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Wesker had given him a long list of conditions to abide by before he even showed up at his place. Chris revised the bullet points Wesker had listed the previous evening, summarising the series of frantic texts they had exchanged in the past week, ever since he drunkenly volunteered to show up at Zeno's end-of-school party as Albert's plus one. Or rather, as Zeno's guest, since his whole purpose of showing up was to prove to everyone, including himself and Jill, that whatever he had going on with Wesker was… friendly. Platonic. Definitely not romantic in nature.
The plan was simple: drive to Wesker's place, leave his car there, help transfer a ridiculous amount of fresh, pre-cut fruit into coolers, and load them in Wesker's car along with sunscreen, the kid, and the ex-bioterrorist, and show up thirty minutes early to help set up.
Wesker had warned him that he had been forced to volunteer to assemble a backdrop, and that, knowing the PTA queen, Chris would most likely be roped into it as well. It was fine for him, and although physical labor did not scare him, he was sure Wesker could lift the whole thing single-handedly without any contribution from him. He'd go along to help him keep up the human façade.
He finished getting ready, checked his reflection in the mirror, and judged it was okay. He lamented being unable to wear his favorite shirt, but he had promised to abide by the dress code Wesker had imposed on him.
It was going to be a hot, sunny day, so he'd applied his sunscreen and deodorant and opted for light-colored pants. He'd washed, ironed, and worn the olive green T-shirt Wesker had approved, and completed the ensemble with practical shoes and aviator sunglasses. He grabbed a jacket to toss in his car for later, just in case. He'd even shaved.
Satisfied with his appearance, he stepped into his car, texted Wesker that he was on his way, and departed.
He arrived in time, as expected, parked the car in Wesker's garage—a generous and unprompted concession on Wesker's part, although Chris suspected it was to keep his banged-up Jeep out of sight from the neighbors—and rang the doorbell.
Wesker opened the door for him, almost fully ready to go. During his previous visits, Chris had learned that Wesker preferred to keep his house a shoeless environment, so he paused on the threshold for his cue to wait there or to take off his shoes to enter.
"Come in, we should consolidate our versions before we face the public," Wesker told him, stepping to the side.
Chris dutifully removed his shoes and put them on the rack by the door. "Hello to you too, 'thanks for coming, Chris,' no problem, really," he mocked. He could see the tension in the lines on Wesker's face, and didn't take his curt welcome personally.
Zeno was in the kitchen helping to pack the little containers of fruit. He grinned and waved when he saw him. "Hi Uncle Chris!" he greeted. "I'm helping with the fruit."
"That's great, buddy," he replied, as he walked behind Wesker, who was gesturing at him to follow. He was guided to the living room and showed the couch.
"Sit," Wesker ordered, sharply, and Chris obeyed, keeping an easy stance and an open mind.
Chris waited for Wesker to start repeating the rules they had already agreed upon and extensively discussed, a patient smile on his face. He was there as a friend, and because, frankly, he needed an excuse to be out in the sun where the stakes didn't involve saving the world. He had even taken a rare afternoon off just for the occasion.
"You're coming along because Zeno invited you, because we are… sort of friends."
Chris snorted, "I think we are friends, at this point, Albert."
"Don't interrupt," Wesker said, a little embarrassed by Chris's certainty. "And the official version of the truth is—"
"—that we used to work in law enforcement together in the late '90s, and now you are a consultant for the organization I work for, which is how we reconnected after all those years," Chris finished for him. "You know, it's actually the truth, give or take a murder attempt or two."
Wesker raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"And we don't deviate from the script," Chris continued, reciting the cover story Wesker had prepared for them in order to deal with the PTA's inevitable prying. "Look, not to argue, but when I say it out loud, it sounds a lot like we are sleeping together," Chris warned him.
"Then what are you suggesting we say, instead?"
Chris shrugged, "I don't think I can plan my interactions like this. I think it'll depend on where the conversation is going."
Wesker smoothed an imaginary wrinkle on his blue linen pants and sighed. "This is going to be the longest day of my life."
"Does it bother you that much that they think we are a couple?" Chris asked, sincerely, and received a loaded look in return.
Wesker didn't have an answer for him. "At least you clean up nice," he said after a long moment of reflection. Chris figured he'd take the compliment and drop the subject. "Come on, it wouldn't do to be late; Zeno is attending one more year of kindergarten there."
After they had loaded the coolers in Wesker's car and double checked that they hadn't forgotten anything, they put their shoes on and strapped Zeno in the car seat. Chris sat down in the passenger seat, which was still in the perfect position to accommodate his legs.
He could feel Wesker's stress radiating from the driver's seat and see it in the lines around his mouth. "We're gonna have a great time," he said, trying to defuse the tension by sparking Zeno's enthusiasm.
Wesker's mouth remained in a tense line, but Chris thought he saw the corner of it twitch up minutely at the burst of Zeno's excitement from the backseat. At least, Chris thought to himself, Albert's ever-present sunglasses wouldn't look out of place in a sunny park.
Wesker parked a little way from the entrance, managing to find a rare spot in the shade. They unloaded the car and carried one large cooler each, flanking Zeno, who reached to hold Wesker's free hand and, after a moment of thinking, offered his other hand to Chris.
They were never going to beat the dating allegations like that, but Chris couldn't refuse the little smiling face. He ignored Wesker's conflicted stare and took Zeno's hand.
The park was already abuzz with activity. A perfectly coiffed woman in a pink sundress was holding a clipboard and moving around, directing all activity with the same authority as a drill sergeant. She spotted them and made her way to them, the gravel of the path crunching under her summer wedges.
"Zeno, Albert, welcome!" She said with a wide and unnaturally bright smile. Chris could feel her calculating gaze on him. "And you brought a guest! So this must be—"
"—Chris, nice to meet you," he cut her off before she could say anything incriminating. There were too many witnesses around for murder, and by the way Wesker's eyes glinted behind his darkened lenses, he wasn't going to take any unnecessary risk. Of course, this wasn't going to stop her assumptions, but his idea was to take it one crisis at a time.
"How nice to meet you, Chris." Her eyes did a full sweep of his body, in an almost clinical evaluation of his assets to report to the rest of the PTA later. He was glad to have both hands occupied so he didn't have to shake hers. "Albert is always so protective of his private life, I was beginning to think he would never feel comfortable enough to introduce you." She pivoted her attention to Wesker, gesturing at Chris with her free hand. "I don't know why you were trying to hide him. If I were you, I'd be parading him around on every occasion."
Chris felt a little uncomfortable being put in the spot like that.
"We brought the fruit I promised," Wesker interrupted, trying to cut the pleasantries to a minimum with the long-suffering look of someone who had had to deal with this woman way more often than he liked. It was very clear to Chris that he found the woman insufferable; he couldn't understand how she didn't see it. "Where can we set it up?"
She snapped back to full organizational efficiency, turning and pointing at a table to the left where a couple of parents were setting up an umbrella. "You can leave the coolers with Jenna and Mark over there, and then I have you two signed up to set up the photo booth backdrop." She gestured at a minivan parked near the entrance. "If you would be so kind as to help us unload the boxes from the car."
Chris was amused by the fact that he'd been roped into helping out along with Wesker, just as he had predicted. This Jessica was a formidable nuisance in Wesker's life.
Zeno let go of Chris's hand and looked up at Wesker. "Can I help too?"
Jessica cut into the conversation, "You don't have to, sweetheart. You can go play with the other kids over there," she pointed at the playground, where some other parents were keeping an eye on the few children already present.
Zeno still looked up at Wesker, waiting strictly on his decision. "You can go play with your friends, or you can come along with us," Wesker told him calmly. "But you need to keep out of the way while we're carrying heavy or large objects."
Zeno understood and decided to go join the other kids for the time being.
They escaped Jessica's orbit, unloaded the fruit, and walked to the minivan, where another PTA mom was in charge of coordinating. She also seemed to be familiar with Albert, and Chris gathered from Wesker's body language that while he didn't particularly like her, he disliked her infinitely less than he did Jessica.
"Hello," she greeted both of them, checking her own clipboard. "Albert, I have you on backdrop duty, so if you two could grab these boxes, you can start setting up over there." She gestured at several large cardboard boxes and then at a spot on the lawn marked with a pole. When she had their attention again, she handed Wesker a few sheets of paper stapled together. "The instructions are in here, and at the end you will find a diagram of how the decorations are supposed to look."
Chris was a little impressed by the almost military efficiency with which the PTA seemed to organize its events and wondered if that was always the case.
"Thank you, Sarah," Wesker replied, all superficial politeness. He seemed to appreciate her not asking questions about Chris, at least. He put the papers on top of the closet box and effortlessly lifted it. Chris gave a smile to Sarah, grabbed the next box with a little more effort, and followed Wesker in silence.
They went back to the minivan for another trip to bring the rest of the material to their designated spot, then started unpacking. Wesker was studying the diagram, scrunching up his face in disapproval, prompting Chris to take a step closer to see what had him frowning. The last page was a poorly photoshopped mockup of the final product, looking like it had been lifted straight off a Pinterest inspiration board: a large metal frame to hold a canvas background, a banner with the name of the school and class, and a massive assortment of balloons strategically placed all around.
"A little excessive for a kindergarten party," Chris remarked, under his breath.
"I agree."
At least it wouldn't be too complicated to execute for the two of them.
"So, where do we start?" Chris asked as Wesker flipped back to the beginning of the assembly instructions.
"By building the frame. Pass me that box." Chris did so, and they started unpacking and assembling the metal frame, easily working in a coordinated way that required almost no verbal communication.
While Chris knew that Wesker could have done it all by himself, he didn't mind lending a hand and helping him keep up appearances in front of the other school parents.
The menial task of holding and assembling gave him the perfect opportunity to study Wesker in this new context. He could clearly glimpse the most human part of Albert, stripped of his authority and world-dominating ambitions, just a caring suburban dad at a summer picnic in soft linen, eyes periodically drifting to check in on his child in a way that spoke of genuine affection, and not of artifice.
Chris caught himself, tearing his eyes away before he was caught staring. A flash of pink in his peripheral vision drew his attention across the lawn, where Jessica was currently making her rounds, inspecting the progress of the other volunteer groups.
"I see why you can't stand Jessica," Chris told him quietly, breaking the comfortable silence of their seamless collaboration.
Wesker paused what he was doing to meet his eyes. "I never said anything of the sort," he stated, flatly, and finished knotting the banner to the top of the frame.
Chris gave him a doubtful look. "You don't have to, I can see it on your face," he explained. He'd been the recipient of similar withering stares before, and knew what he was talking about.
Wesker scoffed and took a step backward to compare the banner positioning to the reference composite. He ordered Chris to make a few minor adjustments until he was satisfied with the result, and Chris easily went along with them, opting for the path of least resistance by agreeing to adjust a string of letters a few inches this way or that, knowing from experience that it was futile to argue that 'close enough' was fine.
Once satisfied with that element, they started working on the balloons, Chris inflating them with the electrical pump provided, and Wesker dutifully attaching them to the backdrop according to the diagram.
Having the time to properly look around while he performed such a repetitive task, Chris noticed several other adults sneaking glances at them, clearly trying to catch a glimpse of Albert and his elusive partner. "You really are popular at school," he remarked, making Wesker turn away from his decorating task and look at him, perplexed.
"My refusal to participate in their group chats seems to spark endless speculation about my personal life. Your presence merely provides a tangible anchor for their idle gossip."
Chris shook his head, thoroughly amused by the man's total lack of social awareness. Though he felt acutely observed for the remainder of their decorating task, the attention didn't feel hostile at all. On the contrary, the curious glances directed at the two of them were soft, accompanied by welcoming smiles. The community wasn't trying to freeze him out—they were eagerly waiting for an opening to invite him in. He wondered if Albert would ever allow himself to see it.
With the two of them, their decorating task took far less than the budgeted 30 minutes. Jessica came to judge their handiwork and, finding it satisfactory, she sent them off to help a group of fathers who were manning the grills in the designated cooking area.
Chris accepted good heartedly, while he had the feeling Wesker was sulking at the idea of being rewarded for a good job with more work. Chris ascribed it to never having been anything other than upper management.
He patted Wesker's shoulder in a friendly manner and felt him stiffen at the unexpected contact, but refrain from saying anything to Chris. Once they were close to the grill, Chris slipped on his own sunglasses and told Wesker, loud enough for the people around them to hear, "Come on, Al. Grill duty means we got off easy."
One of the dads raised his beer at them in greeting. "Yeah, welcome. Get a drink and relax, we don't have a ton to do yet, just don't snitch on us to Jessica."
Chris approached an open cooler and grabbed a beer for himself, and after a momentary hesitation, grabbed a second one that he handed to Wesker, who didn't look like he was interested in it in the slightest. Chris took a sip and shared a meaningful look with him, trying to convey the message that he really didn't need to drink it, but he needed to at least pretend to in order to fit in.
Finally embracing his cover story, Wesker also took a minute sip of his drink and hovered around the grill. The men seemed more relaxed and less nosy than the women of the PTA had been. They seemed content to introduce themselves and make small talk.
Chris fit in right away, finding easy camaraderie with the other dads at the grill, as they chatted about barbecue. He could feel Wesker's slight unease at his side, but wasn't sure of what he could do to help him fit in.
Having known the man as long as he did, he was aware of the fact that he'd rather distance himself from the group and be on his own, but he kept to Chris's side, despite his evident discomfort at being dragged into the conversation from time to time. Maybe because he wasn't sure he could trust Chris to speak to the other parents at the park without supervision, maybe because Chris was not an unknown variable like the rest of the adults at the party.
More and more people started arriving, and the party started getting into full swing. Chris willingly took a more active role in helping with the food preparation, and eventually Wesker was rescued from the small talk by Zeno, who ran over to tug on his father's linen pants, politely asking to be accompanied to the arts and crafts tables. Chris nodded encouragingly, giving him a subtle shooing motion. "Go ahead, Al. I've got this."
Wesker took Zeno's hand and let himself be guided to some stand, sneaking back a glance or two at Chris.
Unfortunately for Chris, Wesker's absence seemed to lift the intimidating aura he usually carried around, and he found himself the subject of some curiosity.
"So, you're a friend of Albert?" One of the dads, Max, asked, preparing two hot dogs and handing one to Chris so they could take a break from serving food. They went to the condiments table, and Chris stifled a chuckle, seeing more than one bystander perk their ears around them.
Showtime, he figured.
"Yeah, we go way back," he said, non-committally. "We used to work together, uh, ten years ago."
One of the other dads nodded, "law enforcement, right?" he recalled.
"Yeah, now we're in the private sector," Chris said, trying to keep as vague as possible. People either had no idea what the BSAA initials stood for, or, if they did, they tended to freak out. He didn't want to ruin a perfectly good picnic by talking about his work. "He's a consultant and recently started working with the organization I work for," he continued, hoping that satisfied their curiosity. He took a bite of his hot dog and glanced around the park to see if he could spot Wesker and Zeno.
"Yeah, my wife also started working part-time after we had kids," Max said casually, taking a sip of his beer. "Makes it so much easier to deal with all this," he added, gesturing widely at the party.
Chris froze for a second at the sheer absurdity of hearing Wesker compared to someone's wife. He was glad that Wesker was nowhere close enough to hear the remark, or Max would have usurped Jessica's rightful spot at the top of Wesker's 'make it look like an accident' list. Chris took another bite to keep his mouth occupied so that he only had to nod and hum in vague agreement. He had the sinking feeling that anything he said would make it worse.
The line for the grill gradually dwindled, so Chris exchanged a few words with the dads who had been assigned to grill duty in the first place and took his leave. He grabbed some water and a juice box from the communal cooler and walked around the park trying to locate the father-son duo. He spotted Wesker on a bench in the shade overlooking the main playground structure and headed his way. As Chris approached from behind, Wesker raised a single hand in a smooth, effortless greeting before he even turned his head, having clearly tracked the heavy, familiar rhythm of Chris's steps on the grass.
"Hi, I brought refreshments," Chris announced, stepping around the bench to offer Wesker the cold bottle of water before he took a seat next to him. Wesker graciously accepted and took a sip of his icy drink.
"Thank you, how did it go?" he asked cautiously. "I heard you laughing," he said, testing the water.
Chris didn't know where to start. His mind flashed back to Max casually comparing Wesker to his wife, and he had to actively fight to keep a straight face. "Well, it was busy," Chris began, trying to navigate the delicate balance between truth and omission. "But they didn't ask many questions, I said what we practiced, and it went—" he struggled to find the diplomatic way of saying that he might have inadvertently confirmed their dating status rather than disproved it altogether, "—as smoothly as could be expected,"
Wesker tilted his head minutely, the dark lenses of his glasses fixed on Chris with a look that suggested he didn't buy it entirely. "You are omitting something, Redfield."
"It's nothing important, Al. Trust me on this one," Chris countered easily, flashing a brief, roguish grin.
Zeno spotted Chris on the bench and rushed down the slide to come join them. He happily squeezed himself right into the middle of the bench and proudly showed him his wrist to flaunt a band of meticulously knotted yarn.
"Look Chris, we made friendship bracelets!" Zeno informed him.
Chris had to bite his lip to hold back a laugh at the thought of Albert Wesker patiently working on a childish craft while crammed in a tiny plastic chair. He was sorely sorry that he missed the show.
"Wow, that's really impressive," he said, still straining to contain his mirth. He held out the small, chilled container. "It's really hot today, buddy. I got you a juice box."
He quickly looked at Wesker, realizing a bit too late that he had not checked with him before offering Zeno the drink, fearing having overstepped a crucial boundary. Much to his immediate relief, Albert flashed him a minute nod of approval.
"Yes, please. Can you help me?" Zeno asked, holding the juice box out to Chris so he could help with the straw. Chris pierced the foil for him and handed it back to the kid, who drank it quietly while swinging his legs under the bench.
Chris faked a stretch, leaning an arm along the back of the bench and trying to appear nonchalant as he peeked down at Wesker's wrists, checking if he was wearing a matching bracelet to Zeno's. He got caught looking immediately and received a stony glare in return, which made him laugh.
Zeno finished his juice, looking at the two of them without understanding what was funny. He hopped down, ran over to the trash can to dispose of the empty container, and immediately sprinted back toward the playground structure to resume playing with his friend.
"No, there is no bracelet for you," Wesker told him coldly, while Chris was trying to rein in his laughter.
"Good, or Jill would never let me hear the end of it," he realized, a new wave of amusement rising at the idea of showing up to work the next day with the trinket. She'd make another poster for the break room, making fun of him. No, thanks; the one featuring a photo of him holding a magazine upside down, captioned with the text 'Unfortunately, Chris cannot read' was enough.
Wesker hummed disapprovingly; his opinion of Jill had undoubtedly worsened after their call the previous week. Chris could not have anticipated her trying to mess with Wesker instead of helping, but there was nothing he could do about it at that point.
Chris cleared his throat and eventually calmed down. "And how did you do in arts and crafts?"
Wesker took another sip of ice-cold water before replying. "As expected, I mostly observed and wasn't asked too many questions, probably because I was not in your proximity."
Chris had half a mind to tell Albert that the questions started immediately after he left. The only reasonable explanation was that the other parents must have found him too intimidating to ask him directly, unless they were as shameless as Jessica.
"That's good, I think. We got this—" Chris said instead, blissfully unaware of how comfortable they looked sharing the tight space of the bench. He had no real concept of how massive Wesker's personal boundary usually was for the rest of the world, or how unapproachable the PTA found him. Chris had simply always been allowed to get closer, never realizing that no one else was ever granted that same leniency.
As soon as the words left his lips, a loud bump followed by a scream had them abandon all pretense. They snapped to attention in unison, sprinting around the climbing structure to get to Zeno, who had fallen from the platform and was already bleeding profusely.
"Oh sh—" Chris thought he caught himself in time before he swore in front of the children. He dropped to his knees next to Wesker, who was trying to calm Zeno down to assess the situation. A few kids moved closer, watching with curiosity.
With Zeno twisting in distress, Chris found a better angle to inspect the injury. It was a straight laceration next to the eyebrow ridge, shallow, but like all head wounds, it bled dramatically. Chris rummaged in his pockets for a clean tissue, pressing it gently but firmly against the cut on Zeno's face, crooning gently. "Shht, it's okay, buddy. You're alright. It's just a little cut." He handed the remaining tissues to Wesker, who used one to start to clean the boy's face from the blood and snot. Zeno turned entirely, burying his face into the soft fabric of Wesker's cream-colored shirt, staining his father's pristine clothes.
Albert pressed a comforting hand on the child's back, keeping a calm front as he looked at Chris for an assessment. "I couldn't see the injury properly. How bad is it?" he asked, in a low, composed voice.
"Not deep," Chris replied, tentatively removing the tissue to check if the bleeding had slowed down yet. "But it's in a bad spot. I don't think a Band-Aid will suffice."
Wesker nodded, rising smoothly to his feet while hoisting his son with one arm and pulling his phone from his pocket with the other. Chris automatically stayed glued to his side, shielding Zeno from the approaching crowd of anxious parents. "Understood."
"We should go to the emergency room just in case," he suggested to Wesker, who unexpectedly shook his head, already dialling a saved number.
"Hello, this is Albert Wesker. I need an emergency walk-in appointment as soon as possible," Wesker said into the phone, brusquely. They were walking swiftly towards the park's exit, deftly ignoring the prying looks from the other parents at the party. "Yes, that's correct. He has a small laceration near the supraorbital ridge that might require stitches or surgical glue." Wesker kept a steady pace while he waited for a reply. "You have his medical files; you know why a standard triage visit is unacceptable." There was a dangerous edge to his words, which only lessened a fraction when he got the reply he wanted. "Thank you, we're on our way."
Chris stroked Zeno's hair gently and kept up the pace until they reached the car. He knew there was something he was missing, but that was not the right moment to press Wesker for answers.
They reached the car, and Wesker couldn't unlock the car with Zeno clinging to his neck for dear life.
"Let me," Chris offered, and Wesker reluctantly opened his palm to let Chris take the car keys from him. Chris unlocked the car and watched as Wesker buckled Zeno in his car seat, trying to explain calmly to the child that he had to let go of him. "Sit next to him in the back, I can drive," Chris calmly proposed.
Wesker assessed his options in silence and agreed, handing over his phone with the contact page of a private pediatrician's office pulled up. It was on the other side of town entirely, and while Chris was aware that the nearest hospital was only a few minutes' drive away, it was not a time-sensitive emergency, and he wasn't going to argue with a distressed father.
He entered the address into the GPS and adjusted the driver's seat while Wesker buckled up behind him, allowing Zeno to grip his hand tightly. Looking in the rearview mirror, Chris saw Albert gently dab the cut with a clean tissue and let out a sigh in relief once he could finally inspect the damage for himself.
Chris switched the radio on, keeping the volume at a low, unobtrusive hum, and drove to the clinic in silence, glancing at the passengers in the rearview mirror from time to time. Wesker seemed not to pay him or his driving any attention, his focus solely on comforting the child.
Once they finally reached their destination, Chris offered to carry Zeno, who was still looking distressed, so that Wesker could fill in the paperwork. As soon as they entered the clinic, Chris was blown away by his surroundings. He had expected a sterile medical facility, but he was welcomed by colorful murals and warm wooden furniture. Even the nurses and doctors walking around wore colored scrubs in pink, purple, and green. There was not a speck of white in sight, and it looked far more welcoming than the emergency room.
The pieces finally clicked together, revealing the connection between Zeno's origin and what little Wesker had told him about his rescue. If he'd been raised in a lab, and maybe experimented on, it would make sense that the child would fear medical environments and white coats. The fact that Wesker had gone out of his way to find a pediatrician's office that wouldn't trigger Zeno's phobias commanded a deep sense of respect from Chris, spurring in him the instinct to protect the boy.
Still holding Zeno tight to his chest, Chris found the waiting room and sat down on a chair in a quiet corner, while Wesker quickly and efficiently filled in a medical questionnaire at the admission desk.
He couldn't help but keep staring at the man, noticing the quietly determined line of his mouth as he dragged the chained ballpoint across the paper, and his slightly disheveled appearance. His shirt was wrinkled and a little stiff with blood and snot, the pants smudged with dirt and grass at the knees, and a few strands of hair free from his usual confining hairstyle. Albert almost looked vulnerable, if he ignored the unnatural orange of the eyes concealed by the darkened lenses. Something inside him shifted, softened. When Wesker turned to join them in the waiting room, Chris caught his eye and offered him a smile. He then pointed at a box of well-read books by the door, where he had spotted a familiar cover. Wesker followed his gesture and understood his intention immediately. He rolled his eyes, letting out a long-suffering sigh, but picked up the battered copy of 'The Gruffalo' anyway. He took the chair immediately next to Chris and called Zeno's attention to him, stroking his back. "Would you like to read while we wait?" he asked, patiently, and Zeno nodded, shifting from Chris's arms onto his lap.
They had time to finish reading the whole book before Zeno's name was called. Wesker got up to take him to the examination room while Chris had to remain in the waiting room.
The two of them emerged a little while later with Zeno smiling again, his cut glued shut and secured with some butterfly bandages. The doctor had also given him a trinket for being brave and not crying while she fixed him up, and he excitedly showed it to Chris.
"Sorry about the change of plans," Wesker told him once they were in front of the car—a massive understatement.
Chris shrugged and tossed the keys back to him. "No worries, this is what friends are for. The important thing is that the little man is fine."
"Yes." Wesker unlocked the car and secured Zeno to his car seat. "Thanks," he said then, in a rare show of sincerity .
"Anytime," he replied while he slid into the passenger seat.
The drive back to Wesker's house was quiet, still accompanied by the low music that Chris had turned on earlier, but the silence between them was entirely comfortable.
Once parked in his driveway, Wesker hesitated for a moment, looking at the tired child in the back. Then he turned to Chris, who saw on his face the same sort of emotional exhaustion he felt. "Listen," Wesker paused, a rare uncertainty in the line of his jaw. Chris braced himself for a polite goodbye. Instead, Wesker asked him, "It is late. Would you like to stay for dinner?"