Work Text:
“God fucking damn it can't you see that I'm busy?! What do you want?”
The second the words are out of his mouth, Wesker knows he fucked up. Your eyes widen at the venom in his voice – something he's never directed at you before – and you actually take a step back from him. Your eyes fill with tears but you blink rapidly to not let them fall, afraid of angering him further with your display of emotion, something you know he detests. But not from you, never from you – his darling precious flowering jasmine.
Yet here you are. Afraid of him. Because he lost his temper with you.
“I– I'm sorry,” you apologise thickly, your voice trembling in that way Wesker knows well – you're trying to not let it break, not let your tears win their battle against you and spill down your cheeks. You swallow harshly and angle your body away from him as you retreat towards the door without taking your wide eyes off of him. “It's nothing, love. I'll leave you to it. Nevermind.”
Wesker watches you leave his office in silence. He should… apologise. Right? That's what one does in a situation like this, he's pretty sure. Except – he's never had to apologise to you before. From the moment he met you, you've been perfect for him: the right amount of soft and sweet to balance him out, with none of the airheadedness he hates in most simpering women content to be their partners’ rags so long as they're showered in affection. He cherishes you and he genuinely appreciates that you put up with so much for him, out of your devotion to him: late nights where you fall asleep on your own, days of him being gone with no prior warning because there are matters he needs to attend to that he can't postpone, him ignoring you for entire days at a time even when he's home because he cannot pull himself away from his work.
You never complain and you never push. You just hold him close and kiss him sweetly and tell him that you're proud of him for finally doing his own thing, being his own man away from Umbrella. That you know he'd be with you more often if he had any time to spare.
Wesker doesn't have time for many people outside of himself. He doesn't have the interest to make that time unless he needs those people for his own goals. But for you, he swore he'd make an effort. You have earned that much from him, after years of unwavering loyalty and support and sacrifices. You betrayed your own sister to join him and even though Wesker knows you miss Jill some days, you have never once regretted your choice.
An uncomfortable feeling settles in his stomach at his thoughts.
Guilt? That's new.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters to himself, gloves creaking as he curls his hands into frustrated fists, then he takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling for patience. He glances back at the multiple screens in front of him, eyes sweeping over the information being fed to him on Ada's quest to get him the Amber – a task that has proven to be much harder to accomplish than it should've realistically been. It's frustrating and it makes him wish he'd just gone in and retrieved it himself instead of wasting time with middlemen.
But then his eyes flicker to the door that you just slipped through and he sighs. Sitting here staring at screens won't make Ada move faster. At least out there he can do something productive, tangible.
With one last heavy sigh, Wesker climbs to his feet and crosses the room in a few precise strides, wrenching the cracked door open and marching towards the deck. He finds you, as he knew he would, leaning slightly over the railing, arms braced on top of it with your head propped up on top of them, staring at the water while you cry silently. He can hear your sniffles and smell your tears – much saltier and more bitter than the ocean.
That heavy feeling makes its presence known in his stomach again, curdling with every pathetic little sniffle you let out, and Wesker hates it. If he didn't already know how much it would hurt him, he'd almost kill you just to get rid of the weakness you are.
“You shouldn't lean over like that. You could fall over.”
The wind whips your hair and his shirt noisily but it doesn't swallow his voice enough to prevent it from reaching you. He knows you hear him because your posture goes rigid for a moment – yet you don't turn around to face him. A show of defiance and great bravery, considering the fear he saw blooming in your eyes not even ten minutes ago.
This is why he loves you and only you.
“Right. And you wouldn't want that to happen. It might pull you away from your work, you know? If you had to fish me out of the water,” you mutter bitterly, low enough that he wouldn't have heard you if he wasn't, well, him.
Wesker huffs, annoyed at your attitude, but he has to give it to you – the jab is deserved. He's been ignoring you more than usual lately, rarely pulling himself away from work long enough to do more than press a distracted kiss to your temple on his way to and fro. He frowns.
It irks him, paradoxically, that he's proving to be a subpar partner to you. He's Albert Wesker. He excels at everything he puts his mind to. Yet here he is, fumbling to make his partner feel loved, messing up a simple apology. This is unacceptable.
“I… should not have snapped at you like that. It was wrong of me,” he says, rolling the foreign words around in his mouth and finding that they taste weird. He'd have no issue giving you the best damn apology you've ever heard if you were anyone else – he has no trouble when it comes to lying and charming people, telling them exactly what they want to hear. He's a bit of an expert at that, actually. But when he's supposed to mean something, when he wants it to come across as sincere and actually be honest? It's like pulling teeth. Authenticity and Wesker don't really mesh well, not unless it's his disregard for human life that he's letting shine through.
“No shit.” You lift a hand to wipe your eyes with the sleeves of your shirt, coughing to clear your throat, then give him a short shrug. “You can go. I'll entertain myself. Sorry that I thought I could just… hang out with my boyfriend while he works so I wouldn't feel so alone. Next time I'll remember my place,” you mutter.
His fists clench again and he takes a couple of steps forward to approach you properly this time. He comes to a stop behind you, a mere few inches away from your turned back, and his jaw is clenched as he stares at your head.
“Your place is at my side,” Wesker starts, forcing the words out because he knows he needs to say them. You deserve to hear them. “You know that. I… I apologise for losing it like that. I was frustrated but it's not an excuse. I am better than this. You are, of course, always welcome to share my space with me.”
Your breath hitches in response to his words and something drives Wesker to place his left hand on your shoulder and the right on your hip and step closer to you, draping himself over your body and shielding you from the wind while he cradles you close. Your chest heaves with more sobs but you don't try to push him away or wrench yourself free. You lean into his embrace, soaking up his unnatural warmth and placing one of your hands – so human, so fragile – over his fingers resting on your shoulder.
“You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know?” you grumble, sniffling wetly but turning just slightly so your side is pressed against his front and you can rest your head on his chest.
“I know,” Wesker agrees easily. He's never been anything else, truthfully. He's never cared to try, not unless it benefitted him. You're the first person he's felt the urge to be nice to for no other reason than because it makes you happy. “But you're still the only one I love.”
Your hand tightens in his shirt, small fingers gripping him with a force that surprises even him sometimes, and you shake your head – more out of disbelief than in disagreement.
“I don't ask for much, Albert… I gave everything up for you. You're the only family I have now. I'm sorry if my neediness is annoying but…”
“It's not,” Wesker interrupts firmly as his arms maneuver you around until you're facing him properly and he can cup your face in his hands. “You are right. This isn't the way to reward you for being so devoted to me. It's my duty to see to your needs and I have been slacking.”
Your lips quirk up in an amused little grin, a tad brittle at the edges but real nonetheless, and the sight makes Wesker feel much more relieved than he expected.
“Nobody will ever believe me if I tell them that the great Albert Wesker admitted to being anything less than stellar at something,” you tease.
He glares at you but his hands slide down your body until he's gripping your waist again, pulling you into him so suddenly that a gasp tumbles out of your lips.
“My apologies are for your ears only, my dear,” he rumbles in your ear, pressing a kiss full of too many teeth under your jaw, a kiss that lights you up instantly and has you clutching at him for a very different reason this time around. He smirks as he presses another to your skin before he pulls back. “Now come. I should check on Ada and make sure she hasn't gotten herself killed in my absence.”
Your eyes are dilated and he can smell your arousal in your pants, but you swallow obediently and nod as you follow after him, leaving the heavy, salty winds of the deck behind while he leads you further down into the darkness of the ship – an apt metaphor for your entire relationship, perhaps, but it's not like you mind the dark much. You keep walking into it willingly, after all.