker paused for a moment, taken aback by the younger man’s explanation. If there was one thing Wesker was sure he knew about Chris, it was that he was sincere and earnest with every action that he took. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but feel a brief pang of guilt, for he was sure Chris was going out of his way to make sure he wasn’t a burden.
“Very well. Have you eaten breakfast?” Wesker asked, loading Chris’ bag and scooter into the back of his car.
“No, not yet,” Chris admitted, wobbling slightly against the crutch.
“Hm.” Wesker acknowledged as he closed the trunk of his car, taking a hold of the crutch while assisting Chris into the front seat of the car before glancing at his watch.
“Well then, it looks like your punctuality has earned us a stop at that coffee shop down the street from the office,” Wesker said, causing Chris to break into a handsome smile.
“And it’s Friday! They should still have some of the fresh baked muffins this morning, I bet they will still be warm this early,” Chris said, rapping his fingers across the passenger seat door in excitement as Wesker couldn’t help but smirk, the young Pointman’s enthusiasm contagious.
~
Wesker and Chris arrived at the R.P.D with twenty minutes to spare before their shift began, with Chris’ stomach now full from an array of fresh baked goods. Chris slowly made his way up the R.P.D entrance way stairs and through the main hall with assistance of his crutch, pausing to lean on the railing of the main staircase that would lead him to the West Wing. Allowing Chris to take a break, Wesker climbed the staircase, carrying Chris’ knee scooter to the second floor landing overlooking the main hall.
By the time he returned to meet Chris at the bottom of the staircase, Chris had scaled two steps. Looking determined until Wesker placed a hand on the small of his back, Chris felt his face flush as he steadied himself against the railing.
“We are in no rush, please take your time,” Wesker said in a stern, yet gentle voice, a tone Chris had become familiar with only in their time spent together in private.
They conquered about half of the staircase before Chris paused, his free hand clutching onto the ornate wooden railing.
“Is everything alright?” Wesker asked, scanning Chris’ face for discomfort.
“I just need a break. I’m sorry Cap, I know this must look so pathetic but this thing fucking hurts the inside of my armpit so much,” Chris sighed in frustration, shaking out his arm to give it a break.
“Needing to take a break is certainly not pathetic, nor should you be embarrassed by it. You are doing remarkably well for someone in your condition,” Wesker observed, the praise reinflating Chris’ resolve.
“It’s all that physical therapy Rebecca keeps making me do. You know those 3 pound weights are a doozy,” Chris joked, earning a smirk from Wesker before they continued to ascend the stairs.
Upon reaching the top, Chris hobbled over to his knee scooter, slightly out of breath from the exertion of climbing the stairs, now thankful to be free of the crutch.
“Well done,” Wesker said, his hand clasping Chris’ shoulder briefly before continuing down the West Wing hallway, Chris gliding closely behind him on his scooter, unable to hide a smile.
~
The S.T.A.R.S office started to bustle not soon after Wesker and Chris arrived, team members hustling to get their paperwork complete before heading out to various assignments. Though it was rare for the office to be completely empty, on this particular day, by the time lunch rolled around the various members from both the Alpha and Bravo teams had cleared out, tending to patrols, training exercises, and investigations.
Normally welcoming any quiet that fell over the normally active office, Wesker couldn’t help but notice the soft clicking of keys on the computer Chris was working on. Checking his watch, Wesker was surprised to find that Chris was still working though it was lunchtime, unusual for what he had observed to be the younger man’s most favorable part of the day.
“Are you not going to eat?” Wesker asked.
“Oh. Uh, I actually didn’t bring lunch. I wanted to make sure I was ready for you when you swung by this morning, so I guess I forgot all about it,” Chris said, looking down at his desk, disappointed in his oversight.
Wesker studied Chris for a moment, determining that asking why he didn’t mention this sooner would not help the current situation.
“Come with me,” Wesker beckoned before disappearing into his office.
When Chris wheeled into Wesker’s office, he was greeted by Wesker cutting a sandwich into two halves, placing one half onto a paper plate and sliding it across the table.
“Captain, you don’t have to split your lunch with me. I can go find something from the vending machine,” Chris stammered, cut off by Wesker raising an eyebrow at him.
“Nonsense. Do you think I am going to let you starve at your desk?”
Knowing better than to argue, Chris approached Wesker’s desk and took a seat, his stomach rumbling when his eyes landed on the sandwich.
“Thanks, this is really good,” Chris said after taking a few bites of the sandwich, his hazel eyes unable to hide his gratitude or the admiration he had for the older man.
Recognizing a brief but similar gaze from Wesker’s as cleaned the lenses of his sunglasses, Chris relaxed in his chair. Feeling at ease and drunk of attention he had been craving for weeks, Chris began to talk freely, making small talk about cases, the weather, and even sports.
Not wanting to tamper enthusiasm he had not seen from Chris in weeks, Wesker too relaxed in his chair, offering just enough conversation to keep Chris rambling, even if it was well past their normal lunch break time.
~
The rest of the day remained quiet around the S.T.A.R.S office, with Wesker participating in meetings with other Captains and Lieutenants late into the afternoon. On his walk back to his office, Wesker heard the light sound of a guitar fill the silent halls of the West Wing, a sound that he now realized had been notably missing these past few weeks. As he approached the door to the S.T.A.R.S office, Wesker observed that the notes on the guitar were slow, but more importantly, noticeably sad. Pausing in the doorway to peer inside, he spotted Chris, alone at his desk, his injured leg propped up on his knee scooter.
Chris continued to strum on his guitar, the sound slightly raw from being out of practice, but evening out the longer he played. Playing until the sad song finished, Chris sighed before the sound of Wesker’s boots creaking on the floor behind him caused him to look up.
“Shit. Sorry Captain. It’s after hours and I just thought I would mess around on my guitar for a little bit,” Chris said, scooting his desk chair forward and scrambling to put the guitar back up on the wall.
Turning around, Chris straightened out his uniform on one leg before steadying himself on top of his knee scooter.
“Come with me,” Wesker said after a long pause, observing Chris’ fingers fidgeting slightly on his handle bars.
‘Shit,’ Chris mouthed to himself, the wheels of his scooter squeaking behind Wesker as he followed a generous few steps behind him.
Following Wesker through the main hallway, Chris felt his stomach turn as they approached the waiting room. Not surprised to find it empty so late in the day, Chris continued to push forward, cringing when Wesker took a left out of the waiting room and down the hallway towards Chief Iron’s office. Unsure if he should beg for forgiveness, pretend his scooter was broken, or suddenly succumb to a mystery illness before they reached Iron’s office, Chris sighed as he hung his head, worried more about what Jill would say if he got suspended.
When they reached the end of the hallway, Chris looked at Wesker in surprise when instead of heading towards Iron’s office, he turned right and held the roof door open so Chris could wheel through it. Wesker continued to walk over to the large staircase on the backside of the R.P.D, pausing until Chris was waiting behind him.
Unsure if Wesker was going to make him hop up and down the stairs on one leg as some sort of sick punishment, or just push him down the stairs, Chris was just about to open his mouth in protest when Wesker spoke.
“I assume you are familiar with a firefighter’s carry?” Wesker asked, taking a step towards Chris.
“Well yeah but wh—WHOA, OK?” Chris said, taken off guard when Wesker lifted his arm up, crouched down, and hoisted Chris’ weight over his back. Holding onto Chris with one arm, and picking up his scooter in the other, Chris held onto whatever he could as Wesker carried him down the stairs. Once they had reached the bottom, Wesker set Chris’ scooter down, before placing him down onto it.
“This way,” Wesker said, waving Chris towards the back entrance of the break room hallway. Realizing that without his crutch he was not going to get that far, Chris continued after the older blonde man. Pausing at the top of the basement staircase when he met Wesker in the hallway, Chris’ eyes widened in surprise as he realized where Wesker was leading him.
“Ar-are we going to the range?” Chris asked, Wesker tilting his head with a smirk all the confirmation he needed.
“You’re serious!? We can go down and shoot? Right now?” Chris asked, unable to contain his excitement.
“If you will let me carry you down another flight of stairs, then yes,” Wesker said, scoffing when Chris raised both of his arms immediately.
Though Chris was not surprised by Wesker’s ability to effortlessly carry him down the stairs, he couldn’t help but comment on the absurdity of the situation. “Well I guess you’re lucky I lost a couple pounds when I was on leave,” Chris joked, earning an amused hum from Wesker as they quietly descended the staircase.
Once they had reached the basement, Wesker and Chris navigated the corridors until they reached the R.P.D’s shooting range. Taking a few minutes to outfit themselves with eye and hearing protection, Wesker then used a key to unlock the training firearm cabinet, an array of pistols and rifles on display before them.
Wesker selected a pistol for Chris carefully, making sure that it would not have too much recoil as the S.T.A.R.S Pointman buzzed with excitement next to him. Once the gun was loaded and the paper target was placed, they selected the last stall of the range, providing Chris access to the wall in case he lost his balance.
Shifting until he felt comfortable with his leg placement on his scooter and his footing in general, Chris squared his hips towards the target. Standing closely to him, but far enough away to give Chris some freedom to move, Wesker observed as Chris fired off the first round, wobbling slightly as the bullet hit the top left of the target.
“Oh man, am I out of practice,” Chris said, nervously laughing when Wesker shook his head.
“You are not out of practice. You are off balance. Here, let me assist you,” Wesker said, now straddling the sides of Chris’ legs on the scooter in an effort to keep him steady.
“There, that is much better. Keep your posture straight and your core tight. You may brace against me for balance,” Wesker explained, a light pink flush hitting Chris’ cheeks as he aimed the pistol at the target. Feeling more confident with the stability of Wesker bracing him, Chris fired the shot, nearly hitting the target dead center.
“Excellent,” Wesker said, his voice reverberating against the ear protection Chris was wearing, the praise sending a shiver up the younger man’s spine.
Erupting into a smile, Chris leaned into Wesker’s warmth, comforted by both his presence and a return to normalcy he had been so desperate for. Overcome with emotion, he felt his eyes suddenly prickle with tears. Sniffling slightly as he rubbed the wetness away from his eyes, Chris turned to face Wesker, his hazel eyes glistening with gratitude.
Chris understood that at its surface, his relationship with Wesker was puzzling to the few people who were even aware of its existence. However, if there was one thing Chris was sure of, it was that Wesker had a unique ability to understand exactly what Chris needed, even at times when he himself was unsure of what that could be. Thankful to be seen in ways that maybe no one else ever would, Chris closed the space between them, pressing their lips together for a long overdue kiss.