Chapter Text
Today’s working shift was probably one of the most boring so far. Being stuck in the office for the whole day, doing mostly nothing, felt meaningless. There was not a case to work on, not even a trifling one; pushing papers around and filling out tedious forms on previous missions was the only thing available at the moment, and it was horrific. As an addition to that, the weather was terribly hot, slowly melting everyone’s brains. It was the middle of July, after all, and the sun, hanging high above like a big yellow yolk, scorched everything below as if Raccoon City was located in Hell. And, as if conditions weren’t terrible enough, the S.T.A.R.S. office didn’t have a proper conditioner to ease everyone's suffering. Alpha team has been on their captain’s heels for a whole week straight, begging him to force Irons, this terrible man, to spare some money on improving their working conditions. Easier said than done. The chief not only refused to fulfill this request, referring to ‘not wasting the budget on such trifles’, but also managed to piss the ‘always unflappable’ Wesker off to such a degree that the man locked himself in his office ‘till the end of the shift. The intimidating aura Wesker oozed was so strong it spooked away the desire to check on him even out the bravest (or reckless) member of S.T.A.R.S., mainly Chris.
It was also strictly forbidden to bring a personal hand fan for each member, so as not to ruin the already old wiring (Wesker threatened to skin each of them alive personally if they mess with it and he’ll be forced to bring this issue to Irons). The single fan at their disposal was making the whole squad to share it just to feel the blessed touch of cool breeze on their skin. The working schedule for the day was doomed to turn into a wild race back and forth, tearing officers between the fan and their desks. Once in a while, their captain would walk out of his office to chew them all out for this behavior, but even his scolding was deprived of any usual enthusiasm. He himself must've felt horrible due to this unbearable heat, no less than the others.
Being in the S.T.A.R.S. office nowadays felt like slowly boiling in a cauldron. Even Wesker’s little fan, standing on his working desk didn't seem to help him much. The man had to wear his uniform all the time (unlike some people, who paraded around the RPD station in casual clothes), and by the end of the day he always excused himself to go visit the locker room and change his soaked-sweaty shirt to something more decent looking (Wesker always got anxious about looking unkempt, and this weather wasn't making it easier for him to keep himself in check). He, in general, seemed to endure the heat poorly. Long time ago, Chris noticed that whenever Alpha team has been sent on a mission on a hot, sunny day, their captain was doomed to get sunburns- and that's despite the fact that he clearly used an expensive sunscreen to prevent such an aftermath. That must've been the fate of all people with light hair and sensitive skin. Clair, Chris' dear sister, always ended up looking like a tomato, even after a short promenade, if she dared to wear something more revealing outside.
Today, early in his working shift, Captain Wesker left for a meeting. He would probably return in a foul mood again, as it often happened when he was forced to spend time with his colleagues and Chief Irons specifically for more than five minutes. Still, in his absence, Alpha team finally gained a rare chance to relax.
Despite a bunch of unfinished reports and unsigned papers occupying half of his table, Chris was lazily leaning on the back of his chair, legs resting on the edge of the desk, strumming an easy tune on his guitar. His olive S.T.A.R.S. shirt was unbuttoned the whole way down in an attempt to let a light chill cool his hot sweaty skin.
“Stop goofing around, Chris. Wesker will be back soon, and you haven't even started to work yet,” Jill shook her head dismissively, not even looking up from another one of her countless reports. She, unlike Redfield, didn’t have the desire to be stuck in the office after the end of her shift with this boring paperwork because she was too carefree to finish everything on time.
“Oh c’mon! Give me a break. In such heat my brain refuses to cooperate," Redfield complained and, closing his eyes, plunged into a quiet strumming again.
“As if it’s only today,” Valentine muttered under her breath, but then added louder, “Wesker will kick your ass and will be rightful to do so. After those shenanigans of yours in the gym last week, you and Forest better behave like two good little boys, otherwise Irons will suspend your sorry asses out of S.T.A.R.S. in a blink of an eye. He already despises you two, don't you know? Don’t give him another reason to vote you out,” she warned his friend, her index finger outstretched in a lecturing manner. Despite her young age, Jill seemed to act much older than her frivolous friends. “You know, one could say you like being scolded by Wesker. You walk into his office like it’s a party," she added with a sly grin, finally looking up from her papers.
Across from her, Frost bit on his lip to suppress a laugh. These jokes about Wesker and Chris kind of being love-birds reached even the Bravo team by this point (which probably was Forest’s fault since he never missed the opportunity to tease Chris). Despite the captain of Alpha team ignoring those silly jokes, acting chill like an iceberg, and Chris simply snapping back every time somebody tried to tease him about it, people around still refused to drop this topic for good. They were making fun of Redfield at every available opportunity.
“Jeez man, you even bought yourself sunglasses to look just like Wesker!” Frost couldn’t help but point out jokingly. “Watch out, dude, if you’ll be spending too much time with this man, you’ll turn into an Aryan boy, I swear!”
Laughter rippled through the office, and even Barry, who was much older and wiser than these pranksters, and usually avoided plunging into their gossip routine, chuckled at the comment.
“A man gets his sunglasses in a fight, Frost. Unlike you with your bandana. I bet it was a birthday gift from your mommy," Redfield responded in feigned seriousness, mimicking Wesker's British accent, and shook his head sharply so that his black raybans, previously located on his forehead, landed exactly on the bridge of his nose. The young man immediately flipped them upside down to increase a comical effect.
Under everyone’s snickering, Chris got up from his seat and, setting his guitar deliberately in a corner, moved towards Joseph, who was slightly offended by the man’s previous mocking comment about his headpiece. Reaching Joseph’s desk, Redfield ostentatiously smoothed his hair down (he'd seen Wesker do such a thing several times and just couldn't help but copy this gesture himself) and was instantly rewarded with another wave of chuckles for such a good parody.
“Frost, don't you have better things to do at work than engage in pointless conversations?” Redfield continued to mess around, as he paced back and forth the office with his hands folded. "Disappointing," the brunet stated sternly, making Jill giggle. She recognized their captain's favorite catchphrase right away, the one he always used to put some poor souls into shame.
Chris, noticing her reaction, furrowed and headed to her place. "Miss Valentine," Redfield addressed Jill, smugly noting to himself that she was already on the edge of bursting into laughter, her tightly pressed lips trembling violently. "I didn't expect such behavior from you. It's predictable to expect some sloppiness from these idiots, but from you... Disappointing," Chris clicked his tongue and brought this catchphrase again, making Jill choke on her breath.
"Sorry, Cap," Valentine giggled." I'll try my best!" And then she saluted him jokingly, making Redfield drop his façade for a second and let out a quiet chuckle of his own.
Though, quickly regaining composure, the young man added with a more stern voice this time, "I, as a self-proclaimed Mr. Perfection of this police station, will make all of you polish the floors of our foyer with a toothbrush as a punishment for your unbearable behavior. I couldn't imagine finding more lazy morons even if I tried! My sunglasses serve me better than you!" Chris kept with his feigned scolding, smug from his own jokes.
Suddenly, he noticed that a mutual laughter faded, turning into an awkward silence, which made his distorted nasal voice stand out even more. Lowering his eyes at Jill, he caught her alerted gaze, as if she just saw a ghost.
This sudden change of atmosphere made the man instantly turn around to find out what caused this reaction. After a moment of pure shock, Chris' eyes finally set on Wesker's impervious face, deprived of any emotions to the point it started to get scary. Feeling how blood quickly drained from his face and his throat became dry like a desert, Redfield opened his mouth to at least try to justify himself. However, his gaping mouth quickly slammed shut as the captain’s slender pale fingers reached his face. The blond man leisurely took the marksman's sunglasses from his face and, turning them upside-down, put them back.
"This is how you wear glasses, Christopher," he said in an icy-cold tone, those pale gray eyes digging a hole in Redfield’s forehead.
"Captain- '' Chris tried to speak again, surprised by how tiny and miserable his voice sounded after he nearly jumped out of his skin due to Wesker's sudden appearance. The blonde stopped him with a gesture of his gloved hand.
"You finished your reports for today, I assume? Why else would you be fooling around in such an indecent appearance instead, hmm?" The Captain uttered, lowering his gaze at the man's unbuttoned shirt, and his pale brow arched above his glasses. It was just the right moment for Chris to finally recall he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt underneath, walking around half-naked, showing everybody (and especially his superiors) his tanned torso. With the sound of the wildly pounding pulse in his temples, the young man hurried to button his shirt up nervously, failing to get all those tiny buttons into proper button holes.
At the same time, the blonde side-eyed Chris' working desk and sighed in feigned disappointment. "Of course I was wrong. This pile of paperwork lays here today as it laid yesterday. And the day before. It was too presumptuous of me to expect a glimpse of responsibility from you. My mistake," and yet again, Wesker brought his gaze back to Redfield’s face, pinning him to the spot with his scolding. Chris, currently being on the edge of burning out of shame, prayed to all known gods to be finally left alone.
Seeing that his 'enemy's' spirit has been lowered to the desired point, Wesker's lips stretched in a ghostly smirk, and the man, pleased with the result, headed to his office. However, before closing the door behind him, he added, "Even though I'm flattered to be called Mr. Perfection, recalling your words, my sunglasses indeed serve me better than you sometimes, Redfield. I'll let you go home today after you finish all of your paperwork, not a minute earlier. And I will personally check on your progress."
After the door finally closed, Chris sighed heavily and headed to his desk, his knees trembling.
The pile of unfinished paperwork, which could compete with mt. Everest by its height, was simply enormous and even if Redfield started to work right now, he'd probably finish all of his business no earlier than midnight.
"Check it himself, sure." Chris muttered under his breath, taking his glasses off and throwing them away on the table with such annoyance as if this trinket was guilty of all the world's diseases.
"I told you to start working," Jill shrugged casually and then quickly added, "You're lucky, though. The captain still went easy on you after the shitshow he was witnessing for God knows how long."
"Well, you don't seem to be happy about that," Chris snapped. "I was entertaining you! You could stand up for me, at least."
Jill snorted. "Oh, no-no-no. This is your own fault, don't you dare to blame this fuck-up on us."
Then, Valentine got back to her paperwork, further ignoring the scorching gaze and angry puffing at her left.
"Wesker loves you, dude, and that’s why he wants you to stay up late," Frost suddenly teased. "Told you, they are love-birds! You can't prove me wrong. Once we leave for the night, they’ll lock themselves in his office and then-”
Under the united resounding laughter, Chris rolled his eyes, although the little smile did stretch his lips nonetheless.