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[ibuprofenuserrr]

Love's Tender Touch

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Summary: Albert Wesker is capable of care. You are the only one who gets to know that. or You are Wesker's personal mercenary and your last mission went worse than you anticipated.

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"What in the hells happened to you?" These are the first words you hear as you take a step inside your shared household. His voice is loud and stern. If you listened really hard, you would discern a hint of concern. But you don't. The throbbing wound under tightly wrapped bandages distracts you enough.

"Let's just say your enemies didn't take the hint." You try to joke while taking off your jacket with sluggish movements. As you let out a soft chuckle, you hiss in pain, and Wesker is at your side instantly to aid you.

"Care to elaborate why you didn't inform me about this while reporting back to me?" His question lingers in the air for a moment. After completing the assignment, you called him to let him know that you successfully obtained the data he needed. He knew, deep inside, that your short "Mission complete" was too suspicious.

"It was irrelevant." Truth be told, you felt shameful. Your pride is wounded by today's events. Letting the enemy put their hands on you was unacceptable.

„Irrelevant?” He hisses, piercing you with his red eyes, devoid of his signature shades. They seem to be glowing even more after your words. He’s scolding you like a child. Perhaps your behaviour is a little childish. „Have you seen yourself?”

When you stumbled into the med bay inside the main facility, you told them to only take care of the most dangerous wound. The medic offered to at least wash your face, but you rudely barked at her to keep stitching you up. You didn’t care about your appearance. The moment she was done, you were gone.

Still standing in the doorway, you look at your lover with tears welling up from exhaustion.

„Please, Albert. I just want to rest.”

The spark in his eyes dies out at your words. He bestows you with a rare look of tenderness. It was reserved only for you.

„Let’s get you cleaned up first, my dear," he says softly as he places his hand on your shoulder to steady you. Allowing Wesker to take control of the situation is instinctive. Closing your eyes for a moment, you thank him internally because you aren’t confident in your ability to walk at the moment.

With each step up the stairs, you clutch your stomach as tight as you can with the bandages covering it. Wesker notices it but says nothing and continues guiding you.

Having reached the bathroom, he sets you on the tub and turns on the showerhead to adjust the temperature. The faint hum of the water makes you forget about the pain for a moment.

You don’t realise your eyes are closed until you feel Wesker’s touch under your armpits. You get up with his help as he begins undressing you carefully.

„Arms up," he commands gently. You comply mindlessly, but when your turtleneck rubs on the bandage, you gasp, with new tears forming in your eyes. He stops for a second, checking for signs of any further distress, and carries on with his task.

Once the garment is out of the way, he unclasps your bra and kneels to take off your pants. You acknowledge the sign of vulnerability. You know he doesn’t kneel before anyone else, and as stupid as it sounds, it is a sign of trust.

You don’t register him scrutinizing every cut and bruise on your battered body. He can’t get the sight out of his head. He is completely aware that, in this line of work, things like this happen. He wouldn’t spare a thought, were it someone else. But it is you he’s looking at.

Your suffering affects him deeply. With each wound he’s looking at, his heart twists uncontrollably. Being the only person who understands him, he shares an indescribable connection with you. Your souls are intertwined forever, and the thought of losing you makes him go mad.

He leaves you sitting on the side of the tub once again and swiftly undresses. Wesker guides you under the warm stream of water, holding you tenderly the entire time.

For the first moment, his touch is soothing, and the water massages your skin delicately. The dried blood washes off of your face and body. You shut your eyes to turn your mind off, but once you open them, you see black dots dancing in your vision. Your face turns pale, you can’t see the concerned look your lover is giving you.

„I can’t see, Albert.” A barely coherent mumble leaves your lips as you lose control over your body little by little. You feel his grip tighten around you. Your current state of consciousness doesn’t allow you to panic. „I think I need to sit down.”

You also don't hear his words, trying to bring you back to the surface. You can only sense his hand caressing your face. His touch is pleasant, and you let out a soft sigh. The black dots disappear gradually.

Looking down, you notice you're seated on the toilet. You wince in pain that comes back in uneven waves. Another shaky breath leaves your lips. Water drops, covering your body, flow down on the floor. You focus on the sensation to mute the agony.

"-hear me? Answer me." Only the last part of the sentence reaches your ears. You finally look at him, catching his distressed gaze inspecting your confused face. His other hand is on your waist, constantly steadying your wobbly figure.

"It hurts so much. Please, make it go away," you beg with a faint sob. You are his best agent, and yet here you are, defeated by simple pain. You feel humiliated. You feel like you've disappointed him. You feel pathetic.

"Okay, but we have to take care of your wound first." Wesker's voice is soft but stern. He can't let you go to bed with wet dressing, no matter how much your eyes are pleading him to let you rest. While he's unwrapping the soaked bandage, you keep staring into his blonde hair stubbornly, trying to ignore the dreadful sensation.

However, when he starts ripping off the waterproof dressing, you yelp and grasp his shoulder desperately, seeking comfort in his arms. Tears stream down your exhausted face as sobs wrack your body.

"I know, I know, it's almost over, my dearheart." Your small frame is shaking, feeling each cell of your small frame filling up with excruciating pain. Your breathing is unsteady, and you're fighting with an unexpected wave of nausea.

Wesker places the used dressing on the sink and focuses his gaze on your wound. The stitched cut is long and deep, with skin around red and irritated. The weapon couldn't have been a standard blade. Your laceration is jagged. He clenches his fists tightly with regret. He wishes the person who did this was still alive. He wouldn't let them die as easily as you did if he caught them first.

He concludes that the wound does not show signs of infection. You don't acknowledge the moment he gets another dressing for the cut. Fortunately, applying fresh bandages is not nearly as painful as removing them. By the time he's done, you start falling asleep on the toilet.

After guiding you to the bedroom, he lets you sit on the bed as he reaches into the wardrobe for your pajamas. When the both of you are dressed, you lay down on the fluffy bed and rub your face into the pillow. Exhaustion washes over you, but the pain still lingers.

"I'll be right back, darling." You nod sluggishly, despite not wanting him to leave.

Albert comes back quickly, as promised, with two pills and a glass of water. He places them on the nightstand and sits beside you, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

You sit up with a grimace and swallow the pills as fast as possible. Finally being allowed to rest, you reach out for Wesker's calloused hand. He joins you on the other side of the bed, and you snuggle instantly into his side, getting as comfortable as you can in your condition.

"Thank you," you say sincerely, gazing into his eyes with affection. You're grateful for him, for his care. You learned to cherish moments like these. Showing each other's vulnerabilities is not something to take lightly. Now he is just Albert. Not a mastermind, not a bioterrorist, not a danger to the entire world. Just Albert.