Resident Evil Series Fan Fiction ❯ Uncontrolled Exposure ❯ Chapter 1

Pubs & Placation

March 1996

Albert Wesker watched as the officers of STARS laughed and joked, hurrying to turn in their paperwork before they set out for their sorted destinations. He rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, trying not to grind his teeth. He had no idea what was so damned important about this weekend but it was apparently big.

All he knew is that he was going to be thankful when all of the idiots were gone and he could actually be out of this hellhole for more than a few hours for the first time in four months. The entire month of December he'd been pushed through the motions with Umbrella-setting up his new hours and work schedule while he perfected his `identity'-; his only downtime being the awkward Christmas he'd spent with the Birkins. And between running this squad-and completely retraining the whole lot of them-, dealing with Irons idiocy, trying to keep his connections within the ever secretive Organization- and helping to maintain security for Umbrella's Arklay facility he had been stretched pretty thin.

God this three day weekend was just the distraction he needed.

He sighed, his eyes tracking Bastian Shaw as the man flicked Redfield in the back of the skull; shaking his head as Chris jumped. The resident sharpshooter turned, glaring before he saw who had hit him; rolling his eyes before keeping Shaw's gaze. Redfield had been discharged from the Air Force before Burton had brought him into the fold, the man's file littered with accommodations and disciplinary actions alike. Wesker shook his head, watching as Chris's eyes bore into Shaw's neither giving until he waved the other officer off. He didn't actively dislike Chris-despite what the others surely thought-he just hated his lack of discipline. And tact. The man had about as much tact as one of the whores in the red light district.

But damnation if he couldn't shoot . . .

Wesker himself had already commissioned a new weapon that kept him on par with the former sniper- the custom Samurai Edge already the talk of the office. Well, when they weren't too busy gossiping and trying to see who could get Chambers and Valentine's pants- but he knew that even that measure wasn't going to last long. Meaning he was going to have to sacrifice even more of his precious down time to making sure the man didn't surpass him any further.

“Ha ha, fucker. Real funny.”

Shaw smirked, his lips twitching as he tried not to laugh; shrugging as he sank into the desk perpendicular from Redfield's. Shaw had come to STARS just three months before, integrating fairly well into the Alpha team despite his sarcastic demeanor. Sebastian Ulysses Shaw was thirty four years old; making the former Army Ranger one of the older members of the team-just a few years shy of Wesker himself and Barry Burton. But what had made him select the man-from the other eighty candidates that Irons had set before him- had been his Masters degree in Forensic and Trauma Psychology and the rather impressive profiling stint with the Center for Disease Control's Bio warfare squad.

Wesker watched Shaw kick his feet up on his desk, folding his hands behind his head as he shrugged his brows; totally at ease while Redfield seemed to be growing irritable and frazzled. Something the blonde knew meant he was nowhere near finished with the rather mild load of paperwork he'd been given. Wesker rolled his eyes again, smirking as Shaw spoke; his voice taunting as he drawled. Another factor about the man that should've set the others on edge-as it so obviously did for him- was the fact that Shaw was privileged. Though the breeding usually didn't show in his voice when he was teasing and relaxed-or drunk-the slightest bit of his accent could be heard. The odd mix of southern socialite culture and boarding school proper melding together into a lilting honeyed edge uniquely his; something that had taken even him a few weeks to place and decipher.

“Just making sure you're awake, Christopher. You have to finish or Valentine's going to kill you. Hell even Barry's done and gone, Redfield. Barry.”

Redfield nodded, waving him off again as Bastian full out laughed; shaking his head before he turned to glance towards his office. And Wesker suddenly wished he'd remembered to close his door. None of the officers dared disturb him when that blessed door was shut . . . but Shaw didn't seem to have a problem waltzing in when it was open.

He wasn't put off by his blatant refusal to socialize, his snide comments and all around demanding personality-something he'd been amplifying for almost four months just to try and keep the man at arm's length- or his habit to excessively overuse his extensive vocabulary. The man pushed to his feet, strolling to the door before knocking on the frame; hovering just outside as he waited. Wesker snorted mentally.

At least he seemed intent to keep to that tradition. Pity it had taken him all but cussing him the last time he'd just popped in to make it relative.

“Hey Boss, gotta minute?”

Wesker nodded, sitting a bit further back in his seat as Bastian moved into his office; dropping bonelessly into the poorly padded chair in front of desk. The two of them looked to one another; Shaw letting his hands fall onto the arms of the chair, his fingers drumming against the ugly green leather as he kept his gaze. Outwardly unfazed by the fact that he couldn't actually see his eyes.

Wesker raised a brow, Shaw mirroring the gesture before his fingers stilled; his knuckles cracking as he flexed his hands. A small eternity passed, neither seeming bothered by the silent stare off until a knock on the door made both turn. Vickers was standing there with a fairly tall organized stack of files and papers, balancing them precariously atop the thick bulky laptop he used around the office.

“Uh Captain? Chambers and I are done sir. I'm just turning these in before I head out.”

Wesker nodded, motioning to the row of filing cabinets beneath his window as Vickers edged cautiously into the room. He looked between them, his eyes flitting over them as his brows furrowed in confusion. He set the papers down slowly, looking between them again as he turned back to the door.

“Do uh-do you need anything else sir?”

Wesker looked to Vickers like he was crazy, shaking his head slowly while Shaw just smirked. And if it weren't for the fact that he found himself slightly irked that they automatically assumed he was reprimanding the former Ranger he would've chuckled right along with him. Honestly he might not want to be here but he only gave them hell when they truly deserved it. He'd actually congratulated and gone out of his way to show his appreciation a few times.

“Is everything okay?”

Shaw nodded, chuckling as Wesker narrowed his eyes; fighting the urge to clench his teeth. This weekend just wasn't coming fast enough. Now he just wished he knew what all of the commotion was about and maybe he wouldn't be lost when he came back to the office Tuesday.

“Nah, Brad. Everything's peachy. Hey, you ever work up the nerve to ask that girl out yet or are you still pussyfooting around it?”

Vickers blushed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glared at Shaw; quickly pushing out of the office and through the almost completely deserted STARS department. And Shaw could only laugh and shake his head, turning back to look to him questioningly. Finally Wesker took his sunglasses off, giving Shaw a pointed look as he sighed.

“What did you need Officer Shaw? I am hopeful this interruption has a purpose.”

Shaw rolled his eyes, glancing to the rather expensive watch adorning his wrist before he looked back up. And Wesker couldn't stop his brows from rising nearly to his hairline at the rather droll response he got. It was almost like talking to a taller, darker William. Great, another person completely intimidated by him-and this one without the benefit of having known him since they were youths.

“You mean other than a stare off? I wanted to see if you have plans this weekend-more to the point tonight. The rest of us are going to grab a few beers. I figured I'd see if I could get you to go.”

Wesker looked at him perplexed before comprehension dawned. He knew from walking in on a few `private conversations' amongst his officers that there was a rather large betting pool as to who would actually get him to go out and socialize with them. Redfield, Burton, Valentine, Speyer and even Vickers had all tried-at one point or another- to get him to `go drinking'. But now that he thought about it while Shaw was definitely the one to usually attempt to engage him the most conversationally he hadn't ever tried to get him to go out.

He leaned back, looking the man over before he shrugged. Why not? William had already warned him that he needed to at least attempt to be personable with some members of his squad before someone actively started poking through his background out of curiosity or spite. Besides if Shaw went then maybe it wouldn't be so damned horrid to be around the others.

“And who pray tell is `us'?”

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Bastian Shaw was proving to be one of the oddest people that Albert Wesker had ever encountered before in his life. And considering where he'd grown up that was saying a fucking lot. Wesker shifted in the back booth of O' Flanagan's, keeping the mostly full glass of scotch within his reach at all times; his fingers clutching the glass hard enough to make his knuckles white as he watched the others around him.

He had realized almost immediately that this hadn't been one of his better attempts at espionage and subterfuge. But as soon as he'd been drug through the door and pushed towards the bar he'd known there was no way for him to escape. Not without appearing rude or-worse yet-weak in the eyes of the other members who had attended.

Redfield was perched on the edge of the booth across from him, Speyer sitting beside him and Frost in a chair on the end; while Shaw was content to sit directly to his left. Effectively blocking him into the rather tight booth with no immediate means of escape. Wesker glared at Shaw behind his glasses, well aware that the money the others had been handing him were part of the `pot' he'd won.

God he was never listening to William Birkin about anything to do with people gain. Actually why had he thought that his labrat of a colleague would know any way?

A fairly loud clunk sounded as Shaw slammed an overflowing shot glass in front of him, the others already armed with the same sloshing dark drinks. Redfield shook his head, Frost and Speyer both with the rims of the glass to their lips in anticipation. Wesker raised a brow, turning back to Shaw as he spoke; his voice barely audible over the ruckus and row of the establishment.

He leaned closer, straining to hear.

“What is this Shaw?”

Shaw grinned, clapping his shoulder hard as he lifted his own drink high; pointing to Speyer and Frost with an almost wicked look. And suddenly Wesker knew he was in trouble. People with good intentions and safe aspirations never wore that look . . . it was one he recognized from himself far too much to ignore. He turned, watching Frost and Speyer roll their eyes, neither obviously worried.

“This is alchemy my friends. It's the first shot my CO bought me when I was stationed in Qatar. And if it doesn't kill you then you're going to vomit for a week.”

Redfield nodded, some his reticence fading as he grinned. He pointed between the two, his own shot still on the table before him; untouched. Chris smirked, chuckling as he leaned back.

“He isn't shitting, guys. My old unit got hit with this shit by a Ranger in Iraq.”

Speyer still seemed unfazed even as Frost started to look to the glass he was holding skeptically. He looked over to Wesker, his face paling before he turned to look at Shaw accusingly.

“So why are you giving this to us? I mean if anything you're the new kid. We should be giving you the nasty ass shot.”

Shaw shrugged turning and winking to Wesker and Redfield as the sharpshooter cackled; his own grin turning slightly malicious.

“Because you kept trying to give my little sister your phone number.”

Shaw rolled his eyes as Speyer sputtered and squawked indignantly, ignoring Chris as he continued on; acting as though he hadn't been interrupted. Turning to answer Frost even as Wesker tried to fight a smirk. It sounded far too much like something William or even the late James Marcus would pull.

“HEY! I didn't know she was your sister-“

“Okay, him I get. But why me?”

“Because you were stupid enough to agree. C'mon a couple of big drinkers like you two should be fine. The only reason it knocked my dick in the dirt was because I was eighteen. It was my first fucking drink.”

Wesker turned, brow raised over his glasses as he looked to him.

“And I'm here because?”

Shaw shrugged, giving him what Redfield called a shit eating grin. His perfect white teeth shone bright in the haphazard lighting of the pub, giving him the appearance similar to a certain grinning Cheshire infamous for trickery and foolery. God why had he ever agreed to this? Surely there were simpler ways to infiltrate an organization than having to tolerate idiots and drink whatever swill said idiots had concocted.

“Because I was bored, Al. And you looked like you could use a drink.”

Wesker raised a brow before rolling his eyes, picking the drink up to sniff it before Chris reached out and stopped him; placing his hand palm down over it.

“Wow there Boss. You don't wanna do that. Trust me. It doesn't smell a damn thing like it tastes.”

He glared, dipping his chin to allow his sunglasses to slide down his nose enough to lock his eyes fully on Redfield. Who was inebriated enough to not care; shrugging as he gave him a lopsided grin. This is what people worked so hard for? To come out and get absolutely shitfaced to a point that they didn't even recognize the rules of organized civilization anymore?

“And why do you think I'm going to drink it to begin with, Refield?”

He shrugged, turning to Shaw as he picked up his own; raising the glass to the others as he winked at them roguishly. Was this really how the man acted when he wasn't in the office? Like an overgrown buffoon? He didn't have to do a damn thing he didn't want! He was the Captain of STARS-officially anyway- and the Chief of Security for one Umbrella's highest producing facilities. He had three doctorates and an IQ that couldn't properly be measured by any existing equivalency test.

But none of that mattered as Shaw spoke again, his easy teasing tone working beneath his skin to rub every single nerve he had raw. His hand lifted on its own, saluting him and the others before he slammed the shot back. The liquid was foul and thick, burning his throat and tongue as it slid down his esophagus; settling hard in his stomach like a solid punch to the gut. He nearly gagged and sputtered; his eyes trying to water as he turned and watched the other four take the shot to the head.

Chris sputtered, reaching for his beer even before he'd finished swallowing the first drink; chugging down half of the bottle like it was water as he fought retching. Speyer however didn't give him the chance, pushing both Frost and Redfield out of the booth as he tore towards the bathroom; nearly knocking several of the other patrons over in his haste. Frost was gagging, hand covering his mouth as Chris stood beside the booth; glaring after Speyer. He reached out, tapping the younger man on the shoulder; pointing back towards the bathrooms.

“Go on kid. There's no shame in admitting it got ya. Just don't run anyone over.”

Frost nodded, moving at a slightly slower pace; Redfield shaking his head as he sank back into the booth. He turned to him, brow raised as Wesker tried to keep control of his body. He didn't care what Shaw tried to sell, that wasn't a drink. It was poison. Pure acrid waste straight from the depths of hell that sank its fangs into you and didn't let up.

“You okay Captain?”

Wesker nodded, turning to glare at Shaw as he chuckled; reaching out and grabbing his own beer. He moved, clinking it with Redfield's almost empty bottle before taking a practiced drink. Completely fine as he settled against the shoddy padding of the decrepit booth. He raised a brow, picking up his scotch and drinking; thankful it didn't burn anywhere near as badly as the other had.

“I'm fine, Redfield. But what is so funny Shaw?”

Shaw grinned, turning to wink to Redfield as the other man grumbled; crossing his arms and huffing.

“Don't worry about him, sir. He's already shitfaced. Fucker's been drinking since we hit the door. Downed half a bottle of Jack up at the bar while he convinced the tender to serve these damned things.”

Wesker turned, the man's overly easy attitude suddenly making more sense. He tore his glasses off, looking at Shaw expectantly as the man just laughed; leaning his head against the booth.

“Aw c'mon spoilsport. I'm a Ranger. I learned a long time ago the only way to take that shot was to be too pissed to care. Or for it to get to you. `Sides you got him back for hitting on Claire without a fist fight right? And we got him out of his cave. It was a win-win!”

Redfield rolled his eyes, turning to Wesker as he blanched.

“My what?”

Chris went to speak when Bastian rolled his eyes, sitting up straighter as he shifted in the seat.

“Your office. Also known as the cave. And you're the horrible ogre that crawls out to yell at everyone . . . or at least that's what Vickers and Frost are convinced of.”

Wesker closed his eyes, trying to keep himself in check as Redfield looked to him; shaking his head.

“Just ignore him, sir. He's shitface-“

“No, I'm not. I've only had half a bottle, Redfield. I don't know how they teach you boys to drink in the Air Force but when you're a Ranger you get the full treatment. If I was drunk my CO-God rest his blackhearted soulless corpse-would come back from the dead to kill me. I'm not even buzzed. But he-“ He pointed straight to Wesker, giving him a very pointed look. “Needs to learn that regardless of what his last assignment was he has got to relax. Or he's going to be the next pyscho in your crosshairs.”

Wesker opened his mouth to speak but Shaw refused, shaking his head.

“Look man, all you do is work. I mean, I get that we needed a good bit of training but seriously? You've got to lighten up some. Besides its not it killed you to come out.”

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms before he leveled a stone look on both of the officers; snatching his glasses back from Shaw when they were within reach.

“No it did not. Just like I am assuming it didn't kill you to collect the prize for finally being the one to coerce me? How much will you take in from this little endeavor, Shaw? $500? $1000?”

Redfield paled, his face betraying his disbelief. But the building smugness died as Shaw through his head back and cackled, holding his sides as his laughter floated above the sounds of the pub. After a few moments he quieted, wiping at his eyes as he motioned to Redfield.

“Pay up fucker. I told you he knew.”

Chris rolled his eyes, tugging his wallet out and handing Shaw another stack of bills; grumbling as he turned to look for the others.

“Damn it. I knew, I knew better than try and go against a former headshrinker. But Jill and Barry swore it was a safe bet.”

He turned to Wesker almost pleadingly.

“Next time Captain can't you just act oblivious? I can't keep losing money on these pools!”

Wesker rolled his eyes, killing off the rest of his drink before he shook his head. He could feel the alcohol working through his system, the familiar but long forgotten warmth spreading through his extremities. How long had it been since he'd done this? Gone out and had more than one or two drinks and just honestly relaxed? Gone and done something that didn't serve some other motive for either Umbrella, the Organization or his own professional ends? He stilled, shocked as he realized it had been eleven years. Since before William had married Annette.

He shook himself turning to Redfield.

“and how many pools are there are exactly?”

Redfield and Shaw turned to one another, skeptical before Shaw shrugged; giving him a sly grin. Right before Redfield groaned and let his head drop to the table. Hard. Muttering into the napkins around his face as Shaw leaned in closer.

“Well Al. There are a lot. But I'm only going to tell you if you'll agree to actually use our names. I mean I know you know them.”

Wesker frowned, the very thought leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. It had taken him years-YEARS- to get comfortable enough with William to stop calling him Birkin. And while he knew that he needed to be a little more congenial he wasn't about to start acting like an idiot. He was in STARS to do a job; one other than the one he'd been hired to do. He shook his head, motioning for his check.

“It would be unprofessional, Officer Shaw. And seeing as in Chief Irons only goal in life is to make mine miserable I refuse to give him ammunition.”

Shaw however stopped him, hands up in an apologetic manner as he gave him an easy grin. God what was with him? One second he was the epitome of sarcasm and then penitent and heartfelt the next. He knew the man had a psychological background but honestly? To-very successfully- try and anticipate his every mood like this was unnerving. He would have to keep his guard up around this one.

“Easy Al. We all know you're practical and everything, by the book. I'm talking about if you're out with us like this. I mean, you keep saying Redfield enough and Chris is likely to snap that shitty salute of his.”

Redfield flipped him off, rolling his eyes before pushing to his feet; stretching. Neither noticing the way that Wesker nearly jumped out of his skin as Shaw's wording. Practical Al. God James Marcus had called him that for years, good naturedly teasing him over his perfectionism in his research while he'd taught him to refine his natural scientific acumen. He turned, looking to Redfield again as he spoke.

“Yeah well guys I'm going to grab another beer since we seem to be ignored. Think I should check on dumb and dumber?”

Shaw shook his head, Wesker giving no response at all. Chris groaned, turning towards the bar.

“Damnation that's cold. But majority has it. You two want anything else?”

Shaw nodded, waving his empty bottle while Wesker fought of the melancholy that had settled upon him hard. Damn it. He had far too much to drink to try and think on the past . . . He nodded, clearing his thoughts as he responded; barely noticing exactly what he said.

“Another Scotch, Chris. Neat and chilled.”

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Bastian Shaw grinned, watching Chris shake himself and start towards the bar; still dazed by Wesker's request. He shifted, turning to face the man as he let his smile fall; keeping his face schooled. He would have to remember to thank Chaosia when he talked to her. Taking his captain out of the familiar environment of the precinct had actually worked; the physical act of escaping the confines of the root of his stress and irritation helping him to relax enough to almost look human.

Well, after they'd pushed enough liquor into him to make even an vet like Barry sway on his feet.

But even as he watched the other man he had to fight another grin. His shoulders were starting to sag into a more natural relaxed position, his face showing more emotion than it had before. Wesker raised a brow, looking to him expectantly. And Bastian had to fight to remember what eh was supposed to say. Okay maybe he was slightly more trashed than he wanted to let on but he wasn't about to let a kid like Redfield have the opportunity to shittalk. He gave just as good as he got but Chris was fucking creative . . . Something Wesker was probably going to learn firsthand seeing as in even with five different alcohols in the killer shot the two hadn't even started to mellow towards one another.

Chaosia's warning played through his mind, her voice sounding in his ears so clearly it was like she was there with them. He could almost see her sitting beside Wesker, drinking a concoction very similar to his Captain as she smiled to him. But as his mind cleared he realized that maybe Chaos-who had been so helpful in getting the guy to actually open up- would probably never want to meet him. Not willingly. Since completing her first doctorate and working to finish her second and third his baby sister was almost as reclusive as his boss. And damnation if she wasn't a hell of a lot meaner when he and their brother interrupted her studies. He shook his head, batting the thought away for the time being.

He would figure out when and if he ever needed to introduce the two . . . but until then he would just use his sister's insight to continue making headway. He didn't even really understand why but something about Albert Wesker just called to him. He didn't know how or why but he felt like he needed to try and help the miserable bastard before he let his ambition swallow him whole-soul and all.

“Well Al-“

“Albert.”

Bastian shrugged, nonplussed.

“Albert, there are several pools. And at least eighty five percent of them happen to revolve around the stupidest shit.”

“Like who can convince me to go drinking?”

Shaw nodded, grinning; happy and relieved to see the tiny smirk pulling at the blonde captain's lips. At least he wasn't insulted or mad about the bet pools. Actually now that it was just the two of them he seemed kind of interested.

“Exactly. You haven't really given the rest of us much opportunity to get to know you, Albert. And one thing any good cop hates is a shit load of unanswered questions. It can work nerves worse than an open case.”

Wesker stilled, his smirk falling into a frown as he laced his fingers together; propping his elbows on the table top. Without the STARS tactical vest and his sunglasses his boss wasn't as intimidating. Oh he still seemed aloof in the dark uniform- the sleeves cuffed past his forearms and his gloves strangely missing- but he was the tiniest bit more approachable.

“Why? Why would my life or habits concern any of you? There's no inherit value in any of that information-“

“Because normal people are nosy, Albert. We want to know about the people around us even if we know we aren't going to like everything we learn. Its human nature. All of my family studies psychology. I mean hell, my little sister decided to go back for another fucking degree just because she wanted to know more about people.”

Wesker blinked, obviously taking what he'd said to heart. Bastian sighed, running a hand through his hair; grimacing at the length. He would need to cut it again soon.

“Look, I get you're a private person. Trust me, I do. But if you want them to stop shit like that then give them something else to think about. I mean has it been so bad coming out with us tonight-without the drink?”

Wesker snorted but shook his head, glancing over to the bar as Redfield pushed his way through the crowd; awkwardly balancing the scotch and two beers as he tried not to get bumped into. And Bastian took his small admission as a huge victory. Hey, he'd admitted it wasn't horrible. That had to count for something right?

“With the exception of the shot, no. Not too terrible at least.”

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