Fanfic - Resident Evil - Wesker/Chris - "Need"
Title: Need
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Albert Wesker, Chris Redfield, implied past hatesex
Summary: Wesker is now contained. It gives him all the time in the world to ponder his failed experiments.
Notes: Not sure if this qualifies as a Resident Evil fandom piece, or a Marvel vs. Capcom fandom piece, since it takes place in the ending Chris gets in that game (his happy ending is Wesker in a straight jacket...which isn't suggestive at all).
“If you keep visiting me, I’ll start to think you like me,” Wesker said from a seated position, lifting his head to stare at the figure in the hallway.
Chris didn’t say anything, planted firmly on the visitation deck, arms leaning loose over his knees as he stared at his nemesis - his boogeyman - sitting in front of him not ten feet away. A straightjacket and electrified walls didn’t seem like enough…
“You had the nightmare again?” Wesker asked, voice low and searching, seeking for anything that Chris might surrender to him willingly, because that’s all he had in this place.
“Never said I had a nightmare.” Those were the first words Chris had spoken to him in the last two months.
“You know the one, Chris,” there was a pause, a predatory focusing of his gaze, “where I get out and kill everyone you know and love.” As if in anticipation, he strained against the jacket, tilted his head up and snarled the last bit out.
“Maybe it helps me sleep better at night knowing you’re locked up,” Chris admitted. “You’re hard to kill. We decided containment was the better option.” He repeated the mantra like he actually believed it.
“SHIELD decided, you mean.” Wesker inclined his head slightly, not taking his eyes off Chris. “Likewise…”
“That wasn’t a compliment--“
“Neither was mine,” Wesker lifted his head again, voice suddenly low and cutting. “Your propensity for survival always rubbed me the wrong way. And you know as well as I do that your government could kill me whenever they wanted to.”
“I dropped you in lava and it did wonders for your complexion,” Chris said evenly. “They’re welcome to try.”
“They just have too much to learn from me, don’t they?” Wesker said with a smile. Chris’ expression didn’t change. “Don’t worry, my secrets are mine, as long as I keep them to myself I stay alive, isn’t that how this part of the game goes? If I remember, there are some things about us you’d just as well I kept secret.”
“Mistakes I would gladly erase.” Cold rage rose in Chris. It was the kind of anger sparked by a single annoyance that returned with repeated contact, most commonly the result of frustration with basic bureaucratic stupidity. “Just feel lucky I’m not the one making the decisions.”
Wesker tilted his head and made a haughty sound that felt like a low, satisfied hum of amusement. “Oh yes, the law you serve is mightier than your own sense of vengeance. If it were up to you, they’d cut me into little bits and burn the remains in vats of acid, but it isn’t, so you’re content to just sit idly by and tell yourself that there’s a reason for everything, that you can disagree but it’s not your right to take the law into your own hands.” He scowled. “If only you showed the same defiance with your own government that you give me. You were always unquestioning of authority, even when I was your captain. If you were a little more selfish I might even see you as my equal.”
“Being your equal is a step down.” Chris leaned back against the wall behind him and tilted his head up. “I did defy my government. In the years after the Arklay incident I was a fugitive.”
“Rebellion doesn’t matter if it’s still in the spirit of the government’s morality,” Wesker snapped back. “I used to think you were a boy scout, now I realize you’re a choir boy.”
Chris smirked and finally rose to a standing position, looking a little too amused. Mockery didn’t look as natural on him as it did on Wesker, but the undercurrent of pride carried the insult. “Now that’s something to write home about; the great Albert Wesker gets smacked down by a choir boy.” Chris whistled innocently. “I guess that was one impressive choir boy.”
“Perhaps zealot is a more appropriate term,” Wesker corrected, eyes narrowing as his voice darkened. He spat it out as if he thought it was a waste.
“You’re in no position to call me a zealot.”
Wesker watched him with an inhumanly still, predatory gaze, and Chris again felt like the barriers between them weren’t enough, could never be enough. He took a step closer to the blue force field, crackling occasionally with static discharge, encasing a prison made entirely out of carbon fiber -- harder than steel and unable to conduct.
Chris should have been used to Wesker’s speed by now, that strange motion of being one place and then shifting to another. In a single, flashed step, Wesker was at the edge of his prison. Chris leaned back, blinking on reflex, more astonishment than fear or flinching.
“You could have served a real god.” Wesker tilted his head up, met Chris’ eyes and made him stand taller in answer to the challenge. “Jill was my Eve. You could have been my Adam.”
“Don’t talk about Jill. You don’t even mention her name in my presence,” it came out as a snarl, not quite a yell, but Wesker seemed to bask in the sudden flame of anger.
“You love Jill dearly,” he said, “I’d think you’d be grateful to me for saving her life. You’d thought you’d lost her, hm? Didn’t it hurt? It must have been quite the relief to see her alive at my side…”
Chris couldn’t believe what he was hearing, couldn’t believe that Wesker was somehow trying to make what he’d done to Jill a gift. “You enslaved her.”
“She was alive and, I might add, still human. I consider it an example of my charitable side.”
Chris was shaking his head. “There is nothing right in your head.”
Wesker leaned in closer. “I remember that you always knew that about me. In fact, I could have sworn there was a day when you entertained thoughts of saving me.”
“That was before Arklay. I wanted to help my captain -- someone human, not a monster.”
There was the briefest flash of true, deep seated anger on Wesker’s face, a look of such absolute loathing that Chris fought the urge to turn and walk away right there. For once, he wasn’t even sure it was directed at him; it was anger at the people who had given him the illusion of humanity and taken it away. “Oops,” Chris replied in a sing-song voice, “looks like I struck a nerve.”
“You don’t know anything about what it’s like to be a monster. I really wish I could have acquainted you with the feeling, I’ve even daydreamed about having you as a live experimental subject.”
“Keep dreaming, you’ll have plenty of time in this place.”
A smirk quirked at the edges of Wesker’s lips and he drew closer, and Chris came closer to the thin membrane of blue between them.
Memories of something hot and cold and desperate and alive went through Chris’ mind in a moment, and he leaned in on physical memory as Wesker drew him in, hovering somewhere between sex and violence.
As his lips hovered over the field, a static shock popped and stung, shocking him out of the trance. They both drew away at the jolt.
Wesker looked too damned pleased with himself. “Admit it. You need me.”
“I don’t love you.”
“I didn’t say love, I said need. The two are entirely separate. You love Jill more than your own life…but I’m one half yourself.”
“You’re insane.” Chris drew away, fingers still tracing the spot where the SHIELD machination had stung him. This was stupid, so damn stupid. He didn’t even know why he’d come in the first place, what he’d been looking for, and suddenly that small ignorance scared him. “Go to Hell,” he shot back one last time as he turned to leave, bootsteps slightly hurried against the carbon alloy grate under his feet, the panic at his own actions chasing his heels.
“See you later, Chris,” Wesker purred to the closed door, the lonely oubliette built to contain him, “I know I will.”
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: Albert Wesker, Chris Redfield, implied past hatesex
Summary: Wesker is now contained. It gives him all the time in the world to ponder his failed experiments.
Notes: Not sure if this qualifies as a Resident Evil fandom piece, or a Marvel vs. Capcom fandom piece, since it takes place in the ending Chris gets in that game (his happy ending is Wesker in a straight jacket...which isn't suggestive at all).
“If you keep visiting me, I’ll start to think you like me,” Wesker said from a seated position, lifting his head to stare at the figure in the hallway.
Chris didn’t say anything, planted firmly on the visitation deck, arms leaning loose over his knees as he stared at his nemesis - his boogeyman - sitting in front of him not ten feet away. A straightjacket and electrified walls didn’t seem like enough…
“You had the nightmare again?” Wesker asked, voice low and searching, seeking for anything that Chris might surrender to him willingly, because that’s all he had in this place.
“Never said I had a nightmare.” Those were the first words Chris had spoken to him in the last two months.
“You know the one, Chris,” there was a pause, a predatory focusing of his gaze, “where I get out and kill everyone you know and love.” As if in anticipation, he strained against the jacket, tilted his head up and snarled the last bit out.
“Maybe it helps me sleep better at night knowing you’re locked up,” Chris admitted. “You’re hard to kill. We decided containment was the better option.” He repeated the mantra like he actually believed it.
“SHIELD decided, you mean.” Wesker inclined his head slightly, not taking his eyes off Chris. “Likewise…”
“That wasn’t a compliment--“
“Neither was mine,” Wesker lifted his head again, voice suddenly low and cutting. “Your propensity for survival always rubbed me the wrong way. And you know as well as I do that your government could kill me whenever they wanted to.”
“I dropped you in lava and it did wonders for your complexion,” Chris said evenly. “They’re welcome to try.”
“They just have too much to learn from me, don’t they?” Wesker said with a smile. Chris’ expression didn’t change. “Don’t worry, my secrets are mine, as long as I keep them to myself I stay alive, isn’t that how this part of the game goes? If I remember, there are some things about us you’d just as well I kept secret.”
“Mistakes I would gladly erase.” Cold rage rose in Chris. It was the kind of anger sparked by a single annoyance that returned with repeated contact, most commonly the result of frustration with basic bureaucratic stupidity. “Just feel lucky I’m not the one making the decisions.”
Wesker tilted his head and made a haughty sound that felt like a low, satisfied hum of amusement. “Oh yes, the law you serve is mightier than your own sense of vengeance. If it were up to you, they’d cut me into little bits and burn the remains in vats of acid, but it isn’t, so you’re content to just sit idly by and tell yourself that there’s a reason for everything, that you can disagree but it’s not your right to take the law into your own hands.” He scowled. “If only you showed the same defiance with your own government that you give me. You were always unquestioning of authority, even when I was your captain. If you were a little more selfish I might even see you as my equal.”
“Being your equal is a step down.” Chris leaned back against the wall behind him and tilted his head up. “I did defy my government. In the years after the Arklay incident I was a fugitive.”
“Rebellion doesn’t matter if it’s still in the spirit of the government’s morality,” Wesker snapped back. “I used to think you were a boy scout, now I realize you’re a choir boy.”
Chris smirked and finally rose to a standing position, looking a little too amused. Mockery didn’t look as natural on him as it did on Wesker, but the undercurrent of pride carried the insult. “Now that’s something to write home about; the great Albert Wesker gets smacked down by a choir boy.” Chris whistled innocently. “I guess that was one impressive choir boy.”
“Perhaps zealot is a more appropriate term,” Wesker corrected, eyes narrowing as his voice darkened. He spat it out as if he thought it was a waste.
“You’re in no position to call me a zealot.”
Wesker watched him with an inhumanly still, predatory gaze, and Chris again felt like the barriers between them weren’t enough, could never be enough. He took a step closer to the blue force field, crackling occasionally with static discharge, encasing a prison made entirely out of carbon fiber -- harder than steel and unable to conduct.
Chris should have been used to Wesker’s speed by now, that strange motion of being one place and then shifting to another. In a single, flashed step, Wesker was at the edge of his prison. Chris leaned back, blinking on reflex, more astonishment than fear or flinching.
“You could have served a real god.” Wesker tilted his head up, met Chris’ eyes and made him stand taller in answer to the challenge. “Jill was my Eve. You could have been my Adam.”
“Don’t talk about Jill. You don’t even mention her name in my presence,” it came out as a snarl, not quite a yell, but Wesker seemed to bask in the sudden flame of anger.
“You love Jill dearly,” he said, “I’d think you’d be grateful to me for saving her life. You’d thought you’d lost her, hm? Didn’t it hurt? It must have been quite the relief to see her alive at my side…”
Chris couldn’t believe what he was hearing, couldn’t believe that Wesker was somehow trying to make what he’d done to Jill a gift. “You enslaved her.”
“She was alive and, I might add, still human. I consider it an example of my charitable side.”
Chris was shaking his head. “There is nothing right in your head.”
Wesker leaned in closer. “I remember that you always knew that about me. In fact, I could have sworn there was a day when you entertained thoughts of saving me.”
“That was before Arklay. I wanted to help my captain -- someone human, not a monster.”
There was the briefest flash of true, deep seated anger on Wesker’s face, a look of such absolute loathing that Chris fought the urge to turn and walk away right there. For once, he wasn’t even sure it was directed at him; it was anger at the people who had given him the illusion of humanity and taken it away. “Oops,” Chris replied in a sing-song voice, “looks like I struck a nerve.”
“You don’t know anything about what it’s like to be a monster. I really wish I could have acquainted you with the feeling, I’ve even daydreamed about having you as a live experimental subject.”
“Keep dreaming, you’ll have plenty of time in this place.”
A smirk quirked at the edges of Wesker’s lips and he drew closer, and Chris came closer to the thin membrane of blue between them.
Memories of something hot and cold and desperate and alive went through Chris’ mind in a moment, and he leaned in on physical memory as Wesker drew him in, hovering somewhere between sex and violence.
As his lips hovered over the field, a static shock popped and stung, shocking him out of the trance. They both drew away at the jolt.
Wesker looked too damned pleased with himself. “Admit it. You need me.”
“I don’t love you.”
“I didn’t say love, I said need. The two are entirely separate. You love Jill more than your own life…but I’m one half yourself.”
“You’re insane.” Chris drew away, fingers still tracing the spot where the SHIELD machination had stung him. This was stupid, so damn stupid. He didn’t even know why he’d come in the first place, what he’d been looking for, and suddenly that small ignorance scared him. “Go to Hell,” he shot back one last time as he turned to leave, bootsteps slightly hurried against the carbon alloy grate under his feet, the panic at his own actions chasing his heels.
“See you later, Chris,” Wesker purred to the closed door, the lonely oubliette built to contain him, “I know I will.”