Work Text:
Flu season was a completely normal and fairly regular occurrence here in Raccoon City, what with especially rainy Fall and Spring in the last couple of years. It was inevitable that some of your coworkers would fall ill and end up needing to spend a few days recovering at home. Granted, for as long as Chris has been with S.T.A.R.S., he's never once seen their captain getting sick, or even as much as catching the sniffles.
He chalked it up to good immunity or something similar. Wouldn't surprise him at all, considering how overall impressive Albert Wesker was seemingly from all sides. This year, however, it was fairly obvious to everyone that the flu had finally caught up even to him, if the constant sniffling or muffled coughing coming from his office was anything to write home about.
That wasn't necessarily the problem. The problem was that, instead of doing the sensible thing of taking a few days off like any normal person would, it almost seemed like Wesker was fully intent on ignoring his illness and acting like it wasn't there. Chris wasn't really sure if that was stubbornness, pride, or plain stupidity on his part. It certainly reminded him of Claire pretending that her knees didn't hurt one bit after falling off her bike and scraping herself raw, despite her eyes clearly glistening with unshed tears. Although, he was sure that his captain would not appreciate being compared to an eighteen-year-old college girl.
Either way, after having to suffer through two whole days of this unreasonable display with no end being in sight any soon, he decided to put his foot down. He was the only one who could, or so Jill and Barry said. It was no secret that he was the captain's favorite, even if nobody knew the full extent to which this favoritism had grown over these last few months. If not for his own sake, then for the sake of everyone who had to deal with Wesker's irritable attitude that has only grown sourer the longer he remained planted in that leather seat and not at home where he clearly belonged.
Chris could only sigh when it was late in the evening, but he still found his captain where he usually was: hunched over some papers in his area of the office, no medication or even tissues to ease his unnecessary suffering in sight. He unceremoniously made his way inside with no permission being asked, a warm cup of coffee steaming in his hand. There was no need for that when there was nobody here but them two.
And so, with no beating around the bush, he went straight to the point before Wesker could utter a single word or outright dismiss him: "-I think it's about time you take a break."
Rather predictably, Wesker didn't even look up. With just the slight sound of paper rustling and his pen's precise, frigid strokes breaking the stillness of his office, he persisted in his writing. As per usual, his blue eyes were hidden behind his shades, but Chris was sure they narrowed underneath. Being told what to do by others was one of the things that Wesker disliked the most out of anything. But Chris never was good at keeping his head down and his tongue in check around figures of authority. That should've been obvious to him by now.
Wesker huffed, the sound coming out more ragged than usual: "Unfortunately for you, there is no time. This paperwork won't file itself. Irons is breathing down my neck about it as it is."
Chris couldn't help but scoff at that. Well that was a blatant lie if he ever heard one. If anything, it was Wesker who'd effortlessly order their asshole Chief around whenever his scummy attitude got in the way of a job well done, even if he never quite understood the origins of such levels of authority between the two men. Throwing in such an obvious lie was also extremely unlike the pragmatic leader he knew and respected so deeply.
He watched Wesker sniffling sharply through his clogged up nose and immediately wincing, another cough clearly threatening to rise up in his throat, but he clenched it back, seemingly with sheer willpower alone. Chris was more than a little perplexed by the reasoning behind that, however. It's not like coughing was prohibited. If it'd make him feel better, why not just... cough? Or, hell, even blow his nose for God's sake. It was as though he was interacting with a naive teenager who was entirely unaware of the concept of illness or how to handle it, rather than a mature man who was long into his late thirties. Utterly bizarre, to say the least.
That being said, Chris has seen his captain push himself to his limits so many times that he couldn't even begin to count them. The number of hours this man has spent awake and hunched over reports he refused to lend over to anyone else for some odd reason was more than a little ridiculous. Chris had seen him return back to work after an especially aggressive call-in despite his battered state, all because he was that adamant about never admitting defeat, in things big and small. Captain Wesker was dedicated and meticulous to a fault.
In some ways, it was admirable, and in others, it was confusing. They were all only human, after all. Nevertheless, Wesker's expectations consistently appeared to be significantly higher than what Chris would have regarded as normal. Whether those expectations were towards his subordinates or even himself.
On some level, that was what made Chris respect the man so deeply in the first place, but on the other... Even by his own stupid, stubborn standards, this was becoming increasingly ridiculous.
So, he crossed one arm over his chest and gave Wesker the same incredulous look he usually reserved for newbie rookie officers who tried to skip out on dealing with citizen complaints. He never thought he'd look at his captain that way, but... Well, he was stubborn, too.
"You've been sitting in here since 9 AM, though. You've barely come out. Everyone's worried, you know," he said flatly. "I get that you probably don't want to hear this, but you're sick, and you need to rest, or you'll just keep getting worse."
As he put down his pen, Wesker's eyes did briefly dart up to his face and narrow in annoyance. Probably due to him being extra bold with this.
"...I'm perfectly fine," he tried to dismiss the topic entirely once again, straightening slightly in his chair. It was almost as if he was physically attempting to appear stronger than he actually felt. It would've been admirable if not for the utter stupidity of the situation at hand. He wasn't being put to the test or anything. "-And I am not 'sick'. I do not get sick."
And with that, he reached for another file on the stack beside him, flipping it open all too aggressively for such a mundane task. As if to further prove just how unaffected he was by simply continuing work. Chris was left staring at his captain in utter confusion. What exactly even was that kind of retort? He didn't get sick? Everyone got sick eventually!
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Alright, fine. It was obvious that this was not working out. He needed to switch tactics. If Wesker was going to act like a child, whether deliberately or not, Chris would have to change tactics. He'd had plenty of practice reining in real difficult people, what with raising his sister largely on his own.
So, he moved around the desk and snapped the file shut directly in front of Wesker's face, blatant as it was.
"No," Chris countered simply but firmly. Maybe too firmly for his position, but he felt completely at ease being that way. He grabbed another random open folder off the stack without even looking and slammed it closed, too, for good measure. "-Look, sick or not sick, it's still very late. You've done more than enough for one day. ...And I'm not leaving your office 'till I get my way."
He could humor this strange and irrational refusal to admit his evident illness if it made him feel better. Wesker bristled nonetheless, staring up at him defiantly. Chris met his lethal glare head-on, showing no sign of giving in.
Wesker tsked.
"And since when do you get to be in charge of my time? You might be one of my top men, but that's all the authority you have. Nothing more, nothing less." He leaned back in his chair, arms folded in front of his chest. He was clearly tired, more than a little pissed off, and starting to really feel the full effect of the flu he was trying to downplay. However, he continued to be resolute in his determination to keep any hint of vulnerability from Chris. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked uncomfortable as he extended his hand once more in an attempt to reopen the same file that Chris had just closed with a slam.
Chris paused.
...Was this really all just stubbornness and pride at this point?
Changing his tactics again, instead of moving back, Chris moved forward gently, both palms on Wesker's desk with his coffee mug left abandoned for the time being, and stared down at him. He used the same tactic on Claire whenever she got too bullheaded for her own good. Wesker's breath hitched ever so slightly, the usual authoritative aura he conveyed dimmed by exhaustion, feverish warmth rising up his neck.
"...Sure. Yes. You are my captain. I consider that title of yours very seriously. You know that as much as I do," Chris said first, voice low but clear as day. "But right now you're also the same guy who's been sneezing into his paperwork for at least two days straight. I'm sorry if that's something you don't want to hear, but isn't me always being completely honest with you - one of the reasons you said you could rely on me more than on any other of our guys?"
For a split second, Wesker looked... a little bit caught. Like a man who has been cornered in a debate and had no rational way out of it for once. Then that same old pride reared its ugly head again.
"I think you are still forgetting that my health is none of your concern," he muttered defensively, almost petulantly. He exhaled a bit too forcefully through his clogged nostrils, staring up at Chris with the intensity of a cornered wildcat. His usual composed demeanor was cracking under the weight of exhaustion and stubbornness. Which was still a win for Chris. "Chris, you're being ridicu-"
Another cough threatened to rise, cutting him off right in the middle of his rebuff. Rather than allowing it to escape in front of Chris, Wesker quickly turned his head to muffle it into his elbow. Not that it concealed it at all. But there was something else that made Chris hesitate.
Something about all this felt less like anger for anger's sake and more like embarrassment bordering on desperation. That was far more concerning than Wesker's irritating behavior by itself.
And yet...
His chest gave a strange little squeeze that seemed more protective than pitying. Warm. Granted, he'd been having this feeling in Wesker's presence for a while now, but this time, he didn't try to dismiss it as soon as it came to life within him.
Instead, without asking again - because clearly asking wasn't working out in his favor - Chris reached over and grabbed the file right out of Wesker's hands, this time gently prying it free from his fingers instead of simply slamming it shut. Maybe sincerity would work better than brute force. Placing it down next to an organized stack of similar-looking files, he walked around the desk and held out both hands toward Wesker expectantly: "-Alright, c'mon, get up."
It felt as if he was persuading a particularly wary stray cat. He could see the sickly flush creeping under that perfect blonde hairline, the way Wesker's breathing had gone slightly uneven since they started talking, more strained. He still didn't understand why Wesker found rest so difficult to accept, but it was beginning to genuinely worry him.
He didn’t reach to grab him or pull him up himself quite yet - although he would probably resort to it as the next step - but he wasn't moving until Wesker stood. Wesker looked at his spread hands as if they were a foreign object. And, to be fair, Chris could see why. Nobody touched him unless it was necessary or during training - and certainly not with this kind of open invitation. He could see him swallowing, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
Chris imagined it felt deeply unfamiliar, which was why he stayed quiet, not rushing it. Being treated as someone who needed help instead of the man giving orders probably felt completely foreign to Wesker - if not outright wrong. He knew he, too, had a hard time accepting help from anyone, almost to his own detriment. For all his exasperation with Claire and her independence... she, undoubtedly, got that stubborn streak from him. It was difficult to let go of the self-imposed leadership role when all you'd ever known was your own strength to rely on. He knew there were plenty of moments when he pushed himself too far, all because the idea of asking someone else to shoulder what was supposed to be his responsibility alone - felt so shameful.
Maybe that was why he found it so frustrating to see Wesker struggle far more than was necessary to get through something so simple. Sure, pride might have played a part in it, perhaps even a major one. But it was also about believing you can face anything life throws at you head on. Because you were the only one who could. And if you couldn't, then... That meant admitting you were too weak to handle it on your own. And that's one painful thing to admit.
That said, he was unwilling to let Wesker succumb to that all-too-familiar vortex of self-imposed obligation in solitude. In some very strange sense, he'd always felt like they were the only ones who could understand each other without even speaking. Like two sides of the same coin. And if that was truly the case... Then, he hoped his sentiment came through to Wesker even without any sugary words or reassurances to accompany it.
And just as the thought left his head, one of his hands was finally grasped by Wesker in a slow, almost hesitant, motion. His palm was warm against Chris's, his skin slightly clammy from fever. He let himself be pulled up, wincing as the action strained his achy muscles. Bastard probably didn't even stretch his neck this entire time.
After he stood up, he staggered slightly, which could easily be missed entirely unless one was paying very close attention. He avoided eye contact completely now that they were standing face to face. Chris didn't make any comments about it, nor about how miserably pale Wesker appeared to be under that normally perfect complexion. This was despite the fact that Wesker was already far too pale in his natural state. He just tightened his grip and slid his other arm around Wesker's back to steady him on his feet.
He immediately stiffened under his touch.
"I am more than capable of taking a break after I'm done with all my work," he muttered all too weakly for his usual composed tone of voice. Chris had to admit that this raspier, quieter timbre sounded lovely, though. He just wished he heard it under different circumstances. Perhaps in the future, if he was lucky.
"Yeah, yeah, you're capable of a lot. That's why we all admire you so much, Captain," he said quietly, his own voice softer now than it had been all night. "But right now, we're going to my place, you're going to take some meds, drink a warm cup of tea, and sleep on it. You'll thank me later."
With that, he began directing them both to the door without waiting for an answer. He knew he wouldn't receive one. With one hand still clutching Wesker's, clasping their fingers together almost reflexively, he pushed the office door open with his shoulder. Although it would be bad news if anyone saw them like this despite the late hours, that's for sure. He supposed if push came to shove, Wesker could deal with a small hit to his pride if he made up some excuse about their captain fainting, and thus feeling too lightheaded to stand on his two feet or something. Probably not the best excuse out there, but Chris was never really good when it came to lying.
But Wesker didn't pull away from the hand-holding, and Chris felt all too giddy about it to actually do so himself. Even more so, he felt Wesker leaning into him ever so slightly as they walked down the unusually quiet hallway in these late hours, his body moving on autopilot now that someone else was making decisions for him.
"You know I do not drink tea," Wesker croaked skeptically. Chris laughed softly under his breath. Right, of course. Some people really dislike teabags, especially Wesker. Though, Chris honestly couldn't tell the difference between a properly brewed herbal mix and a simple teabag for the life of him. Tea is tea. And yeah, Chris had exactly one somewhat fancy tea bag left back at home from last year's Christmas gift from Jill. He hoped that counted for something.
"Yeah, well... Sorry, but I guess you're drinking one tonight." Chris reasoned, squeezing Wesker's hand lightly before leading him straight toward the exit. "...I'll get you that overpriced scotch of yours as an apology to your fancy taste buds once you get better."
He heard Wesker huff softly close to his ear, though it honestly sounded a little bit like a laugh. Or... close to it, anyway. He decided not to risk it by glancing up at him, in case it ruined his entire progress.
His tiny but tidy apartment was close by. ...Okay, mostly tidy by his own standards. Just one bedroom with an old couch that served as a guest room whenever Claire arrived during the holidays. And, fairly recently, for occasional nights spent with his captain in not-so-appropriate ways. But for some strange reason, Wesker preferred to rather book a hotel room or take a risk back at his office, of all places.
Chris gently led Wesker all the way over to his car, opening the passenger door for him without any unnecessary fanfare. Mostly because he could only guess how he would react at being pampered like that. Even though Chris personally would not mind it at all. He liked being able to look out for and take care of his loved ones. It always instilled a sense of peace within him.
At the very least, as long as someone he cared about was right there for him to keep his eye on, he knew nothing could take them away from him.
Wesker slid into the passenger seat with barely a single grunt of effort, sinking into the old but surprisingly clean material. Chris's car smelled faintly like leather cleaner, gun oil, and cigarettes - very unmistakably Chris Redfield. It was painfully evident that his captain was truly out of it today, as he didn't even reprimand him for the mess as he usually would. And, to be fair, Chris had been putting in the effort to keep things tidy as of recently! It was just that every time he cleaned up one area, the other one got all messed up instead.
Once Chris turned the key to start the engine, Wesker slumped back against the headrest, as if fatigue had finally hit him full force. He exhaled slowly, as he stared out at the passing streetlights in silence. For someone who spent most of his time reprimanding others over protocols or assignments... this version of Albert Wesker was oddly peaceful to deal with.
"You don’t have to do any of this," he said after a long bout of silence. Softer. In a way that made Chris' heart skip a beat from the unfamiliarity of it. "I could've gone home alone just fine. You know that."
Chris couldn't quite understand why Wesker still seemed surprised by it. Of course he wasn't doing this out of obligation.
"Yeah, I know you could have," he acknowledged simply. He kept his eyes on the road as he pulled out of the RPD parking lot, one hand on the wheel while the other rested casually near Wesker's knee, not touching yet, but... pretty close to it. "-But you wouldn't have. So, here we are."
If left alone, this man would have dragged himself home all alone in the middle of the night and slept through a fever like some machine that didn't need care or rest, let alone tea, blankets, or being looked after when sick for once.
Well, that just didn't sit right with Chris at all.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊⊱·✶·⊰₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
"-Alright, we're here."
Chris stopped the car in front of his apartment complex, which was a fairly compact brick structure with cozy overhead lights, one of the older buildings left in the ever-growing city. Homey and affordable, just how he liked it. Without saying much else, he unbuckled and stepped out first. The cold night air hit him again, making him shiver slightly. This September was abnormally frigid, that's for sure. He walked around to Wesker's side quickly before opening his door: "Come on. Let's get home and warm."
Wesker hesitated for only a second before unbuckling his own seatbelt. He stepped out slowly, legs stiff. Much to Chris' surprise, he leaned into his side once again as they walked toward his apartment building, whether that was simply because he was too exhausted and not fully in control of himself for once, or... something else entirely.
The warmth of him, this close and casual, felt... nice. Soothing, even. Wesker usually kept everyone at arm's length; maybe the fever was the only reason he was allowing this now. Chris still wanted to indulge in the moment while it lasted, though.
As the elevator doors closed behind them, confining them in a dimly lit, silent space, he found himself just slightly too preoccupied by the fact that he could sense Wesker's somewhat laboured breaths close to his ear. Definitely not a sensible thing to do if he didn't want to get infected, too. However, he was unable to even consider pulling back right now.
When he reached for Wesker's elbow again once they reached his floor, he heard him grunt in a displeased manner, pushing at him just a little.
"I can walk on my own, Chris," he muttered, albeit it came off far more halfheartedly than anything he's said to him thus far.
Chris exhaled through his nose, amused: "-Hey, I didn't say you couldn't."
...His hand stayed where it was anyway, warm and steady at Wesker's elbow as he guided him down a short hallway without another word. Wesker didn't seem to be that communicative right now, anyway. He unlocked the apartment door, pushing it open and flipping the light switch on, before standing aside to allow Wesker in first. His eyes scanned the apartment with quiet observation as he did, attentive to details even in this weakened state.
Much like Chris's workstation, the space wasn't particularly elegant; in fact, it was more disorganized than cozy. A leather couch with one slightly dented-in cushion that was clearly the favorite, a coffee table covered in old case files in a messy pile, a bunch of cd's, and a couple of cigarette packs, with a small kitchenette further away. However, the couch was inviting enough, albeit a little weathered for Wesker's liking.
Chris kicked off his boots near the entryway before walking over to turn up the thermostat. Tonight was a chilly one. "Alright, you can go take the couch. It's clean! ...Mostly."
Wesker appeared to hesitate for a few seconds before approaching it, suddenly looking awkward being in his place at all. Granted, Chris could understand it: Wesker was usually the one taking the lead on everything between them, especially so when it came down to their private time behind closed doors. However, clearly, right now was not one of those times.
It was almost cute. Chris enjoyed that thought quietly, the sole indication of his amusement was a subtle ghost of a smile tugging at the edges of his lips as he observed his captain navigate his apartment in such a uncharacteristically clumsy manner.
Wesker didn’t take off his jacket quite yet, hovering near his couch for a bit before finally sitting down with a gentle sigh: "So what do you propose I should do then? Since you're so sure of yourself."
"-Alright, first things first," Chris began as he walked over to his kitchen, quickly retrieving a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. Tea would come later, but a good refreshing glass of water was always a good first step when feeling sick and weak. He returned to Wesker, crouching in front of him and pressing the glass into his hands: "...Here. First, you're gonna drink that. And then we'll watch whatever's on TV so your brain can take a break, too, not just your body. You look stiff as a board. I'm pretty sure X-files should be starting right about now?"
He placed a casual hand on Wesker's knee without much thought. But when they touched, Wesker tensed up a little all over again. Admittedly, physical affection wasn't something they usually did unless they were alone and intimate. But this was an exception. Gentler.
But he did accept the glass, his fingers brushing against Chris's as he took it. Chris knew he needed it since he chugged the whole thing all too eagerly to appear totally indifferent. Not just tired and sick, but dehydrated, too. Although he had never once considered Wesker to be a walking disaster, he was definitely checking all the boxes at the moment. His line of thought was interrupted by a scoff from Wesker as he placed the now empty glass on the coffee table.
"-I'll have you know, that show is utterly absurd," Wesker admitted quietly, his tense shoulders sagging slightly into the couch cushions. Chris grinned. Yup, that one was also very much expected. Wesker was only an insufferable snob, both in his taste for beverages and cinema. Honestly, on some days, he wondered why the hell they worked so well together when their preferences were so vastly different from one another.
At the very least, Wesker was relaxing little by little, no matter how much he tried to deny it.
"Knew you'd say that," Chris chuckled easily, shooting him a small, playful wink. "But Mulder's got that whole 'I know what's up!' thing going on with him, and Scully rolls her eyes at him just like you do whenever I try to call my shots ahead of you. You'll see."
He leaned back against the couch arm, allowing his legs to stretch out in a comfortable manner, one foot just about grazing Wesker's heel. Wesker's shoulders had finally fully dropped into the cushions instead of being ramrod straight like always. As Chris turned on his trusty little TV, he reached over and gently pulled on Wesker's jacket sleeve, silently urging him to take it off before both his fever and layers made him too hot for comfort. Wesker glanced down at his hand, and, with a quiet sigh to show his reluctance, shrugged it off, letting the fabric slide down his arms before draping it over the back of the couch.
The shirt beneath was simply his go-to button-up, with sleeves pulled up to the middle of the forearm as a result of previous paperwork. His hair fell slightly messier on his forehead without being perfectly slicked back by constant adjusting throughout work hours. It wasn't too bad to see him all flushed and a little rough around the edges for once.
And as the episode playing on the screen progressed, it became evident that he wasn't paying attention to it whatsoever, his eyes drifting closed every few seconds before he blinked them back open like a child pretending not to be drowsy.
But he was clearly exhausted. More than he would acknowledge. Only further exemplified by an involuntary yawn escaping him, immediately followed by another dry cough. Chris didn't laugh or smile at him this time; instead, he watched with rising silent concern as Wesker visibly fought to stay awake.
"Ugh..." Wesker muttered angrily under his breath: "This is so ridiculous."
Chris wasn't sure if he was referring to his illness or the episode. Either way, the fever was clearly winning, and that stubborn pride of his wasn't helping one bit. So, without saying a thing, Chris stood up and walked down the small corridor to his bedroom. He grabbed a spare blanket from his closet, certainly not anything fancy, just an old gray fleece one, then snagged a spare pillow before returning.
Sliding back next to Wesker on the couch so they were side by side, he gently draped the blanket over his shoulders, as if he could tuck him in without making it feel too forceful for his captain's liking. Once situated, he leaned back, patting his thighs pointedly: "Head here. C'mon, don't argue on this, too. It's more comfortable than the couch arm, trust me."
For emphasis, he tugged the blanket lightly when Wesker didn't move right away.
Wesker paused. Chris knew he wasn't used to being... taken care of like this. But, thankfully, he did seem to give up without much of a fight this time around. Slowly and carefully, he shifted sideways until the back of his head rested gently on Chris's thighs. He remained motionless there, his eyes half-lidded as he concentrated on the TV screen, which was now just background noise. Chris could understand. He wasn't used to staring down at Wesker, either. Usually, it was the other way around. And in quite different circumstances, with a whole different type of intimacy.
"...Is this something you do for everybody who's sick?" Wesker pondered somewhat incredulously, mostly to fill in the silence and avoid addressing the elephant in the room for as long as humanly possible. Chris gave a slow blink. Then let out a soft, quiet huff, almost a laugh.
"For people I care about? Well... Yeah, pretty much?" Chris said simply, voice low and warm above him. "Honestly, I was expecting you to put up more of a fight. Stay there at your desk until you pass out, and then act like a total asshole to everyone tomorrow because you're all stiff and hangry."
His fingers autonomously moved to Wesker's blonde hair, running through them at the roots, which had become somewhat disheveled from fever sweat and general fatigue. Reassuring in that dumb, tactile way only Chris could be: rough hands doing something strangely tender and caring.
For all the strangeness of this situation, Chris liked this - perhaps more than he wanted to admit. Wesker had lowered his guard around him, if only slightly.
"Well, I've never had anyone... fussing over me like this." Wesker's voice was slightly muffled against his thighs, his words slurred from exhaustion. He said that as if it was a completely foreign word to him or something. Chris was unsure if he sounded more incredulous or kind of grossed out by the sound of it. But he had all he needed to know with the way Wesker's eyelids flitted shut as his fingers slowly worked their way through his hairline.
He enjoyed this.
God, he really was like a big cat, wasn't he?
He smiled softly: "I can tell."
He shifted slightly under Wesker's weight so it wasn't uncomfortable for his legs before letting one hand drift back down to rest on top of that blonde head. His other hand casually went beneath the blanket to find one of Wesker's own hands, fingers intertwining effortlessly as if they hadn't spent the majority of their time back at the station preserving a delicate professional distance.
But it's not like they were at the station now. And he was willing to take the risk, given how fortunate he had been thus far. Chris's fingers moved over the back of Wesker's hand, tracing his knuckles before finally just holding it in a gentle grip, to wait and see if he'd wrench his hand free, or maybe, just maybe, reciprocate the simple gesture.
Much to his surprise, Wesker exhaled heavily, fingers closing slowly over his own in response. He didn't have to say anything out loud for this moment to feel significant.
As the X-Files episode finally reached its climax with the majority of it missed completely, Chris could hear Wesker's labored breathing evening out into something slower and steadier, the kind of peaceful rhythm that came right before sleep took over. He remained completely motionless, unwilling to disturb Wesker now that he'd finally fallen asleep on his lap.
He glanced down at the sleeping man, his stoic features finally relaxed - no sharp glare or tightly pressed lips, just peaceful exhaustion that smoothed out the lines edged under his eyes and mouth. Chris's chest did the same strange tightening sensation again, the one where it swelled up and ached somewhere deep between his ribs, but... in a good way. Quietly, he leaned over and retrieved the remote from under the coffee table before pressing mute on the TV so Mulder's ludicrous ranting on government conspiracy wouldn't disturb Wesker. He exhaled softly through his nose, simply watching the steady rise and fall of Wesker's chest for a while. His fever was still evident: the slight tension in his jaw and the faint flush on his pale cheeks. However, he was no longer scowling or hiding his vulnerability.
Chris couldn't help but swell with pride, considering that this was a far better outcome than he had expected. He came into his office fully expecting to get chewed out, even if he managed to force Wesker into resting.
Slowly, Chris adjusted just enough to pull the blanket up higher over Wesker's shoulders, before carefully pulling his signature shades off his nose. After making sure they were comfortable, he leaned back against the couch arm with a soft sigh of his own. He didn’t want to move or get up quite yet, not when this man finally looked peaceful for once instead of stressed or angry all the damn time. So, Chris remained still.
...That is, until the distinct sound of a rumbling stomach broke the peaceful quiet. Despite himself, he couldn't contain the slight snort that came out of his mouth. Well that's new. Then again, it made sense. Loss of appetite was a signature symptom for your average case of the flu, after all. It was more than likely that Wesker hadn't eaten all day. He nudged his captain a little.
"...I've got some beef stew leftovers in the fridge? Homemade."
...Not that it meant much to Wesker.
His head lifted slightly off of Chris's lap as his weary mind attempted to take in his surroundings, his eyes opening back up again.
"I heard that laugh," Wesker grumbled, sitting up entirely and rubbing at his eyes with the heel of one palm. "You are lucky I do not have the energy for your teasing right now."
Chris had to bite his tongue to avoid another snicker. Teasing would probably get him a well-deserved smack in the jaw. It was hard to refrain from the temptation, however. There was something so amusing about a tough man like Albert Wesker looking so ruffled and embarrassed from a simple stomach rumbling, his mussed-up hair and flushed cheeks only adding to this messy charm. And hell, that scowl on his face right now looked more like a pout. A grumpy, tired, cute kind of pout.
He shook his head a little.
-Goddamnit, get your head out of the gutter!
"Hey now, I'm not teasing," he said simply, raising his palms up in playful surrender. "Your stomach spoke for you there. And it's clearly asking for some good grub. I am happy to provide. That's all."
Wesker's glare was far from its usual intensity, likely due to his fatigue and illness. He kicked off his shoes, pulling his knees up slightly onto the couch with a sigh.
"...Haven't eaten since this morning," he admitted begrudgingly, "And before you ask - no, I will not let you feed me. Don't get cocky."
Chris slowly nodded and didn't say anything else. But not eating since breakfast? He didn't know what was Wesker even thinking in that brilliant head of his. No wonder he crashed so hard tonight.
Getting to his feet in a composed manner, he made his way back into the kitchenette. He opened the fridge and pulled out a tupperware container of stew from two nights ago when Claire had visited and he insisted on cooking up some 'real' food before she'd head back home early this morning on her trusty Harvey. She said the cafeteria food was good enough, but he knew her better. Takeout and junk food were her guilty pleasures.
...Not that he was any better in that regard, but still. The role of a responsible older brother was one he took all too seriously.
While he waited for the two bowls to reheat, he mentally planned ahead. He figured he'd have better luck with getting Wesker to enjoy the food properly if he pretended to be hungry, too. He added a spoonful of rice to each bowl, because his mom always used to say that soup needed carbs when you were sick. The small but familiar habit made the whole moment feel unexpectedly intimate, even if Wesker wouldn't have any idea of it. Chris stirred them gently before carrying everything back over to where Wesker still sat curled up on his couch in all his cat-like glory.
"Here. Eat up," he encouraged as he placed one steaming bowl in front of his captain.
He had to refrain from rolling his eyes half-heartedly as Wesker regarded the bowl with suspicion. Surely he must know that not all good food also looks presentable? The best thing about a hearty home-cooked meal is how it tastes, not how it looks. But the moment his stomach growled again, Wesker reached to grab the spoon before what little remained of his dignity would be stripped from him entirely. After taking that first hesitant spoonful, he paused. Chris could practically read the internal thought process of: '...Oh. Alright, maybe it's not so bad.' reflected in his eyes. Chris concealed his growing smile with his own spoonful as he swelled with silent pride.
He might not be all that great when it comes to keeping an organized environment, but he definitely knows a thing or two about cooking a good, filling meal. It was one of the few things he could still remember about his mother, and he took pride in taking after her cooking.
Wesker ate slowly at first, small sips between careful spoonfuls, but soon picked up speed as hunger finally overtook him properly. Chris silently enjoyed the view without teasing him about it. The way Wesker's shoulders relaxed slightly after the first few bites told him everything he needed to know: he was starving.
He took his own bowl, maintaining a respectable distance but still close enough to feel each other's warmth. His pace was slower than Wesker's, as he wasn't actually all that hungry, but he knew that nobody enjoyed being watched while enjoying their meal. For a while, the only sounds in his apartment were the occasional clinking of spoons against ceramic bowls as the warmth of stew filled both of their stomachs in cozy silence. Chris took another bite, watching the way Wesker's usually sharp eyes softened when he was focused on eating. The man looked… normal, for once. Human.
Not 'Captain Wesker'. Just Albert: sick, exhausted, and enjoying some microwaved stew like any other normal guy after a long day at work. And Chris liked it. Because Wesker never let his guard down like this around anyone but him. He liked this side of him that nobody else ever saw. Maybe that made him greedy. But he couldn't bring himself to feel bad about it. It's been a while since he had a special connection with somebody. Where he felt totally equal, not just a strong shoulder to rely on.
"Not... bad. Pretty decent actually. I'm surprised," Wesker hummed quietly, glancing up at him briefly before looking back down at his bowl. Chris rarely saw any indication of surprise in those icy blues. But it was worth the trouble for sure. Wesker thoughtfully stirred his half-eaten bowl: "...I did not take you for a cook."
Chris smiled. He supposed that was expected: Wesker probably figured he was just as messy with cooking as he was with his work at his desk. It felt nice to impress him with something he did not expect from him. Even someone like him had unexpected sides to him!
"-My mom taught me, actually. I used to hate it whenever she'd drag me to the kitchen to help her prep, but... Once it was just me and Claire, it was up to me to make her proud. I hope I do."
He didn't know what exactly pushed him to bring that up so casually, but it felt right. He knew Wesker wouldn't cast him a pitying glance like so many others did when all they saw was an unfortunate orphan and not a capable man who's grown past that pain. Wesker had always appreciated what he did well, never focused on the struggle to get to that point. Wesker paused, a thoughtful, almost distant look passing through his eyes for a brief second. He wouldn't have even noticed if it wasn't for the lack of shades perched on the bridge of his nose.
"...Well, if it's her example you're following, I'm sure she'd be very proud of you."
Chris's smile softened, and he nodded wordlessly. He already knew that, of course, but it still meant a lot to hear it from someone he respected. It did get him thinking, though... He didn't know a thing about Wesker's family or his home life. Everyone had stories to share back from home, relatives to complain and gush over, plans for the future, domestic squabbles to stress over at work. And yet... Never once had he seen or heard Wesker join in on those casual day-to-day discussions.
Surely, he had something to share. Everybody did. After all, just because him and Claire didn't have living parents to complain about, didn't mean they were nonexistent in their minds. Perhaps he should try his luck asking once Wesker felt better.
After finishing his bowl first, Chris set it aside and grabbed the remote to turn up the volume slightly again, just for some background noise. He draped an arm across the back of the couch behind Wesker, giving him a quick grin: "-See? I'm the best man you got for a reason. On the clock and off the clock."
He could see Wesker rolling his eyes, but he did not try to hide the slight twitch of a genuine smile from pulling at his lips.