Work Text:
Chris accepted the invitation to dinner immediately. But once in the kitchen Wesker had to come to terms with the reality of what his offer entailed. Zeno was exhausted from playing in the sun, the scare, the injury and the medical treatment. Chris and he were also emotionally drained by the effort of keeping up a united front and a friendly façade in front of the other party attendees and the healthcare workers.
He met Chris's eyes while Zeno was yawning and was sure he could read the man's thought. Could he relax his principles, for once, and order a pizza? Chris seemed to plead, probably thinking of doing him a favor. But ordering food wasn't ideal, it would take much longer than fixing what he'd already planned ahead of time, and it wouldn't be as nutritionally balanced.
Of course, adding the unknown variable of Chris to their dinner plans didn't make it easier for him. At least he had enough ingredients, since on school nights he usually cooked three portions anyway, and ate the leftovers for lunch the next day.
Chris escorted Zeno to wash his hands, and awaited his instructions patiently.
"I hope you don't have complicated dietary requirements," Wesker said, opening the fridge to take out vegetables, meat and noodles to make a stir fry.
"Don't worry, I'm easy," Chris told him. "How can I help?"
His question forced Wesker to reevaluate his whole perspective. He didn't know what to ask Chris, because he'd never had anyone offer him help in this situation. He'd always done it alone, for both himself and Zeno. Of course he gave Zeno age-appropriate tasks, but it was an entirely different dynamic to have another fully capable adult at his disposal.
"I have the cooking under control, perhaps you could keep Zeno entertained?" he said, unsure. Zeno was used to keeping himself busy while he had a task to perform.
"We could set the table," Chris offered, and asked Zeno for help locating plates and cutlery, so that he didn't have to interrupt Albert while he washed, chopped and seasoned. It was a pleasant change of pace.
Albert observed them while they shared the kitchen space; Chris tried to be as unobtrusive as possible and Zeno was clearly more tired than he tried to let on. Wesker was certain the child was going to crash right after dinner.
After setting the table, Chris let Zeno escort him to the living room in order to occupy the remaining time by showing Chris his favorite toys.
Wesker called them when dinner was ready, and they sat at the table on either side of Zeno. Albert and Chris watched Zeno pick at his food, yawn and almost fall asleep on his plate. At that point Wesker put down his fork and got up, deciding to call it a night before Zeno made a mess.
"I'm sorry, I think it's time to take Zeno to bed," Wesker told Chris, gesturing at him to stay in his seat. "I'm done anyway, but you feel free to finish your dinner."
Wesker moved Zeno's plate to the side and lifted the child, who immediately snuggled against his shoulder. "Time for bed, young man," he whispered. After a brief detour to the small bathroom, Wesker carried him toward the door Chris had never seen open before, closing it behind them and plopping the child on the bed to help him change into his pajamas.
Zeno held his hand, eyes fluttering closed as soon as Albert started reading to him, and falling asleep before the second chapter was done. Wesker hung around for a minute tidying up and making sure that Zeno's breathing was even, then he returned to the public area of his house.
He found Chris standing in his kitchen with a dishtowel slung over one shoulder, clacking closed a Tupperware container of what he presumed were Zeno's leftovers. The table had been cleared and the sink was empty, so in all likelihood Chris had filled his dishwasher while he was busy getting Zeno to sleep.
Wesker found himself at a loss for words. It was rare for anyone to anticipate his standards, but Redfield had just spent the whole afternoon helping him out, and was even cleaning up his kitchen for him without needing to be asked.
"Sorry, I probably put stuff in the wrong place." He even apologized for things that were beyond his control.
Wesker felt overwhelmed; he'd had a long day, full of unpredictable moments, and Redfield in his kitchen was simply too much to process. He closed his eyes and shook his head.
"It's good enough, thank you," he said tersely. Glancing down, he became acutely aware of the state of his clothes. He was still wearing the stained shirt and dusty pants he'd worn all afternoon, a tangible reminder of the day's chaos, and it was becoming intolerable to remain in those garments. "Zeno is asleep, and I require a minute to clean up. Would you mind waiting for me? You may make yourself comfortable on the couch."
"Sure," Chris agreed without hesitation, following him to the living room after carefully placing the dishtowel back where he'd found it.
Wesker escorted him to the couch, then climbed the stairs that led to his personal sanctum. Upstairs, he breathed easier, knowing that he'd put some distance between himself and Redfield.
Wesker went to the master bathroom and undressed, examining the stains and determining that it was too late to prevent them from setting. He tossed the clothes into the hamper and took a mental note to use stain remover on them the following day. Next, he removed his glasses and studied his face before he cleansed. Once he was feeling clean again, he passed through his bedroom to the walk-in closet to grab a fresh change of clothes, opting for another loose shirt and comfortable pants. Then he fixed his hair, and when he was finally satisfied with his appearance, slid the sunglasses back in place, feeling like he had restored a modicum of control over his day.
Steeling himself, he resolved to walk back downstairs to meet Chris, who had helped himself to one of the dullest books in his library and was thumbing through it casually while he waited for Albert's return.
Wesker walked past him, straight to a locked liquor cabinet, and extracted a bottle of fine single-malt to show Chris. "Would you care for a nightcap? As thanks," he offered, and Chris readily agreed, so he poured a finger in each of the two glasses before joining him on the couch, putting one directly in his hand.
Chris waited for him to take the first sip, and he failed to understand why. If the man feared that the drink had been poisoned, he should have known that it wouldn't have much effect on his biology. In any case, Wesker took the first sip and let the liquor coat his mouth before he swallowed it.
Chris copied him and all but sank against the back pillows of the couch, sighing. "You were right," he said, although Wesker had no idea what he was talking about. "It was a long day," he explained.
Wesker let out a tiny snort of agreement. "Quite." He took in his surroundings and was finally aware of how much he enjoyed the calm of the evening after a chaotic day. Chris's presence wasn't disturbing the peace, rather, he'd helped make it possible.
He was unaccustomed to the quiet weight of gratitude, let alone acceptance.
Chris, for his part, looked like he was completely at ease on his couch. A far cry from his tense stance in the kitchen the first time he stepped inside the house.
Wesker had also gotten used to seeing Chris deep in his personal domain.
It seemed to him like Chris was slowly becoming a part of the space, like the macaroni art that had been pinned to the fridge for the past week. At first Wesker had recoiled at its sight, the bright colors clashing with his minimalist kitchen, but then he got used to seeing the vibrant spot against the silver, and felt like something was missing when it fell to the floor.
Chris pulled him from his thoughts with a quiet statement. "I wanted to ask you something about today," he started, waiting for Wesker to assent before continuing his questioning. "When Zeno got hurt…" he hesitated, trying to find the right words. "You already knew where to take him."
Wesker raised an eyebrow; he thought Chris had already figured it out. For all his mocking, he knew that the man was smart, if impulsive. In any case, Wesker supposed that it didn't hurt to spell it out clearly for his benefit.
"That is his regular pediatrician. I take him there for his yearly check-ups. It wasn't easy to find one that wouldn't trigger his trauma, and they are adequate at what they do."
Chris looked very sympathetic.
"Zeno does not have conscious memories of the lab he was raised in, but he gets anxious around medical and research personnel in white coats, which is why I prefer to avoid the hospital whenever possible. It should be the first thing that pops up when they pull his medical file, so I fail to understand how they could have suggested we go to the emergency room on the phone," Wesker explained further, a shadow of the earlier irritation he had directed at the secretary resurfacing in his tone.
"I think she spoke without thinking," Chris told him, as if that would be an excuse rather than an aggravating circumstance. Redfield seemed to recognize the thought passing through his mind, or perhaps he just knew him well enough that he guessed, and he let it go. "But the important thing is that he's fine now."
There was clearly more that Chris wanted to say on the subject, but Wesker would rather move on to a less personal topic.
He finally had the time and the opportunity to bring up what had been simmering in the back of his mind for weeks. He hadn't had the chance to plan what to say, but he didn't need to convince Chris, only voice his contempt at the BSAA's handling of his contributions.
"Chris, lately I've been really frustrated at being left out of the loop on my discovery." He had already hinted at it multiple times, but it somehow felt different to tell him in person, rather than by text.
Chris sighed and turned slightly to face him, bending one leg on the couch, looking like he belonged there. "I know, Albert," he said, using his name in a casual, intimate manner, to soften the harshness of having to rebuff him. "I can't do anything about it. Security protocols and all, I already told you." He didn't look like he enjoyed telling Wesker that. Chris sounded like he wished he could change things. "You knew going in that this was the max you could get from your limited collaboration. If you were willing to come work at the BSAA—"
Wesker stopped him immediately. "Impossible."
"—as an official consultant—"
Wesker shook his head and Chris shrugged minutely. "At this point you have to ask yourself what you want. If you want more access, you have to earn the organization's trust to a point, not just mine. You'll have to prove that you are firmly on the side of fighting against bio-terrorism."
They both took a sip of liquor while Chris's words sunk in, weighing down the atmosphere.
"And what exactly would I have to do to prove my commitment?" Wesker asked, a note of fresh irritation tinging his voice.
Chris gave a full shrug at that. "I don't know, but I can ask around if you like. I suspect they are going to want to keep a closer eye on you and whatever data you handle."
Wesker considered the implications. More supervision, less freedom. Perhaps an invasion of his privacy that didn't come in the shape of Chris Redfield sitting in his kitchen or reading to his child. It was a lot to consider.
Chris must have noticed his shift to introspection, for he finished his drink and put the glass down on the coffee table, mouth in a thin line. He got up and straightened his clothes. "I imagine you'll need some time to think about it. I'll get out of your hair."
Wesker put down his own glass and stood up to accompany him to the door. He silently waited for Chris to slip his shoes back on.
"Go get some sleep, Al. You look like hell," Redfield had the gall to tell him, as if he wasn't the one still covered in dust and blood from the park.
"You too, Redfield." Chris grinned at him and let himself out to the garage, where he hopped into his Jeep. Wesker watched him drive away and closed the garage door after him.
Before going to sleep, he did a cursory sweep of the house. He straightened the guest slippers by the door—really Chris's slippers, since he was the only visitor—and picked up their glasses from the coffee table. Wesker put them in the dishwasher, flipped the knives blade down, and took a good look at the kitchen, which had already been tidied to a satisfactory standard. He checked on Zeno, confirmed that he was sleeping, and retired upstairs with his thoughts for company.