Chapter Text
"Your relationship with the girl doesn't seem entirely.. ethical, Wesker," Birkin's voice lightly echoed in the cold room. He was a soft spoken man, always. Even throughout his horrifying experiments and actions, he spoke like every person before him was a scared animal. It was condescending, in a way. Cruel, even. No one was ever on the same level as him. Not even Wesker or his wife.
"Ethical?" Wesker repeated with a scoff. He shook his head, not bothering to turn around and look at his partner. No, his eyes were locked on the person that laid on the other side of the one-way mirror. His pride and joy. His favorite experiment. His girl. His. She would always be his. No one could get in his way. Not Birkin. Not Spencer. Nobody.
"You say ethical as if it should mean anything to me, Birkin," he replied, tone dry. He finally gave him a glance over his shoulder, sunglasses glinting under the florescents, "You know the company we work for. The mission we choose to accomplish," he turned around and approached Birkin, "What do the children at the orphanage think of your ethics, hm? Would little Sherry like to know what Daddy does to kids her age?" he asked, tone threatening and harsh.
Birkin faltered. Silence brewed between the two men until he gave a cautious shake of his head, "No.. No, Sherry doesn't need to know," he whispered, "Just be careful with that girl. Her mind isn't right and you know it," Birkin warned before turning out of the room. His footsteps echoed on the metal floors until he could not be heard anymore.
Wesker's gaze returned to the unconscious form of the young woman. Who was Birkin to decide if she was stable or not? And what would he know about stability? His wife doesn't even love him but they stay married for the sake of Sherry and the company. Ridiculous. He'd never do that to his wife. He'd never do that to something he loved, because he'd never do that to [name]. Not that he loved her. He'd prefer to say he wanted to possess her, own her, control her. Not love. Love was too soft for him.
He sighed as he watched her stir on her bed. He supposed he should visit her, after that little outburst she had. Nearly half the staff in that room were severely injured, some of which died. He'd have to figure out a way to control that behavior and soon. She wasn't valuable if she couldn't even contain her own emotions.
---
[Name] woke up in a confused stupor. Turning to lay on her stomach, she stretched out like a cat with an arched back. She groaned and shoved herself upright. Fingers finding her neck, she noted the bump left from the huge needle she'd been injected with. Some sedative. It was the level a horse would be given since normal tranqs barely did a thing to her. The virus in her body rejected it, blood stream filtering it out. Didn't mean she wasn't groggy and cranky. She hated being sedated.
The heavy metal door to the room beeped a few times before it creaked open. She perked up on her bed, eyes wide and dilated. No one but Wesker ever visited her after she had an outburst. Nurses were scared of her. Scientists didn't want to tick her off. Birkin was too much of a coward to stand off against her, even if he was the director. No, Wesker was the only one with the key to her heart.. and emotional regulation.
A grin crossed her face as she watched the blonde man practically glide into her room. He always walked with such attention. Like he wanted to command every muscle in his body until it all worked in perfect harmony. His arm flexed ever so slightly as he ran a hand over his gelled back hair. He'd taken off his lab coat before coming in, leaving him in fitted blank pants and a black turtle neck that was practically sculpted to his body.
She wondered for a moment if it was pathetic how attracted to him she was. But then again, Wesker was the only one who coveted [name]. She was his prized pig and she didn't even care that she'd be slaughtered eventually. It was all worth it to just bask in his gaze.
"How are you, sweetheart? Not too sore?" he questioned as he sat down on the edge of her bed. His hand gently took her chin, turning her head to the side to observe the bump. It was already starting to heal itself. It had been far worse when she was awake.
"Not too sore," she nodded in confirmation, "Mostly groggy.. How many people did I hurt this time?" she asked, worry in her tone.
"Half the room, so about.. ten. Two died," he answered. His brows furrowed when he noticed her chewing at her bottom lip, "Don't worry," he whispered as he ran his palm across her cheek, "They instigated it. They know not to handle you without me around but they ignored protocol in favor of continuing research."
She gave a little bob of her head, gaze darting away from his. Rationally, she knew it was wrong to hurt people. That little voice in her head telling her she didn't need to be so violent. Memories of genuine love from faceless parents who'd died. But then there was Wesker. The man who loved her now, telling her that it was okay. She had a right to kill those who wronged her. Violence was the only solution.
"But remember, dearheart," he began, leaning closer to her. He recalled walking into the blood bath, yelling at her to stop. When she didn't, he'd ordered a guard to shoot her, "When I say stop, you stop. When I say attack, you attack. Every order I give you is just that, an order. If you ignore me or attack me, you will be punished."
"Okay but what if-" [Name] started to say but his lips met hers. Affection was a tool he used wisely. Silencing questions or fears he deemed stupid. At least stupid was what he called them. She wasn't supposed to question him, even when it was a valid worry.
She sunk into the kiss anyways, hands going up to his shoulders to hold him close. He was firm against her. His hand pushing her down by the waist just a bit so she had to struggle to keep herself up.
"Quiet," he pulled away slightly, words breathed out against her lips, "There are no buts. You know my word is final. Unless, of course, you're starting to question me?" his voice darkened ever so slightly, sunglasses falling to the brim of his nose so he could look at her over the edge of them. His blue eyes were cold like Lake Eerie on a winter's day. Frozen over. Revealing nothing, no matter how deep she swam or how hard her fists pounded against the ice.
The fear of dissapointing him rose up in her stomach with a vengeance, a hand gripping her organs and jostling them around, "No, no, definitely not. I would never question you, Wesker," she answered quickly, practically stumbling over her words in an effort to dismiss his idea.
It was a dance the two often participated in. An outburst. Affection. Warning. Question. Threaten. Like they were handling a bomb, the two delicately cut lines and followed the guide set out. One he'd created. He was both the bomb maker and the emergency explosives unit. He couldn't help it. She was his creation. He needed to keep his weapon in line. The dance worked, even if some would argue it was abusive.
How could one abuse a thing that could kill you? At least, that's what he told himself. Rationalized it late at night when he'd be on his computer, watching her sleeping form on security feed. His own special TV show like a vouyer glancing through a window from a tree.
"Good girl," his voice rumbled out past his lips. A little shiver ran down her back at the sound. He let go of her waist and let her fall to the bed. He crawled on top of her, straddling her waist. He never cared about the cameras in the room. The relationship the two harbored was all in the name of science. Sex was a biological act, after all. And it wasn't like anyone was going to challenge him on this abuse of powers. He was Umbrella's golden boy.
"Wesker," [Name] whispered, lightly pushing on his chest, "I don't think I want to like.. go all the way, today. At least not right now. My body is really sore and I don't want to be more sore during training tomorrow," she began to ramble but he covered her lips with a single finger, shushing her.
"That's quite alright. You don't have to explain yourself," Wesker reassured. He got off of her and laid down beside her. A part of him was severely disappointed that she didn't want to have sex. He couldn't force her, no. That would harm their relationship and she'd view him as a threat instead of an oasis. He had to let her be in charge. At least for now. Eventually, she'd beg for his touch at the drop of a hat.
"Thank you," she breathed out as she turned on her side to face him. There was a soft smile on her face, blood from earlier gone. Someone must have bathed her after bringing her back, a common thing for a nurse to do after she got violent.
His arms wrapped around her, one on his back and the other on her waist. He pulled her close and she nuzzled against him, face burying itself into his shoulder. She breathed him in. Life couldn't be better.
The red blinking of the camera and the accompanying turret in the corner couldn't put a damper on her mood now.