Chapter Text
It’s the same officer at the front desk as yesterday. Another wave of guilt and shame drags your shoulders down as he stares you down. Without a single word, he knows you haven’t gotten the ID yet. Why? Why do things just pile up like this…?
“Sorry,” You say as you approach. “I… got distracted yesterday. I promise I’ll go today.”
He makes a show of rolling his eyes, but waves you past. It doesn’t make you feel better. You- you should do that today. You don’t know where HR is in the convoluted layout of the station, but… maybe you could ask? You wring your hands on the way up the stairs. Maybe you could convince one of them to even walk you there? Everyone seemed so nice last night… No, no… the thought is too needy, too burdensome. You…
You’ll figure it out later.
You’ve got enough on your mind.
The light and shadow on his face. The tone of his voice. Your concern is appreciated.
You shiver, grip the checkout counter for dear life. He couldn’t mean it like that. He couldn’t. You’re not naive enough to think the flipping in your stomach is remotely close to mutual, that his little smirk is anything more than him finding your humiliating stuttering funny. That’s all it ever is.
But even this unkind interpretation does nothing to quell the warmth that builds across your cheeks and in your chest from the memory replaying over and over in your head. The request log sits open before you, his entry waiting. The temptation to just do his next, to prioritize S.T.A.R.S. members over the rest of R.P.D. is difficult to resist… and yet is also easy. You can’t bear to be under his scrutiny again so soon. Not in the light of day, not when everyone else will see you…
But you should finish up this list. It was the only thing Mr. Ross had asked you to do. So… you check the other entries and get to work.
The bustle in the station changes in the early afternoon; officers coming and going for their breaks, the hive a little slower, quieter. Makes it easier for most deliveries. With only four-- excluding his-- left you knock out the first three with an ease you’re getting proud of. The first two are more casefile checkouts, the third a lawbook for a detective. The last was a bit rougher, one of those Umbrella books to the chief’s receptionist. No part of that was enjoyable, least of all trying to figure out where the receptionist’s desk even was. You only found it because you watched someone else enter a door on the second floor’s east side walkway.
The receptionist was a sweet, older lady with a beaded glasses chain. She flips through a calendar aggressively when you walk in, jotting down notes and entries before she looks up to you. But, as soon as you show her the book, she immediately launches into how absolutely thrilled to read about the company’s contributions to the world of heart medicine she was. “Plus,” She leans in conspiratorially, “There’s this researcher I’ve been seeing. He does that techie stuff for Umbrella and I want to impress him.”
You smile politely, get her to sign the slips, and make your exit. As you make the extended U-shape trek from one corner of the main floor’s upper walkway to the other, you think about it again, about him again. One last request and then you’ve completely caught up.
Your stomach flips at the thought. Having to deliver it to him… Would he be in his office? You haven’t actually seen the inside of it yet… Maybe he’s out again today and you’ll have to deliver it tomorrow…
You pick at your fingers as you make it back to the library. You… you can’t do it yet. Not yet. Soon! Before the day is out. Yes, yes, you’ll take it over to their office just before you leave. In the meantime… You grab the feather duster from behind the counter and march back up the stairs, determined to clean up the miserable mess you’d started yesterday.
You’ve managed to completely clean off the top of an entire row of bookshelves on the second floor, the dust and debris scattered onto the floor instead, all ready to be swept up. You descend the ladder one last time, swiping the sweat off your brow as you observe the dreaded worse before it gets better stage. Now you just need to go grab a broom. You’re pretty sure there was one tucked in the corner of the filing room. You turn, glance over the bannister-
And yelp, staggering backwards, slapping your hands over your mouth in surprise-
Standing at the checkout desk, Captain Wesker is turned to watch you work, arms crossed over his broad chest. And he laughs, a warm noise that ignites heat in your cheeks and belly. “My apologies.”
“No!” You say too quickly, grabbing onto the handrail as you desperately try to play off your surprise. “No, I’m sorry- I didn’t hear you come in, is all.”
“I was just coming to see if my request would be completed soon.” He says, turning away from you to face the request log. He drags one finger down the page- and you know exactly what he’s looking at. “Imagine my surprise.” Another wave of embarrassment floods over you before he can even say it. “Seems I’m the only one left unfulfilled.”
Already, you’re hurrying down the stairs. “Yes- sorry- I, ah, I was just gonna take a break before…” As your feet touch the bottom floor, you’ve realized your mistake. From above, his pristine uniform and commanding presence lose some of their effect. On equal footing, it’s all so much more real. I appreciate the concern.
“Mmm,” Wesker hums, once again glancing over to the log. “Seems you even completed two requests made after mine. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you might not like me.”
“No, I- I like you!” The words don’t even process in your own ear until one pale eyebrow peaks over his dark glasses. “I mean- S.T.A.R.S and- and you have been really nice to me. I- I appreciate it.” You look to your feet and wish, desperately, to die if it meant you could escape this conversation. “I was gonna get to your request before I left today. I swear.”
Wesker tips his head, considers your little confession. “Let’s handle it now, then.” He steps back and motions at the book. You don’t look up at him, keeping your eyes low as you approach, rereading his entry in the log. A. Wesker, Medicinal Benefits of Herbs, 2/26, S.T.A.R.S.
You circle around behind the desk again, searching the title in the system. You confirm its location in the Medicine section and the author’s name, Aarvold, Harry. Good. Easy.
“Should be over here, let me just…” You find the correct section- one of the freestanding rows on the lower level- and begin skimming the shelves. You find Drayton first at eyelevel, and move upwards, past the Cs and Bs- and begin to frown. The As are on the very top shelf. You check the bottom of the shelf before- no luck.
You grimace and glance upstairs to where you’d taken the ladder on your cleaning endeavor. But the Captain is already waiting, it’d be silly to have to go get it, right? To make him wait even longer? You… you can probably reach it without the ladder.
On tiptoes, you stretch- and your fingers brush the cover. One swipe, your fingernail catching on a ridge, but it slips off- another and you can feel the imprinted text on the spine.
“Here.”
You never heard his footsteps. Don’t even realize he’s behind you until his sculpted arm is reaching past you- his voice rumbling, low and quiet just above your ear. “Let me.” And his heat- the warmth of his body burns so close to yours. It knocks the air from your lungs- until his hand settles at the small of your back. The touch makes you go rigid, absolutely frozen under the weight of his palm, a steady pressure to hold you in place while his fingers tug the book off the shelf.
And he’s gone. As quickly as he had crowded up against you, he backs away. In your peripherals you can just make out him offering the book to you- right, you have to stamp it. He has to sign. Your hands shake as you take it, you can’t even attempt to hide the obvious tremble, nor the way you have to fight to get the stamper’s dials to rotate correctly under your imprecise fingers. He touched you and his hand was so big and
“H-here you go, s-sir.” You can’t look at him at all as you offer the book back to him, can’t look above the fourth or fifth button on his chest- which in itself is distracting enough. But at the edge of your vision you can see his lips curled upwards again, a smile that can mean no less than he knows.
You expect him to leave now that he’s successfully requisitioned his book, but he doesn’t. He lingers, one finger tapping at the book’s cover as he contemplates something behind those dark lenses. “Ross hasn’t been by to help you at all, has he?”
“Oh,” The question catches you off guard, too absorbed in your infatuation to process his words at first. “Um, no, he hasn’t.”
Captain Wesker clicks his tongue. “How unprofessional. He should know it’s our role as leaders to guide new members of our teams.” You chew your lip. Something about everyone’s dislike of Mr. Ross makes you uncomfortable. He’s the one who hired you, after all… was Wesker expecting you to agree with him? “If you have any issues, come to my team. I’m sure they’d be glad to help.”
It’s so stupid. You haven’t moved in the last hour, still pressing your forehead to the desk behind the checkout counter. Whatever god that cursed you to that cruel interaction has at least let up its wrath; it’s been quiet since. You’ve been left alone in the library, silent except for the continuous rolling thunder of the precinct all around you, with only your thoughts to torment you.
You cannot act this way. You can’t. He’s- well, he’s not your boss, but he’s the Captain of S.T.A.R.S., if you want to keep being friends with them, you can’t… you can’t fall apart the moment he gives you a scrap of attention. Or if he talks into your ear like that, stands so close you can feel his warmth through his shirt--
He… he didn’t even mean anything by it. Just saw you struggling. Smiled because he likes winding you up and watching you go like a toy and he knows you like him- and oh god you said that, didn’t you? You have to quit right now. Maybe you can make it up to the roof and jump, save yourself the effort of job searching again.
You drop your head onto the wood again, hoping this time it would knock some sense into you. No matter the vicious monologue in your skull, the other hand is too tempting to ignore: his arm was fit, the rolled-up sleeve showing off so much skin, the dusting of thin, pale hair over his forearm, the veins that disappear beneath his gloves and shirt… The heat of a man standing so close behind you and, oh, his voice. You cover your head with your arms, almost wishing to bury that memory’s ghost- let me, purred right against you.
A shameful wave of heat settles in your belly. It’s… weird. Makes your whole body uncomfortable, shifting like you can’t settle into the chair anymore. You feel sick-
A door creaks open.
You bolt upright, whip around- but it’s not the main door, it’s-
“Hey! Are you wrapping up for the day?” You spin again- and the door out to the unicorn statue is open. You know who it is before you even register his S.T.A.R.S. uniform. Chris’s smile is infectious and despite how strange you feel and the guilt you feel for being so weird with his Captain, you find yourself smiling back.
“Is it that late…?” You glance at the terminal’s clock, and, oh, sure enough, it’s nearly 5:20. “Um, yeah I guess so.”
“Great! Some of us are headed over to the Jack.” He glances over his shoulder as the door opens again, a handful more officers filtering into the library. “Think we got Jill, Brad, and Robert and…?”
“No Barry.” Jill says. “Says he’s got dinner planned with his girls.”
“Aww, what a family man.” Brad coos.
Chris turns back to you, “How about it? You in for some drinks before the weekend?”
Oh. The Jack is a bar. You grimace. “Oh, well, I- I can’t.”
“Aw come on, you might be the hardest working recordskeep this station’s ever seen.” Robert calls from the doorway. “Take some time to relax.”
“Just a few drinks.” Jill assures you, “Chris is even buying.”
“Hey, I didn’t agree to anything!”
“No, I mean-” You pick at your fingers again. “I can’t. Literally. I’m not old enough.”
The room pauses, each member of S.T.A.R.S. doing the mental math to match your face to the statement.
After a moment, “I mean… we could just… flash our badges, right?”
“Brad!” Jill swats at him like a bad dog.
“Oh god, could you imagine Wesker’s face if we got caught smuggling our newbie in for a drink?” Robert laughs.
A fresh wave of heat burns at your cheeks just from his name. What would he do…? Would he be disappointed in you…?
“We just say it was Chris’s idea, he’s the favorite.” Brad continues, earning another swat from Jill.
“I am not.” Chris says, then pointedly turns back to you. “Well, we’re sworn to drinks, but maybe next time we can all go out for dinner?”
Anxiety clings to you like a second skin, a draping you can’t shed. And yet, Chris’s smile returns and you can’t help yourself. “I’d like that a lot.”
“Great! Well, we can at least walk you to your car for tonight.”
“Cause that’s as much fun as getting drunk.” Robert teases under his breath.
“Actually, ah,” You gather your bag and coat from behind the counter. “I don’t drive. But I can at least walk you to your cars!”
“Wait, do you walk? In this weather?” Chris asks, staring at your heavy coat.
The confidence Chris’s joy had given you evaporates. “Um, yeah? I don’t live far, it’s only like three blocks from the station, basically straight out the front door…”
“It’s freezing!” Jill exclaims, “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind-”
“No way, let me drive you. Besides, you said you’re straight south, right? Bar Jack is down that way, anyway.”
“Oh- oh, you don’t have to, it’s really-”
Chris puts his hands up. “I insist. Plus, what if you slipped on ice and got hurt?”
Brad makes a face from the doorway. “Please don’t make us wait on Ross again.”
You can’t help it as you wring your hands. It feels… wrong to have them go out of their way for you. But it feels like more effort to reject it… and would it be rude to say no?
“O-okay.”
Chris smiles again, but it’s not nearly as effective this time.
The group ushers you down the main stairs, still joking and ribbing each other the whole way. Even as a sickening layer of dread smothers you, you do your best to mimic their laughs, even as you feel guilt for… for taking their time, for intruding on their own ecosystem.
Cold air blasts your face, makes you cringe as the whole crowd filters out towards the parking garage.
“Guess Wesker’s working late again.” Chris says, a low statement not entirely meant for you to hear. He stares up at the building and when you follow his gaze, your heart sinks.
In one window, the silhouette of a man cuts a stark shape. Backlit by a gas lamp, you can still tell it’s him. The immaculate posture, the short hair, the shine off his glasses. Chris gives an exaggerated salute.
Wesker responds with a curt nod of acknowledgement. And the whole time, his mouth does not move from its grim line.