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It had been a long thirty-six hours of surveillance, travel and waiting, and a longer week still of watchful eyes on the Winters' home.
The quiet hum of the jet's engine was the only noise filling the small space between Chris and Wesker. That and the intermittent, slumbering coos of the baby bundled up in Chris' arms.
It was a reminder of everything that Chris was, and everything that Wesker was not. Protect her, Ethan Winters had asked of him. Look after her.
Sometimes, Wesker loathed Chris' selflessness. He had not consulted him on the matter of accepting the child as their charge until the girl was already in his arms. It was only until Chris' Wolves could secure the new location for Rosemary and Mia to live in, but for now, the baby was theirs to protect and monitor.
Wesker's fingers grazed Chris' leg, testing his desire for comfort, and when Chris bumped his knee closer in search of it, Wesker grasped him more tangibly and leant to kiss his temple. His irritation could wait.
"'s just for a few weeks," Chris mumbled to him gruffly.
"Mrm," he responded vaguely. "We shall discuss the matter at home."
Wesker stared down at Rosemary as she wriggled and cried on their bed, mere hours into being their guest. The noise was as grating as it had been over thirty years ago when Sherry had been the very same writhing, wrinkly little thing desperate for constant attention, only this time it was Wesker who was jointly responsible for the baby's well being.
"Albert?" Chris called to him from downstairs. "Will you bring Rose down? Her bottle's ready."
The infant's face had gone bright red from her incessant crying. What a dramatic little creature. Wesker lowered his hands to her, and for a moment, hesitated. Sherry had felt so fragile in his arms all those years ago, and that had been long before Wesker had enhanced himself. The faintest miscalculation of his strength would be fatal.
He was much too aware of himself in those moments. Slowly and cautiously, he lifted Rosemary by her armpits and watched as her head fell back unsupported.
"Now that will not do, will it, young Rosemary," Wesker tutted, stiffly manoeuvring her into a cradle. Her wails were gradually tapering off into sad little whimpers, and as Wesker reached the top of the stairs, she gazed up at him quietly with puffy green eyes and pudgy, wet cheeks.
He joined Chris downstairs with her, puzzled and slightly irritated by the dramatics of her tears.
When he rounded the stairs and entered the kitchen, Chris turned to them. A towel was slung over his shoulder and a warmed bottle was nestled in his hand, and for the first time in several days, Wesker's tension eased. It was Chris' first smile in days; a tired, worn thing, but genuine enough to warm his rich eyes all the same.
"I suppose Rosemary was feeling lonely," Wesker observed. "I recall Sherry having rather the same irritating issue as an infant."
"Yeah, babies usually like to be held," Chris laughed, hoarse and tired. "You want to feed her?"
"I do not."
Chris huffed, strung up with amusement. He came padding over in his shirt and boxers and took Rosemary from him.
It was hardly surprising that Chris was immensely gentle with the girl. For all of his bulk and brawn and the years that had aged him and worn him down, his Chris was as soft-hearted as he had always been.
Still, Wesker hated to see the anguish draining the colour from Chris' eyes.
"She should be with her parents," Chris said quietly. "Doesn't feel right. Ethan's gone, and she can't even stay with her mom right now."
Wesker came in close, fingers grazing Chris' side with an innate tenderness.
"It is a necessary facet of her existence, my dear," he murmured. "Perhaps we shall pale in comparison to her parents, but we have the greatest means of keeping her protected until your squad confirm the compatibility of her new location. Mrs Winters understood this. As did Ethan."
The thinnest veil of tears lined Chris' eyes. Wesker's hand swept to his face and then up into his dark hair.
"Yeah, I know," Chris said more roughly. "Some days, it just feels like we haven't made any progress at all. I know we have. You've done so much to make the world better for everyone. Fuck, T-Virus is almost gone thanks to the antiviral, but babies like Rose still lose their parents every day. Just one fucking thing after another."
He glanced guiltily down at Rose.
"Sorry," he murmured. "Don't tell your mom I've been swearing around you."
Seeing that sadness weighing on Chris sent an ache through Wesker's chest; an ache once unfamiliar and unwelcome, but now a testament of his affection. There was still much work to be done. His antivirus had eradicated the majority of t-Virus strains in the span of four years, but the cerberus beast of bioweaponry would rear two new heads for each one beheaded.
They did not understand his vision for humanity. It would all be so much easier if they understood the true potential of human evolution, but Wesker knew better than all that their sorry minds would take centuries to catch up to what he had discovered in a matter of years.
"Then I shall work all the harder," he said quietly to Chris, tracing the broad, rugged stretch of his cheek. "For you, my darling, I shall make all come to bear."
There were days in their union where Wesker knew that Chris still wished that he could do things just for humanity; just for the good of the world and those in it, and not just because it would make that warm light in Chris' eyes and smile all the brighter.
And then there were days like these; days where Chris was glad for anything, any comfort or promise or devotion. Chris leant into his hand, pushed into it, dark lashes fanning low as his eyes closed for just a moment.
Rose cooed as she suckled on her bottle, and that reminder of another life in the room - another pull at Chris' attention - quite ruined the moment.
Wesker must have made some semblance of a displeased noise, as Chris' eyes were upon him, shifted into that fondly disapproving state.
"She's a baby, Albert," he said gruffly. "Needs all the love she can get."
"As do I," Wesker responded, more sulky than he would have liked.
A kiss upon his cheek helped.
"You're still the sole fixation of my attention," Chris murmured against his cheek. "I don't think the legendary Dr Albert Wesker needs to be jealous of a baby."
Wesker muttered and grumbled. He stalked out of the kitchen, to the rough, lifting tune of Chris' chuckling.
An entire morning of caring for a baby made it abundantly clear just how many supplies they were lacking. They had dwindling basics - a few diapers, a feeding bottle and a small tin of formula, but young Rosemary had no spare clothes nor a crib to sleep in, and Wesker certainly was not sharing his bed with Chris with her.
Loathe as he was to do it, Wesker found himself calling in a favour just after the morning sun dipped into the murkier afternoon breeze of northern Europe.
'A baby?'
"Yes, my dear."
'And.. where did you find this baby?'
"Must you sound so sceptical?" He replied snippishly, "The details do not matter, only that she is now our charge."
'Mhm.. we'll be there in a few hours.'
They arrived just after dinner. Rosemary was fast asleep in a baby carrier that Chris had fashioned together from a few of their scarves, nestled safely against his chest while he dozed in and out of sleep on the couch. Wesker had been sat beside them, one arm draped over Chris' shoulders and the other lazily scrolling through his email inbox on his tablet.
After a buzz at the door and the familiar sound of her voice on the intercom, Sherry came inside with a few bags, closely tailed by Jake.
"We've got the crib too, but you'll need to help with that." The bags had barely reached the floor before Sherry was hopping up to ambush Wesker with a hug. He grumbled in complaint, but she received a courteous pat upon her back all the same.
"I can handle it," came Jake's stubborn voice.
"No, I shall help you." Wesker was already on the way to the door.
"I've got it."
"I must insist, Jake."
They stood at odds at the front door. Jake stared at him, and Wesker stared back.
"Jake, come on…" Sherry pleaded.
His son was like him in more ways than one. Namely, he was not immune to the signature pleading Birkin eyes.
With a frustrated grunt, Jake relented and let Wesker out first.
It was a short, silent walk to their car. It was parked beside Chris' own, and though it was secure in the confines of their gated home, and Wesker could just make out the silhouette of a folded travel crib tucked behind a small, square mattress in their backseat.
"You had ought to tint your windows, Jake," Wesker advised. "You may not have my name, nor Sherry her father's any longer, but you are still my son and she is still the Birkins' daughter."
"Thought I said I didn't need your advice," Jake said in a glower.
"Forgive me for caring about the safety of my son and daughter-in-law," Wesker replied, scathing.
"Took you long enough," Jake muttered.
Wesker sighed through his teeth. Nine years of contact had barely softened Jake to his cause, and it seemed like any single incident could set off his temper. That was another one of their unfortunate similarities.
He did not need Jake's help with retrieving the crib, but with Chris tired and grieving and that sensitive underdeveloped human in their care, preventing further argument seemed wise. Wesker sighed through his teeth and took one end of the crib, while Jake held the other.
"Where'd you even find this baby? She's not your clone, is she?" Jake muttered as he secured the car again.
"Of course she is not my clone," Wesker sneered. "Why the devil would I choose to clone myself? My perfection needs no replication."
"Whatever," he huffed.
Back inside, Sherry was laying out the few outfits they'd bought for Rose. From the doorway, Wesker could see all of the perplexed emotions working overtime on Chris' face.
"I think she'll fit into this for a few more weeks," he heard Sherry saying. "I'm not.. fully sure, though. The lady at the store said babies tend to grow pretty fast, so she'll need to move on to the bigger size before long."
"Come, Jake." Wesker steered them over to the staircase. "Help me take this contraption upstairs."
Jake gave a short grunt. They worked the crib carefully up the stairs and into the spare bedroom beside the master suite.
They pushed it against the wall, then set the mattress properly inside. After several drawn out seconds of Jake staring broodingly at the cot, Wesker gave a sharp huff of frustration.
"What is the matter with you, Jake?"
Instead of a frustrated remark, Wesker was met with an extended silence. He noted that Jake would not look at him, and when he finally spoke, Jake was quieter.
"Is she your daughter?"
"No," Wesker replied. "As I told Sherry, she is in our care for a few weeks. It involves a high-security mission."
Jake nodded, a sliver of relief touching his brow.
"… Spent the whole hour ride over here jealous of a baby," he admitted with some frustration. "Thought she was your daughter or something. Know they can do that these days."
Wesker frowned. Before he could answer, Jake spoke again, and Wesker could almost imagine the sulking child that he had been, and that Wesker had never known.
"Sometimes I wish my mother had told you about me, but would it have made a difference? You didn't want me and you didn't want her, and I guess at the time I convinced myself that we didn't want you either."
Jake gripped the side of the cot and then tapped it in resignation.
"Doesn't matter now, anyway. Guess I'm relieved."
He disappeared downstairs. Wesker called to him, but he didn't come back.
It was Wesker's turn to satisfy Rosemary's attention while Chris showered. The evening had ticked down into night, painting the newly-dubbed baby room in soft shades of artificial gold. The house was quiet in the mild February breeze, with only the trickle of water distantly audible from their en suite.
Rosemary calmly watched as Wesker surveyed her choice of pyjamas. It was regrettable that silk button-downs were not available for humans this small.
"What is your desired fabric feel, Rosemary?" He asked her, eyes straying between a simple cotton onesie and a slightly fuzzier one. Predictably, she did not reply, and only gazed up at him with her large green eyes. Curiously, she lifted her foot into her little hand, as if to play with it.
Wesker turned to the girl with the cotton onesie. He batted her tiny fingers away from her leg and proceeded to change her into the one-piece.
While he did, his thoughts predictably wandered to scientific pursuits. Rosemary's existence was an immense curiosity; a human formed entirely of the Mold, right down to her very DNA. It would be imperative to keep her under medical and scientific surveillance for any signs of mutation or acceleration, though the stability of her condition despite the experiments imposed upon her by Miranda suggested that she was more than compatible with life.
Wesker heard the padding of Chris' footsteps before he could see him, and then relished in the strong set of arms that pulled him from his clinical pondering.
"She okay?" he asked, voice gruff with fatigue.
"She has not made any outward signs of distress, no," Wesker replied as he buttoned up her onesie. "I shall run some further tests on her in the morning to ensure the continued success of her existence before she is returned to her mother."
"Talking funny again," Chris muttered, voice muffled while he kissed the nape of Wesker's neck. "Explain it for your boulder-headed husband."
Wesker tutted shortly. He secured the side of Rosemary's cot before gliding himself around in Chris' arms to face him.
"I shall make sure that her condition is stable, my dear." He stretched his hands across Chris' chest, enjoying the firm muscle there. "I suppose that I shall wait until she is older to run further blood and genetic work."
Chris nodded. He leant in to kiss Wesker's forehead.
"Thank you," he murmured to that. "Know it isn't easy for you to put down your toys in the presence of a new experiment."
"They are not toys," Wesker grumbled tersely.
Thirty minutes later, they were in bed. The world was silent around them, allowing Wesker to drink in the even cycle of Chris' breaths all for himself. Beneath those, he tuned into the steady rhythm of his pulse, strong and stalwart in his chest.
"I'm glad I have you here," Chris said to him in the dark, voice gravelly and rough over the quiet buzz of the baby monitor. "Think about it a lot. If you hadn't come to find me back then."
"Do you?" Wesker murmured, fingers petting the unruly, short spikes of Chris' hair.
"Yeah," he replied. "Wonder if we'd have found our way to each other anyway, or if.. we would have just kept on fighting. If we'd still be fighting now. Destroying each other."
Wesker quietened.
"Perhaps," he said. "But you would remain my ceaseless fixation, Chris Redfield, regardless of our paths. Would you not chase me to the ends of the universe?"
Chris' hand was a warm, sturdy presence on Wesker's cheek. His eyelids drooped in content for the rough pad of Chris' thumb gliding over his jaw.
"Even further than that," Chris whispered. "To the ends of.. whatever's beyond the universe."
Wesker tutted fondly.
"There is nothing beyond the universe, my darling. The universe is existence itself. It is our playing grounds, ours alone to shape."
Wesker much preferred the look that encapsulated Chris in that moment; a gentle warmth, a fondness that broke through the fatigue and grief running him haggard. For just that sole moment, they were younger again, with the universe at their fingertips.
"Don't wanna chase you that far anyway," Chris told him softly. "Want us to stay right here."
They drifted into a kiss together, like all the stars merging at once. Wesker pulled him closer in just as much of a display of need.
He adored the way that Chris gave over to him. His strong, resilient, stubborn Chris, all hard muscles, folding under the searching domination of Wesker's tongue. When Chris groaned for him, that was the kindling that steered their kiss into the deeper throes of passion.
The invitation of Chris' hand curling at the front of his shirt was more than enough for Wesker to roll into his space proper. His fingers fell lecherously across the dips and swells of Chris' brawn, enjoying the heat of his tawny skin and the dark tangles of hair that fanned out across his torso and down his navel.
Wesker drew away for air and indulgence. His lips dipped lower to Chris' throat, chasing the delectable groans he gave with every marking bite and the sighs he let out under the soothing pass of Wesker's tongue.
Soon, the presence of Chris' fingers tangling up into his hair made him shudder. It was easy work to unravel the gel slicking Wesker's hair in place, and easier still to lure out a sigh when those fingers pressed and scraped against his scalp.
Wesker revelled in Chris' touch and the fullness of his attention. He pushed his hips against him, growling soft and low, feeling the need in every buck of Chris' own hips.
His hands flew to the bulge of Chris' pecs, squeezing there with greed and hunger. Chris groaned deliciously for him, arching into the sting of Wesker's nails digging possessively into the firm give of his muscles.
"Place your hands on me," Wesker growled. "Feel me, Chris. Experience me."
Chris touched him reverently, rough and thick fingers sweeping over his hips and up his flanks. He hissed as those hands squeezed his rear and pulled him close, teetering on the edge of a delicious roughness that Chris held at bay just for him.
In mere moments, they were bare; Chris shed his sweats and boxers, and Wesker drew off his silk pyjamas with no regard for his elegance. Then, they were tangling together again, lips finding one another with innate ease.
Much of Wesker considered skipping the lubrication process entirely. His enhanced capabilities would stave off the pain before long, though it would likely be more of a nuisance than it was worth. Patience was not his greatest asset when it came to the matter of enjoying Chris, and that entitled impatience had only grown stronger through the years.
He leant away for an agonising moment to rummage in Chris' nightstand. When he found the lube, his fingers worked quickly and deftly to uncap the bottle and draw it across his digits.
"Be a good boy and be still now, Chris," Wesker drawled, slick fingers slowly easing into himself. He sighed, cutting out the distinct, captivating silhouette of Chris beneath him, gaze struck with deep shades of burning gold.
Chris' patience was no better. He gripped Wesker's thighs while uneven breaths came shallow from his lungs, barely tolerating the show put on for him.
Wesker could have watched that restless reverence in Chris for eternity, though the heat rolling through his loins made him retract his fingers and hastily line Chris' erection up to his entrance. He pushed him inside, hissing and growling at the stretch that burned him with delightful ecstasy.
Wesker gave a full sigh through his teeth at the feel of Chris sinking inside him. He sank lower and lower, chasing the heat of him and the feel of Chris' fingers curling tight around his hips in his unbearable bliss.
"Albert," Chris groaned, cheeks ruddy and lips hung open. Wesker's eyes flared as he felt those bulging muscles of Chris' biceps flex and strain under his hands.
Wesker wasted no time in riding Chris with vigour, rolling into every buck and thrust that Chris met him with. His head lolled back and he sighed out a groan, pushing a hand through his pale hair to keep it out of his face.
The bliss of their bodies tangled together thrashed Wesker at all sides. Chris' reverent touch was both addictive and energising, spurring his hips on faster until their out-of-pace breaths synced together into one fluid, passionate tango.
"Let me touch you," Chris got out, heavy and thick with pleasure. "Please."
Wesker needed no convincing for that worship. He guided Chris' hand from his hip to his member and hissed in delight when those rough fingers curled around him.
Hot pleasure came misting over Wesker's thoughts in a haze that could only be broken by the friction of Chris' fingers and the cries of his name on his lips. Time moved in its own vacuum, and Wesker could pin every little hitched gasp and moan that Chris gave him, the blissful, rough rumble of his voice that broke away and tapered out into sighs, tangling together in a crescendo that peaked with the messy, euphoric waves of their climaxes. Wesker dragged Chris in deeper, chasing every last moment of his hot release and the fervent groans of his name spilling rough from his lips.
Slowly, the world came back to him in hazy stripes. He fell upon Chris' body, and then drifted back to rest at his side. He had come to crave the way that Chris chased him in their aftermath - the way that he rolled straight after him and tucked his arms tight around his body, like those quiet moments of affection were just as intimate and necessary as the passion itself.
Words were absent between them. The embrace was enough.
Wesker realised, then, that he was quite exhausted. Three days awake was quite a push for even him, and in that comforting quiet, the lull of sleep was easier to grasp.
Chris' breaths began to deepen and even out, though his eyes were still just partially open, blinking slowly and tiredly in the dark.
"'m sorry I didn't ask you first," Wesker heard him mumble. "Didn't think. Couldn't afford to think."
Wesker swept his hand through Chris' hair with slow, soothing strokes.
"It would not have changed your mind regardless," he mused. "You are so terribly stubborn in your selflessness, dear heart."
"Mrm." Chris pushed more into Wesker's chest. "I know. Shouldn't have sprung it on you though."
"It is not my ideal arrangement to share the attention of my husband with an underdeveloped human," Wesker told him quietly. "But you have made my very proud, Chris. Watching you descend into that village was certainly a treat."
Wesker heard Chris sniff.
"You really think so?" he asked gruffly, "You think.. I did everything I could have?"
"And more," Wesker assured him, smooth and rich against his ear. "Many things are outside of our control, my love, and such a fact has infuriated me more times than I wish to recall. I poured all of my resources into extracting William and his family from Raccoon City, yet he died regardless. I do not believe even my physical presence would have changed his fate that day."
It quietly dawned on him, just in that moment, that he had now been without William longer than he had had him. The ghost of his friend, his only friend, lingered on in the tethers of his world, and though it had been so very long, he could still pinpoint his stubborn mutterings echoing in the shadowy corner of his memories.
Soon, Wesker realised that Chris' breaths had deepened all the way. He sighed, thinking on this world they shared and their thousands of intertwining, fragile threads.