Chapter Text
He never looked up when she entered. And with him like this, fingers steepled and pressed to his forehead, gaze downcast and on whatever paperwork was on the desk, it was the rare time she would get a glimpse of his eyes, glasses perched down on his nose.
Pale lashes, piercing blue eyes that matched the cold that carried him.
They were pretty, something she kept to herself, buried it away because thinking of her captain in that way felt obscenely wrong. Pretty associated with him, she wondered if his lips would twitch in the subtle way that spoke of his displeasure and disgust.
Captain Albert Wesker was not a typical man, sometimes she hardly believed he was part of mankind at all. He wasn’t easy to read, even harder to understand as a whole.
Amusement did not come to him in the form of a smile. It was the smallest curve of his mouth, she only noticed it when he observed people or lately - her, like some calculation at the expense of another, in a moment where she couldn’t quite pin down why it had intrigued him.
His anger was what surprised her, or his lack of. Albert never raised his voice, he had no reason to. His presence was enough of a warning, merely walking into a room leaving it blanketed in silence. No, his irritation was oppressive in how faint it was. It raised goosebumps on skin, alerted the instinct to survive, made those weaker roll over and submit.
It was terrifying.
Jill and Chris had taken her under their wing the day she had started here under team Alpha. She remembered the grimace on Chris’ face the moment he realized her, a twenty-something girl with the eyes of a rabbit who was yet to face a lurking fox, was going to be the captain’s assistant. She had graduated early, had the degree and experience working for a smaller department to back herself up, she was—as her mother kept insisting—successful for her young age. And while she always got a sour taste in her mouth when her coworkers would look at her like she was fragile, she realized why they were concerned.
Albert Wesker was not cruel in a vulgar way. He did not wait like a predator eager to pounce, hungry for any moment to humiliate, to dominate. No, she learned that quickly.
He observed, he catalogued. Sometimes it made her chest clench, feeling the weight of that gaze behind sunglasses. Every response he gave, as miniscule as it could be, was intentional, carefully placed with the purpose of making someone question it all. When his head tilted in the direction of her trembling hands whenever he’d ask a question, or when the corner of his mouth would twitch as she’d shrink into herself when he stood, or how he’d let out a low hum when she’d stutter over her words.
However, the past year working for the S.T.A.R.S. division, she knew she got it the easiest from Wesker. While he made it a point to dish out appropriate consequences, no leniency for slacking or hesitation to follow his orders, she was yet to be the one pulled into his office and given some shitty task as a form of punishment.
The last department she worked for would’ve hated her for it, her team here just seemed relieved the youngest and newest member was cut some slack. She was too.
She had her fair share of asshole men yelling at her, those typical doses of condescension, but just the idea of Wesker getting on to her made her burn. She regarded herself as strong, thick-skinned—he would cut through in a second, and she would surely quit if she cried in front of her boss.
But, she always reminded herself, she had yet to do anything that warranted correction. She was never late, only early. She checked over her work three times. She made his coffee exactly how he liked it simply by observing him (she swore the first time she placed a mug on his desk, there was the smallest expression of approval on his face). She was well-mannered, always addressed her superiors correctly and knew her place.
Everyone knew Albert Wesker commanded control, had control. So she made it clear she had no intention of trying to take it. Maybe that was why he had no issue with her, unlike the others.
Most days ended with her staying late—sometimes by ten minutes, other times closer to an hour. Whether it was to organize files, finish up a report, or simply be around to fetch Albert coffee… it seemed as if the idea of his assistant leaving before him was offensive. She never complained. She waited around at her desk until he’d wordlessly exit his office, long black coat and gloves already on.
But tonight was stretching towards two hours after her shift was up, and tonight, she wanted to complain but she couldn’t bring herself to. She finally had a date, a man her age she had met two weekends ago at a coffee shop - Tom. Cliche and romantic, and she had been ecstatic when a cute boy had even looked her way. She felt special for once, young like she was, so she eagerly fell into the charms and agreed to set up a time to go grab dinner.
At this point, glancing at the wall clock behind Albert’s desk, she’d only have about thirty minutes to get a quick shower, find a decent outfit, and put some makeup on. She chewed at her bottom lip anxiously - it would take so long to dry her hair.
She fidgeted, growing impatient with his obvious dismissal of her presence.
“Sir,” She said, voice coming out far quieter than she meant it to.
He still didn’t look up, absorbed in paperwork. It felt like ages until, without drifting his gaze to her, he let out a low hum. The only go-ahead she’d get from him.
She stared at him for longer than she meant to, hesitating as her hands wrung together. Albert was achingly patient and good at being entirely disinterested in a distraction. He did not look at her, he did not raise a brow, he just continued to analyze his work.
“I…” The words were already getting caught up in her throat, she tried thinking of something more vague than admitting she had a date and wanted to leave, “Do you still have need of me, Captain?”
He hadn’t asked her to do anything the past two hours. She had been busying herself with organizing and cleaning and looking over the same files again and again.
Albert’s gaze went up to her now, she could feel it settling on her behind those glasses. Heavy and consuming and stripping her bare. She subconsciously straightened up under his scrutiny.
His hands went beneath his chin now, and he simply analyzed her until she was itching in her spot, feeling like she had to stay utterly still but desperately wanting to move.
“Do you want to leave?” He said her name in that neutral tone, but his voice was quieter now. It always felt more… personal the moment everyone left for the day. Huskier, if she was delusional to think.
The question wasn’t really a question, he knew she wanted to leave.
Her brows furrowed ever so slightly, her face giving away her anxiety, if not for her body language.
She looked away then, unable to hold his stare with the pressure of it, “I have… some arrangements tonight, but if you need me, I have no problem with staying, sir.”
That was a lie, but she knew she didn’t have much of a choice.
“Arrangements,” He repeated flatly.
She nodded, her pulse quickening and she didn’t know why.
Instead of responding immediately, he went back to his documents, picking up a pen. She heard the dull scratch of it against paper, signing his name with black ink.
She didn’t need to look at him to know his eyes had settled back on her, and this time, they were honed. Critical, eating up every little change of expression, every nervous fidget of hers. She had felt it many times before, but she could never get used to the severity of it.
“What arrangements could have my assistant itching to leave the moment the clock hit five?” He leaned back in his chair, his thumb running down the sleek silver of the pen still in his hand. Her eyes briefly fell to the movement, she swore she saw his lips twitch in recognition.
One hand squeezed against her wrist as she bit her lip again, a bad habit of hers. Of course he knew she wanted to leave, her eyes darting to any clock she passed by must’ve been obvious.
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t mean to…” She shook her head, she needed to stop being so apologetic and nervous before him—god, she was a human being with wants too, and for once, she wanted to do something nice, so she steeled her nerves. She didn’t need to tell him what she was up to, it wasn’t his business and it wasn’t professional, but she let it out anyways, “I have a date.”
There was a pause.
The air felt colder, and his office started to make her feel claustrophobic.
“Is that so?” His tone was level, almost bored, but there was an unmistakable sharpness behind those words.
“Your dedication to the team should take precedence over social engagements,” The pad of his thumb ran over the top of the pen, his head tilted—that knowing voice in her head supplied he meant her dedication to him, “I expect better of you.”
Her chest ached that odd way whenever he’d lightly chide her. She always had a sickening need to please, but she swallowed it, she wasn’t going to just nod her head and go sit at her desk this time.
“I am dedicated, Captain, but you haven’t had anything for me to do and I finished all the reports you asked me to,” She wanted to sound like an adult, calm just like him, but it sounded a bit… weak out of her mouth, almost childish in the way a kid would pout at their parents to let them go out for the night.
He did it again, of course he did, not responding immediately. Making her stand there, making her think over what she just said, dissecting it herself and realizing how dumb she sounded. But another particular talent of his, or perhaps just an outcome of his silence - it made people keep talking.
She didn’t know why she was getting worked up, why she was upset when she knew he wouldn’t be pleased about her wanting to leave. Her mouth was dry, her palms slick with sweat, “The rest of the team leaves at five everyday, I stay as long as you want me to. Isn’t that… that dedication?”
“Dedication is more than completing assigned tasks and giving an extra hour of your time. The others extend themselves—they put themselves into danger. You tremble at just holding a gun,” The last sentence left his mouth with the faintest trace of disdain, the only emotion she could sense bleeding through the cold that was him entirely, “Besides, you should be accessible as an assistant, or have you forgotten what position you are fortunate enough to be in?”
Her face warmed at that, embarrassment curling up her spine. Yet another who thought her fragile and it hit her in the gut coming from him. Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms as her jaw tightened. He was right, he always was. She should be grateful for the job she has, as much as she thought she was qualified, she really wasn’t. Not for a special force like S.T.A.R.S. that had ex-military personnel, people that have seen more than she ever would, people that have had to do things that others were lucky not to.
The smell of gunpowder made her dizzy whenever they’d practice in the range, and her hands had started to shake so bad when Chris had put a pistol in her hand, trying to teach her. The weight of it alone, of knowing what it could do, frightened her.
That was the type of person she was, that was what she brought to the team.
She lowered her chin, staring down at his desk rather than his face.
Instead of expecting her to say something and further her humiliation, a meek apology or another poor rebuttal, he had the smallest mercy on her.
His hand waved towards the office phone on his desk as he returned his attention back to the stack of files, “Do feel free to call and reschedule your arrangement to a more appropriate time.”
His decision was final, as everything he did always was. Her face still burned but a chill settled in her, and her arms awkwardly crossed over her chest. Something about him hearing her cancel a date because of him felt extremely humiliating.
“I… I’ll use the phone on my desk, sir,” She declined, trying to keep her tone polite despite how it cracked with shame.
When she turned to leave, the flat call of her name made her freeze, she knew what that ever so slight change in tone meant. It wasn’t an invitation, it was a command he knew would be met, so she turned back. Every single time she would listen.
Her fingers shook as she dialed Tom’s number, she had already memorized it given the handful of times they called the past two weeks. A bitter taste was in her mouth, knowing she had to give up what would’ve been a nice night with a man who was clearly interested in her for once. Her hip was against Albert’s desk, her gaze on the floor as she faced away from him.
She wondered if this was a taste of the humiliation and condescension all her coworkers spoke about—seems she wasn't so safe from it anymore, all because she got a little impatient.
But what did he gain with her calling her potential suitor and cancelling in front of him?
Just so he would know she did it, that she won’t be occupied with anything else but work? But him?
One finger wrapped around the wire, tightening when she heard Tom’s warm voice pick up—nothing like the chill of Wesker’s—and her heart ached.
“Hey Tom,” She swallowed, “I’m so sorry, I… I’m still not out of work and I don’t know when I’ll be out. Is it okay if we find another time to get together?”
Expecting another lash of disappointment and condescension, all she got was a friendly reassurance. Of course he understood she could get busy with working for a police department. He had no problem with it, asking if she’d be available this weekend.
“Uhm…” She glanced down at her boss, he did not give any reaction, still did not look her way—but she thought about his words, he wanted dedication, wanted accessibility. It wasn’t uncommon to get called in to work on the weekends, crime didn’t stop on their days off, “I don’t know about this weekend, actually… pretty busy with work, I’ll… get back to you, okay?”
The sooner she could get off this call the better. She’d call Tom back later without her boss being privy to their conversation, but something felt final, like whatever chance she had with this man had been spoiled for her simply because of the fact her boss intervened.
With a quick goodbye and a promise to talk soon, she hung up. She just stood there for a minute, her body hot yet cold. And she didn’t leave. She looked back at him, feeling as if she needed to wait for him to acknowledge her, and she wanted to speak up, but couldn’t find the words.
“Good girl,” It came out his mouth terribly neutral, lacking any inflection, but he had never said that before. It wasn’t said mockingly, or heated, or kindly. It was just there, floating between them.
She knew she was blushing, she could feel how hot her face got. Her eyes got wet and teary and she tried to blink the moisture away. Good girl kept repeating in her head, praise that didn’t seem like it was laced with any weight, yet it had her thoughts running rampant. Wondering what it would sound like dripping in desire, coated in a saccharine degradation. God, what was wrong with her?
He was looking at her, his mouth in that firm line. He did not tilt his head, his lips did not twitch, the tick between his brows did not deepen. Something about the terrible stillness of him right now felt… predatory. She had never felt so exposed, so seen, it horrified her.
When he spoke next, she jumped a little, so lost in the trance of the sickly, needy embarrassment he had put her into, “You’re dismissed. Look over the reports again before I am ready to leave.”
She struggled to swallow, nodding her head as she stepped away from his desk.
She felt his gaze burn into her back as she left his office.