Unexpected
When they announced they were getting married, no one said they didn’t see it coming. They had been dating “since forever” even though it had only been six years, but once they’d met, no one had any doubts they would wind up marrying each other. No one could imagine a better image of the two of them - her arm resting on his, classy in their black suits tailored to fit every curve of their bodies, platinum hair to contrast her coffee brown, soft imitations of smiles lifting their lips. Most people called them a perfect match, many called them beautiful. The ones who knew better didn’t say anything at all.
Her parents cried when they watched their baby girl walk down the aisle with the man they knew she loved but that they had hardly been given the chance to meet and get to know. Her mother caressed the top of the invitation she’d received in the mail weeks earlier, fingertips brushing the silver embossed lettering - Allison Jane Serra & Albert Wesker - and only the bride wondered if her parents were crying because they thought she was making the wrong decision. After the wedding, she never asked them about it, and it wasn’t long before she stopped talking to them altogether.
-----
It took two years of denial before she finally admitted to herself that they weren’t as close as they used to be, that he was enjoying work just a bit too much, and she would spend hours at home crying because she didn’t know how to tell him or even what to say. She loved him, of course, but she had never been very good at talking or bringing up problems they might be having; she was too afraid of losing him. So she kept her mouth shut, didn’t say anything, and didn’t let him see her cry when he didn’t even notice.
-----
“You’re spending too much time at work.”
She finally decided to speak up. Three years into marriage, and she finally felt as though she could grow a backbone and speak up to him, tell him how she felt. Her heart pounded in her chest, her fingernails slid against sweaty palms as her hands clenched into fists behind her back, and she couldn’t quite look him in the eyes. She couldn’t remember ever feeling like this with him, as though she was under interrogation, and she didn’t think she liked it.
“I never see you anymore.”
Several breathless seconds passed in which thoughts of separation, hate, divorce, all flew through her head before a warm, comforting hand rested on her shoulder and she dared to glance up. Her eyes were met by that faux-smile she had learned to mimic so well.
Two weeks later, she had a job working for Umbrella.
-----
Chris can remember clearly the first - and last - time he saw her, and that’s only because he can remember the jealous glare on Jill’s features as every male’s jaw in the room hit the floor with a heavy thud, and not just because she was attractive. At least, that wasn’t the reason for Chris. His surprise came when he watched her saunter through the door, hair pulled back into a ponytail, Kevlar vest and gun holsters adorning her body, arms held out slightly out in front of her as she made her way directly into the arms of their captain. The last man on Earth Chris had ever thought would be in a relationship, and there they stood, his hands possessively on her hips as her left hand - wedding ring and all, to his surprise - cupped his cheek, her lips pressing lightly against his in what Chris thought would be a very cold kiss.
When she left, he didn’t think he’d see her ever again.
-----
“It’s not exactly my idea of a solution,” she said, leaning against the balcony with not a glance at her companion. “But I guess we’re spending more time together now, right?” She pulled the cigarette from between the first two fingers of the woman standing beside her and put it to her lips. If Albert ever found out she had taken up smoking…
He wouldn’t.
“No second honeymoons or trips to Australia for you,” the dark-haired woman replied with a smile, the first true smile Allison had seen in ages. Her red lips parted as she sighed and took the cigarette back from her, exhaling moments later into the cold air.
Allison laughed. “I’ve always said no one does romance like Albert does.”
-----
She had locked herself in the bathroom at work, emptying everything inside her stomach into the toilet, her mind reeling a thousand thoughts a second, yet oddly blank. She had known Albert was doing some strange things in his spare time, knew staying at work all that time was adding up to something not even she could perceive, but she wasn’t expecting this.
The horrific images wouldn’t - couldn’t - leave her brain, flashed behind her eyelids every time she closed her eyes, and it was all she could do to keep her tears in check. Her eyes shut as her stomach heaved, and she saw again rotting flesh falling off darkened bones, pale eyes, lurching steps, and the smell - oh God, the smell. She gagged again, but there was nothing left to come up.
It wasn’t until later that night that it occurred to her that she wasn’t only disgusted by what she had seen - she was disgusted by the fact that her husband had helped create whatever it was.
-----
Morals were something she held very highly, no matter how many of them she had sacrificed in the last eight years of marriage, and she thought perhaps what she was currently doing must be going against a moral or two, but she was finally at the point where she didn’t care anymore. She was tired of being in a relationship with a man she could remember loving but found that she didn’t anymore; hated knowing that whatever feelings he used to have for her hadn’t been there in years; despised that she could hardly remember the last time she’d seen him. She couldn’t even remember what it was like to wake up to a warm body next to hers. All she had were cold sheets.
It was better for her if he thought she was spending the majority of her time sitting in the bedroom and crying over lost love and a broken future. Even though he was barely home anymore, she knew he did - or used to do - everything he could to keep a close eye on her; but since she had started to make a show of being teary-eyed and distant whenever he left and came home, he had started to drop his guard ever so slightly around her, made his ever-watchful eye over her waver, and that was all she needed to get away for a few precious hours. She doubted he would care, if he ever noticed anyway.
“I’m almost there,” she murmured into her phone, eyes darting to the rear-view mirror as though someone might mysteriously appear there to tell her husband what she was doing. “Wait for me.”
-----
The images still haunted her dreams, still made her toss and turn at night and wake up with the thought that she had slept terribly and needed more coffee than normal. It had been - God, she didn’t even know how long ago, but the mere thought that something so terrible, so horrific, could exist hadn’t erased itself from her mind. It was those mornings when she woke up after the nightmares that made her resolution in her actions that much stronger.
“Tall Americano with a shot of espresso. No, make it two.” She flashed a smile at the young boy behind the counter, hoping it still didn’t carry that smirk she’d developed from Albert, nodding slightly when she saw him flush and fumble with the cup. She thought of what he’d look like with his skin peeling off his limbs, fumbling with the cups because his rotted brain couldn’t even remember what a cup was used for, his thoughts more on the next human he could find to sink his teeth into rather than which woman’s breasts were the most appealing.
She almost didn’t want her coffee anymore.
-----
She supposed she felt bad for doing this to him, but deep inside, she couldn’t bring herself to care anymore. She had chosen this way of life once she had forced herself to fully accept everything that had been happening. Her husband was evil, for lack of a stronger word, and she wanted to put a stop to it. So what did she do? She took the bits of information she managed to get from him and gave them away to the very people he was fighting against, but after more than - what, ten, fifteen - years of putting up with his growing obsession that wasn’t her, of quickly losing her spot as number one in his life, of being rejected over and over again for work, she just couldn’t take it anymore. And it wasn’t the hope that maybe he would come back to her if he failed against Chris Redfield that made her betray him: it was the sheer fact that what he’d been doing, what he was still doing, went against every moral she valued.
She also hadn’t been laid in quite a while.
“I want all this information to get back to Chris Redfield,” she said, holding the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, tapping ashes into the bedside ashtray and remembering the tall brunette man in the S.T.A.R.S. office, the way Albert talked about him early in their marriage, before he started hiding things from her - or at least, before she knew he was hiding things - and she knew Chris was the one that the information needed to get to. “I don’t care how you do it, I just want it to get to him.”
Dark eyes crinkled at the corners as a sly smile crossed the woman’s lips. “I can get it to Leon and he can get it to Chris.” Delicate fingernails traced across the older woman’s arm, over her shoulder, back down her arm. It wasn’t an intimate gesture, though Allison didn’t know what else to qualify it as.
“I said I didn’t care how.” Another drag, another slow exhale. “Albert will kill me when he finds out.” Her words were quiet, spoken more to herself than the woman beside her.
“He wouldn’t, you’re his wife.” The sheets rustled as the younger woman sat up, her low voice holding curiosity more than concern.
Something along the lines of a smirk crossed her lips as she caught the fingers of the younger woman in her hand. “You think too softly of Albert. I’ve no doubt he would put his hands to my throat and kill me.”
Their gazes locked for a mere moment before the dark haired woman laid back down. “You married the wrong man.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Her parents cried when they watched their baby girl walk down the aisle with the man they knew she loved but that they had hardly been given the chance to meet and get to know. Her mother caressed the top of the invitation she’d received in the mail weeks earlier, fingertips brushing the silver embossed lettering - Allison Jane Serra & Albert Wesker - and only the bride wondered if her parents were crying because they thought she was making the wrong decision. After the wedding, she never asked them about it, and it wasn’t long before she stopped talking to them altogether.
-----
It took two years of denial before she finally admitted to herself that they weren’t as close as they used to be, that he was enjoying work just a bit too much, and she would spend hours at home crying because she didn’t know how to tell him or even what to say. She loved him, of course, but she had never been very good at talking or bringing up problems they might be having; she was too afraid of losing him. So she kept her mouth shut, didn’t say anything, and didn’t let him see her cry when he didn’t even notice.
-----
“You’re spending too much time at work.”
She finally decided to speak up. Three years into marriage, and she finally felt as though she could grow a backbone and speak up to him, tell him how she felt. Her heart pounded in her chest, her fingernails slid against sweaty palms as her hands clenched into fists behind her back, and she couldn’t quite look him in the eyes. She couldn’t remember ever feeling like this with him, as though she was under interrogation, and she didn’t think she liked it.
“I never see you anymore.”
Several breathless seconds passed in which thoughts of separation, hate, divorce, all flew through her head before a warm, comforting hand rested on her shoulder and she dared to glance up. Her eyes were met by that faux-smile she had learned to mimic so well.
Two weeks later, she had a job working for Umbrella.
-----
Chris can remember clearly the first - and last - time he saw her, and that’s only because he can remember the jealous glare on Jill’s features as every male’s jaw in the room hit the floor with a heavy thud, and not just because she was attractive. At least, that wasn’t the reason for Chris. His surprise came when he watched her saunter through the door, hair pulled back into a ponytail, Kevlar vest and gun holsters adorning her body, arms held out slightly out in front of her as she made her way directly into the arms of their captain. The last man on Earth Chris had ever thought would be in a relationship, and there they stood, his hands possessively on her hips as her left hand - wedding ring and all, to his surprise - cupped his cheek, her lips pressing lightly against his in what Chris thought would be a very cold kiss.
When she left, he didn’t think he’d see her ever again.
-----
“It’s not exactly my idea of a solution,” she said, leaning against the balcony with not a glance at her companion. “But I guess we’re spending more time together now, right?” She pulled the cigarette from between the first two fingers of the woman standing beside her and put it to her lips. If Albert ever found out she had taken up smoking…
He wouldn’t.
“No second honeymoons or trips to Australia for you,” the dark-haired woman replied with a smile, the first true smile Allison had seen in ages. Her red lips parted as she sighed and took the cigarette back from her, exhaling moments later into the cold air.
Allison laughed. “I’ve always said no one does romance like Albert does.”
-----
She had locked herself in the bathroom at work, emptying everything inside her stomach into the toilet, her mind reeling a thousand thoughts a second, yet oddly blank. She had known Albert was doing some strange things in his spare time, knew staying at work all that time was adding up to something not even she could perceive, but she wasn’t expecting this.
The horrific images wouldn’t - couldn’t - leave her brain, flashed behind her eyelids every time she closed her eyes, and it was all she could do to keep her tears in check. Her eyes shut as her stomach heaved, and she saw again rotting flesh falling off darkened bones, pale eyes, lurching steps, and the smell - oh God, the smell. She gagged again, but there was nothing left to come up.
It wasn’t until later that night that it occurred to her that she wasn’t only disgusted by what she had seen - she was disgusted by the fact that her husband had helped create whatever it was.
-----
Morals were something she held very highly, no matter how many of them she had sacrificed in the last eight years of marriage, and she thought perhaps what she was currently doing must be going against a moral or two, but she was finally at the point where she didn’t care anymore. She was tired of being in a relationship with a man she could remember loving but found that she didn’t anymore; hated knowing that whatever feelings he used to have for her hadn’t been there in years; despised that she could hardly remember the last time she’d seen him. She couldn’t even remember what it was like to wake up to a warm body next to hers. All she had were cold sheets.
It was better for her if he thought she was spending the majority of her time sitting in the bedroom and crying over lost love and a broken future. Even though he was barely home anymore, she knew he did - or used to do - everything he could to keep a close eye on her; but since she had started to make a show of being teary-eyed and distant whenever he left and came home, he had started to drop his guard ever so slightly around her, made his ever-watchful eye over her waver, and that was all she needed to get away for a few precious hours. She doubted he would care, if he ever noticed anyway.
“I’m almost there,” she murmured into her phone, eyes darting to the rear-view mirror as though someone might mysteriously appear there to tell her husband what she was doing. “Wait for me.”
-----
The images still haunted her dreams, still made her toss and turn at night and wake up with the thought that she had slept terribly and needed more coffee than normal. It had been - God, she didn’t even know how long ago, but the mere thought that something so terrible, so horrific, could exist hadn’t erased itself from her mind. It was those mornings when she woke up after the nightmares that made her resolution in her actions that much stronger.
“Tall Americano with a shot of espresso. No, make it two.” She flashed a smile at the young boy behind the counter, hoping it still didn’t carry that smirk she’d developed from Albert, nodding slightly when she saw him flush and fumble with the cup. She thought of what he’d look like with his skin peeling off his limbs, fumbling with the cups because his rotted brain couldn’t even remember what a cup was used for, his thoughts more on the next human he could find to sink his teeth into rather than which woman’s breasts were the most appealing.
She almost didn’t want her coffee anymore.
-----
She supposed she felt bad for doing this to him, but deep inside, she couldn’t bring herself to care anymore. She had chosen this way of life once she had forced herself to fully accept everything that had been happening. Her husband was evil, for lack of a stronger word, and she wanted to put a stop to it. So what did she do? She took the bits of information she managed to get from him and gave them away to the very people he was fighting against, but after more than - what, ten, fifteen - years of putting up with his growing obsession that wasn’t her, of quickly losing her spot as number one in his life, of being rejected over and over again for work, she just couldn’t take it anymore. And it wasn’t the hope that maybe he would come back to her if he failed against Chris Redfield that made her betray him: it was the sheer fact that what he’d been doing, what he was still doing, went against every moral she valued.
She also hadn’t been laid in quite a while.
“I want all this information to get back to Chris Redfield,” she said, holding the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, tapping ashes into the bedside ashtray and remembering the tall brunette man in the S.T.A.R.S. office, the way Albert talked about him early in their marriage, before he started hiding things from her - or at least, before she knew he was hiding things - and she knew Chris was the one that the information needed to get to. “I don’t care how you do it, I just want it to get to him.”
Dark eyes crinkled at the corners as a sly smile crossed the woman’s lips. “I can get it to Leon and he can get it to Chris.” Delicate fingernails traced across the older woman’s arm, over her shoulder, back down her arm. It wasn’t an intimate gesture, though Allison didn’t know what else to qualify it as.
“I said I didn’t care how.” Another drag, another slow exhale. “Albert will kill me when he finds out.” Her words were quiet, spoken more to herself than the woman beside her.
“He wouldn’t, you’re his wife.” The sheets rustled as the younger woman sat up, her low voice holding curiosity more than concern.
Something along the lines of a smirk crossed her lips as she caught the fingers of the younger woman in her hand. “You think too softly of Albert. I’ve no doubt he would put his hands to my throat and kill me.”
Their gazes locked for a mere moment before the dark haired woman laid back down. “You married the wrong man.”
“Don’t I know it.”