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"I have arrived with coffees! You hum as you step through the door, the cardboard trays balanced carefully in your hands. The aroma of fresh brew cut through the STARS office smell of paper and gun oil.
"Jill, here's your oat milk mocha with an add shot. Barry, extra large dark roast. Rebecca, iced caramel macchiato with whip and chocolate chips. Chris, hot chocolate with peppermint," You rattled off, passing cups around the room like a dealer at a card table. "And an Earl Grey with two bags, splash of 2% and a sprinkle of cinnamon for Captain Wesker. Here you are, sir." You smile as you hand him the cup.
He was standing by the window, backlit by the grey Raccoon City morning, his silhouette sharp against the glass. The tips of his fingers briefly brush yours as he takes it, his gaze lingering on the cup for a fraction of a second before he brings it to his lips.He takes a measured sip.
"Well done.” Your eyes brightened at the praise. It was concise, but coming from Wesker, it might as well have been a standing ovation.
"No kidding, first time too!" Jill beamed at you you from her desk, swiveling in her chair. "I remember it took Chris five times for him to get our orders right."
Chris looked up from his hot chocolate. "Hey, you know I'm not a coffee guy, not my fault I don't know what a matcha-soy-oat-add-shot whatever is."
"Nothing you just said there was coffee," you point out, a playful smile on your lips as you leaned against Jill's desk.
"My point exactly. Now..." Chris gave his cup an appraising look. "The hot chocolate is more lukewarm... but good in flavor, I will say, good job, newbie." He smiled into his cup, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"I'll get it extra hot next time then," you promise with a wink.
"After that stellar performance, you'll be lucky if we have anyone else ever get the coffee. You're too good for us to let go," Jill said, leaning a hip against his desk. You stay and chat, laughing at Chris's jokes as he recounts when he accidentally brought the whole team decaf coffee.
In his office, Wesker had been silent, ostensibly writing up a report. He didn't look up, but his fingers had stilled on the keyboard. His eyes focused on you behind his glasses brought to attention by the easy cadence of your laughter mixing with Chris's. The comfortable banter had become the new normal and taken root in the few weeks you'd been with STARS He took another sip of his tea. Perfectly steeped. A precise detail you'd remembered. The phone on his desk shrilled. He let it ring once, twice, his gaze finally lifting from the report, back to your figure, your arm reaching out to grasp his bicep to stabilize yourself while laughing at something he'd just said. He picked up the receiver, listened for a moment and hung up.
"You and Redfield, with me. We have a call."
His low voice cut through the room, sharp and commanding, but devoid of heat.
Chris immediately straightened, the easy grin fading into a professional mask. "Yes, sir."
Wesker's gaze swept over you. "The new recruit's attention to detail is noted, which is why she'll be accompanying us." You straightened at the invitation. "It's a valuable trait. Try to keep that focus, Redfield"
The comment was a gift to you and a slight to Chris all at once. Before he could respond, Wesker was already walking toward the door cup in hand with you in his heels. He paused at the threshold, holding open the door just long enough for his eyes to meet yours. Not a glare or smile but an assessing look that seemed to take in the flush of color in your cheeks as you headed out. Not that you would see it as that. Chris was left grabbing his gear to follow.
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The drive out to the Arklay Mountains had been quiet. Wesker had briefed you both in the back of the SUV, his voice low and measured as he laid out the details.
"Reports of an unidentified animal in this area. Scared some hikers off the trail earlier today. It might be related to the disappearances we've been tracking."
You listened as you straightened the gear on your vest, fingers checking each pouch and clip with efficiency. You'd felt his gaze on you for a beat longer than necessary before he'd turned to address Chris.
"You and Redfield will do a perimeter. I'll take point in the backwoods. It's a pretty large area of acreage, so if anything comes up, use your comms. Copy?"
"Copy!" You both responded in unison.
As you walked through the woods alone, you understood why they'd sent three of you. The Arklay Mountains were familiar ground. You'd hiked these trails as a kid, camped in the woods, learned about the ecology in school. Being in nature usually calmed you usually, this was different.
The weather was eerie. Especially for late June.
The heat was oppressive, thick and wet.. Recent rain had turned the forest floor to sponge, every step softened by mud and leaf litter. The fog had rolled in sometime during the drive and now it clung to the trees like something alive. Wisps of grey curling around trunks and snaking through underbrush. It wasn't thick enough to be blinding but it obscured your field of vision, turning familiar shapes into uncertain silhouettes.
A startled raven burst from a nearby oak, its croaking call cutting through the stillness. You flinched, hand instinctively going to your holster. Its black wings beat against the fog while you tracked its path of flight until it disappeared into the grey haze.
You steadied yourself, taking a deliberate breath.
The air tasted of damp earth and decaying leaves, with something almost metallic underneath it all, faint but persistent. You couldn't place it. You focused on the path ahead, scanning the tree line as you continued your perimeter sweep.
It would be incredibly easy to get lost in a place like this if one were to go off trail. The old growth trees were gnarled, branches twisted into skeletal shapes extending into the canopy, thick moss clinging to the bark like green fur. Roots broke through the soil in tangled knots. The fog muffled sound like a blanket so that your own footsteps seemed distant, as if they belonged to someone else.
A shuffle sounded behind you.
You stopped dead. Your heart jackrabbited against your ribs as you quickly turned, hand on your holster, fingers curling around the grip. The fog was like a blanket, thick and muffling sharp sounds into indistinct murmurs. But you could tell the disturbance was close, maybe thirty, forty feet.
You waited. Seconds stretched. Nothing.
The fog swirled, eddying around a cluster of ferns. A branch creaked somewhere in the canopy. The forest settled back into its uneasy silence. You let out your breath, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, hand relaxing on your holster. Probably another raven. You steeled yourself, rolling your shoulders back, and kept moving. The terrain began to change. The trees thinned slightly, replaced by denser underbrush and patches of exposed rock. The fog seemed to thicken here, pooling in the low spots like water. You stepped carefully, watching your footing, when something caught your eye through the haze.
A structure. It was an old shack by the looks of it. Two rooms at most with a raised foundation of stacked stone. The wood was weathered to a dark grey and the roof was sagging in the middle, as if the weight of years had finally bent its spine. A set of wooden steps led up to a broad patio and door that hung ajar. The darkness beyond beckoned. You stopped at the edge of the clearing. The shack didn't look abandoned in the way old structures usually did. It looked like it was waiting.
You glanced around, listening. No footsteps. No rustle of approaching movement. You were alone out here. Chris was on the opposite side of the perimeter and Wesker had taken the backwoods. If something happened it would be minutes before anyone reached you.
The door gaped open at you tauntingly.
You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening on your holster as you took a step forward. One after the other. The grass beneath your boots was damp and flattened. The door groaned again, damp and flattened. The door groaned again, a soft, wet sound, and you could have sworn you heard something from inside.
At the base of the porch stairs your hand fully gripped your sidearm, heart pounding so loud you were certain anything inside could hear it. The fog curled around you and you were acutely aware of how far you were from the others. How alone you were. You took a breath, steady and measured, before proceeding with the sweep.
Your boot found the first step. The wood groaned under your weight, rotten in places, and you tested each stair before committing. The door hung before you, that maw of darkness seeming to breathe. You drew your sidearm, the familiar weight grounding you. The interior was dim, the little light there was light filtering through gaps in the fogged windows.
Sparse furniture. The heady odor of must and rotting wood paired with that faint coppery smell that hung in the air. Your eyes adjusted, picking out details: a broken chair, a shattered lamp, empty fireplace, dark stains on the floorboards that could have been mud, probably something else.
You stepped inside, clearing your corners the way you'd been trained. Left to right. The room was maybe twelve feet across and your gaze swept over every shadow, every potential hiding spot. The floor groaned beneath your steps and you froze, listening.
Silence.
Then, a guttural growl cleaved towards you.
You spun toward a hallway, the darkness beyond absolute. Your stance dropped into something automatic, muscle memory taking over. Feet shoulder-width apart. Weight forward. Both hands on the grip, thumbs forward, sight picture already finding the center of that dark doorway.
Before you could fully adjust your aim, something exploded from the shadows of a back room. A blur of muscle, teeth, and fury, launching itself at your throat. Squeeze, don't pull, exhale.
The shot was clean. Center mass, right where you'd been trained to put it. The crack of the gunshot was deafening in the small space, but your hands stayed steady, the recoil absorbed through your arms. You fired once. That was all it took.
The creature crumpled mid-leap with a yelp, its momentum carrying it forward to land at your feet. You held your stance for a breath, scanning, waiting for a second threat.
Your ears rang. Smoke curled from the barrel of your sidearm. Only then did you lower your weapon, gaze dropping to what you'd just killed.
A Doberman.
But it was a beastly thing. Dark coat, sleek and powerful. The strange thing was its muscle mass, which was considerably larger than any Doberman you've ever seen. Blood pooled beneath its head, spreading slow and dark across the wood.
"Shit," you murmured under your breath, the word barely audible. You took a step toward the body, sidearm still trained on it out of habit. The last thing you wanted was to be an asshole cop that killed a family's dog and ruined their summer.
Leaning over, you scanned for a collar, for tags, something. There was nothing.
"Sorry, buddy." The words came out strained. "But I know your bite was worse than your bark."
You grimaced as you noticed the white frothy bubbles popping from around its mouth. Thick, viscous, clinging to its lips and teeth. The foam viscous, clinging to its lips and teeth. The foam was streaked with pink, blood, probably. Your training kicked in, cataloguing the detail. Rabies.
"Poor thing."
You straightened at the voice, forcing yourself to look away from the body. Then his shape stepped into the doorframe, and you saw the sunglasses. The tactical gear. The familiar, measured stride.
Captain Wesker stopped at the base of the porch steps taking in the scene: the door hanging open, your sidearm still raised, the body on the floor just visible behind you. His gaze swept from the dog to you, assessing.
"Trouble?" His voice was calm, as if he'd found you eating lunch in the break room. You dropped the muzzle of your gun to the floor, the adrenaline slowly draining from your limbs. He stepping through the doorway, "I thought you liked animals, rookie."
You holstered your sidearm, the motion practiced and smooth. "I do, Captain. But not when it's kill or be killed." You looked back down at the Doberman, its form a dark lump on the rotting floorboards. "Looks like a case of rabies. Probably the most humane thing to do."
"Valid assessment." Wesker's voice was measured.
He moved past you, crouching down. The foam around the dog’s mouth hid the decay of its teeth and jaw from the T-virus he knew was present. Good, it wasn't the time for STARS to be poking around the bioweapons quite yet. Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder at you.
"Good reaction time. The praise landed differently out here, more weighty.
"Appreciate it, Captain.." You trailed off, suddenly aware of how close he was.
He'd circled back while you were distracted, and now he stood just behind you close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him, cutting through the damp humidity of the shack. Your eyes met your own reflection in the dark lenses of his sunglasses.
"This doesn't look like you're taking point,
Captain."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "It most assuredly is."
The broadness of his shoulders was a wall at your front, the cold damp of the shack at your back. Your heart, which had finally started to calm after the dog, kicked up again.
"The adrenaline of being in the field," his voice dropped to a quiet register. "That rush of endorphins knowing that your abilities are the sole reason for survival." His hand came up, fingers brushed the loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with a deliberate slowness. Your breath caught in your throat. "Tell me, darling," he murmured, the endearment hit you like a punch. "Is the rush to your liking?"
"Captain-"
"Albert," he corrected, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "When we're alone. Call me Albert."
It wasn't a request but a command, delivered in that same calm tone he used for everything but there was a heat that burned underneath it.
"Now, was flirting with our point man something you wanted me to notice?" His hand slid from your jaw to the nape of your neck, the exposed tips of his fingers threading into your hair. "Certainly there are better ways to get my attention. As you are well aware." Your mouth opened only to close. His sunglasses reflected your face back at you, wide-eyed and breathless.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?"
The question wasn't tentative but had the same kind of precision he brought to everything: calculated, controlled, devastating. His mouth found yours in the space of a heartbeat. The taste of Earl Grey blossomed against your tongue. The warmth of him, the solid wall of his chest against yours. His free hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him. It was bruising, possessive, hand tightened in your hair, tilting your head back as you made a sound against his lips that you'd have to deny later.
He broke the kiss as suddenly as he had started it, pulling back far enough to look at you. His breathing steady but the grip on your hair hadn't loosened. His thumb lazily stroking the skin at your nape, intimate.
"Let me be clear," his voice dropped lower, the edge of a blade in every word. "Whatever you have with Chris, it stops. You belong to this team. Most importantly, you belong to me." The words hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. "Let's clear the second room," he continued, "Together."🩷
He turned toward the back room doorway, his hand resting on his sidearm. The darkness beyond was absolute and you fell into position behind him, weapon drawn pointed downward, scanning for threats.
The room was small, maybe eight feet by eight feet. A cot in the corner, rusted springs exposed.
A table with a single chair, overturned, a large window without glass that opened the room to the elements. A smaller, thin hallway branched to the side leading to what looked like a trapdoor, hinges rusted with age. No way anyone would be able to access it. More papers scattered across the floor. The walls were bare wood, warped with age and moisture.
"Clear," your voice small in the space.
Wesker holstered his weapon. He stood in the center of the room, surveying the space with that unnerving stillness of his. You waited for him to give the next order.
Instead, he turned. The set of his jaw with the slight tilt of his head, made your butterflies rise to your throat.
"Good," he said. "Then we're alone."
Before you could react, a hand was on your waist with the other cupping your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. You met him halfway on the lean-in. This kiss was slower than the first. He walked you backward until your shoulders hit the wall, the rough wood pressing against your tactical vest.
"C-Captain-" you groaned.
"Albert," he murmured against your lips, and the word was a low growl. "I told you. When we're alone."
His mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You gasped, your hands coming up to grip his vest, fingers curling into the stiff fabric. The roughness of his tactical gear, the warmth of him, the way his breath ghosted across your skin, it was overwhelming.
"The room is clear," you could feel his smile against your throat. "No danger. Just us." His teeth grazed your pulse point, causing you to arch against him.
"So why are you still searching for threats?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. His sunglasses were still in place, but you could see your flushed, disheveled reflection in them. "Perhaps," his thumb traced your jawline, "you need something else to focus on. Something to bring you into the present."His hands found your hips, pressing you harder against the wall and you let yourself sink into him.
Into the dark, the warmth and the impossible reality of the moment. His mouth found the curve of your jaw, trailing slow, biting kisses down to your throat. You gasped, hands coming up to grip his shoulders. His fingers found the zipper of your tactical vest and pulled it down, slow and deliberate, the sound loud in the quiet room. His hand moved from your waist, tracing the up curve of your hips and settling on swell of your breasts.
"Albert-" you groaned, his hands squeezing through the thin fabric of your undershirt. His thumb and forefingers found your nipples through the material, circling, teasing. You lean into his touch, moaning into his mouth.
"That's it," he breathed against your lips. "I want to hear you."
He found that sensitive spot just below your collarbone and sucked hard, teeth grazing the soft flesh. Whimpering, your fingers tighten on his vest as you anchor yourself to him. He worked his way up your neck, leaving blossoming purple and red marks in his wake, like irises after rain.
"Now," he murmured against your skin, "everyone will know you belong to me."
His knee worked its way between your legs, pressing up. You ground against him, a keening whimper escaping your throat.
Wesker chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Look at you, darling." His hand tightened in your hair, tilting your head back. "Such an eager little plaything, aren't you? So responsive. Do you know how long I've wanted to see you like this?"
You couldn't answer. Could barely think. You were lost in the heat of him, the pressure of his thigh grinding up against your sensitive nerves that lit a fire of arousal through you, the marks he was leaving on your neck like a map of possession. Your only testimony a whimper as your hips bucked against him for more.
"That's it darling.. take what you need from me." His hand was still inside your vest, kneading the soft flesh your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple underneath your cotton sports bra. His mouth found your throat again, teeth and tongue working another mark into your skin. "Are you dripping for me?" The low cadence of his voice sending a shiver down your spine. His knee pressed harder and your fingers curled into his vest.
"Yes, Cap- Albert. Please," your breath catching up with you.
"Please what? Tell me what you want." He murmured in a low, teasing tone.
But your mind was overwhelmed by the heat of him, the pressure of his knee, feeling your panties soak through, the way his fingers and hands were driving you slowly insane.
You could only whimper, grinding against him, chasing.
"Want you, need you- Albert. Please." He pulled back to look at you. Obscured eyes unreadable but the curve of his mouth was pure satisfaction.
"You're beautiful like this," he said, his thumb tracing your lower lip. His forehead pressed against yours, and you could feel his breath warm on your lips. "The way you look at me. The way your pulse jumps when I'm close." Stilling, he pulled his hand from your vest with agonizing slowness. "Do you think I don't notice?" His thumb traced the curve of your jaw. "Tell me you haven't fantasized about this. About me."
Your voice came out rough. "You know I have-"
He pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, cutting you off. "I do. I just wanted to hear you admit it."
The kiss was controlled and devastating. His hand tightened in your hair, the other pressing you harder against him, surely leaving bruises. When he broke away, you were breathless and his own breathing was slightly uneven. It was the only crack in his composure throughout his ordeal and you felt a surge of satisfaction at having caused it. Your vest was open, your undershirt rumpled, your neck covered in marks. His lips were slightly swollen and the sight sent a thrill through you.
"Are we present now?" he asked, voice rougher than before. You nodded, unable to speak. "Good." He straightened, adjusting his vest. The mask slid back into place. Captain Wesker, cool and collected as if he hadn't just pinned you to the wall and ravished you in an abandoned shack.
"Let's keep this between us. As you are aware, Chris has a tender heart and I would hate to see you break it."
The small smirk across his lips told you he would relish it. Then a faint call cut through the fog. You turned towards the main door. Chris. The sound of boots crunching on leaves, getting closer. You looked back but Wesker had vanished. Seemingly melting into the shadows of the back room like he'd never been there at all. Just the darkness of the room and the sound of your own breathing.
"Rookie! Are you in here?" Chris's voice, closer now. You could hear his boots on the leaves, heavy and urgent. You cleared your throat, trying to pull yourself together, smoothing your shirt and zipping your vest.
"Yeah!" You called out. Your voice rougher than intended as you rushed to make your way to the front room. In your haste, a loose floorboard caught your boot and sent you sprawling next to the dog. "Yeah, I'm in here." You groaned, sitting up in defeat.
Chris pushed through the open doorway, his boots heavy on the rotting floorboards. He took in the scene, the body of the Doberman still lying in a dark heap. You next to it. His eyes widened.
"What happened?"
You realized, too late, the state you were in.
Flushed cheeks. Swollen lips. Pupils blown black. Beret tilted and hair disheveled from where Wesker's fingers had been tangled in it. You could feel the heat radiating from your skin, the telltale signs of what had just happened. Your vest was slightly askew where Wesker had gripped it and where you had haphazardly zipped it back up.
"A damn dog jumped me," you said quickly, gesturing at the body next to you. "Rabid, I think. Came out of nowhere."
"Did it bite you?" Chris knelt down next to you, concern etching his features.
"No, I think I just got bruised. I fell backwards too," you said, trying to pass off your flushed cheeks as embarrassment. You could feel the lie burning in your throat. "He got his paws all over me, but I'm okay. Promise."
Chris studied you for a moment, his brow furrowed. His gaze lingered on your lips, on the redness there, and you quickly looked away.
"I should have radioed," you muttered, shaking your head. "I should have called it in before I went in alone. That was stupid."
Chris's expression softened. "Hey. Don't do that to yourself." He reached out, his hand landing gently on your shoulder. "You're new and still learning. Honestly? You handled it. That's all that matters." You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with a small, charming smile.
"Besides, you're here talking to me, which means you're alive, which means you did something right." His thumb rubbed your shoulder in a brief, reassuring gesture. "Give yourself some credit. You took down a rabid Doberman with one shot!"
A reluctant smile tugged at your lips despite everything. "Yeah, my aim's the one thing I've never doubted."
"There you go." Chris grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "There's the newbie I know. You sure you're okay? You look a little shaken up."
"Just adrenaline," you murmured. "First time something's actually tried to kill me on the job. Takes a minute to settle."
"Yeah, I remember my first time. Almost threw up after." He offered a warm smile. "You handled it way better than I did. Here," he offered a hand and pulled you up swiftly, his grip warm and strong. "Need me to do a medical eval?"
"That's okay, I’ll find Rebecca when we get back. That's her whole thing." You looked toward the open window in the other room, avoiding his gaze. "Have you seen the Captain?"
"Hm? Oh, no. I thought I heard him..." Chris shook his head, scanning the room again. "Maybe he circled around the other side of the perimeter. Radio's been quiet."
You nodded, eyes flickering to the back room doorway, dark and silent. Wesker had to be in there. You could feel it, like a weight in the air.
Chris followed your gaze. "What's in there?"
"Nothing," you said quickly. "Cleared it already. Empty"
Chris raised an eyebrow. Suddenly your radios gave off static, the crackle cutting through the silence. Then Wesker's voice, calm and measured:
"Redfield, do you copy?"
Chris raised his radio, "Copy, Captain. We're both here in an abandoned shack by the looks of it. Rookie took out a nasty-looking dog. Over." A pause. You could almost hear Wesker's smile through the static.
"Well done. Regroup at the trailhead. We'll debrief when we're back at the office."
"Copy that." Chris turned to you, offering a hand and pulling you to your feet. "Come on. Let's get you out of this place. It's giving me the creeps."
Nodding you fell into step behind him as he led the way out of the shack. The fog was starting to thin slightly, the grey light filtering through the canopy in pale beams. After some walking you could see the trailhead in the distance and beyond it the familiar silhouette of the SUV.
Chris chatted as you walked but you barely heard him. Your mind was elsewhere: on the taste of Earl Grey, the warmth of a hand at your nape, the low murmur of a voice calling you darling.
When you reached the trailhead, Wesker was already there, leaning against the hood of the SUV with his arms crossed. His sunglasses glinted in the grey light, and you could feel his gaze on you as you approached.
"Rookie," he said, voice neutral. "Glad to see you made it out in one piece."
Something flickered in the corner of his mouth. A ghost of a smile. A private acknowledgment.
Chris clapped you on the shoulder. "She did good, Captain. Took that thing down with one shot."
"I have no doubt. She has excellent instincts." He opened the back door of the SUV, gesturing for you to get in.
As you passed him, his hand brushed yours, brief and deliberate. As the SUV pulled away from the trailhead the Arklay Mountains receded into the fog behind you. You caught his reflection in the rearview mirror those dark lenses fixed on you, watching.