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Broken Ice	By : Death_0f_T3rr0r Category: +M through R > Resident Evil Views: 1803 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil, any of the characters or organizations named therein, and claim no rights. There have also been no profits made from the story, and none sought.

Chapter List
- 1-Broken Ice
- 1
Broken Ice
By Rodrigo Diaz

“If I’ve never reached out to someone and allowed them to touch the real me, it was because I left that part of myself behind. With her.” – Albert Wesker to William Birkin. Early summer, 1998.

“So, who was she?” William asked nonchalantly, tipping back a cup of coffee as he took a long-overdue break from the lab. Wesker merely glowered at his longtime friend for a moment or two. The two men were having a chat in the small security office just off the elevator platform, up on the laboratory’s main level. Wesker was still clad in a black police uniform, complete with Captain’s bars on the collar, the S.T.A.R.S. patch on his left sleeve, and the RPD seal on the right. The requisite badge was pinned to the right breast of his button-up shirt, and he wore a Beretta over the right hip of his trousers.
“Come on, now,” Birkin jibed, lying back on the small cot against one wall. He was dressed in lab clothes that probably hadn’t been changed in days; Wesker’s nose crinkled a bit at his companion’s lapsed hygiene.
“You’ve gotten enough out of me, William. I don’t know what possessed me to even bring this up to you in the first place.” Albert scowled faintly, adjusting his aviator-style sunglasses with one hand. His friend had the scent, now, though.
“Simple. I’m exhausted and you’re bored to death, riding a desk while keeping an eye on that sick tub of lard that passes for a police chief,” William countered. “Now spill it, Albert.” The scientist’s blue eyes blinked expectantly toward Wesker, who sighed as he settled into a chair beside the door. Ensuring that it was locked, he began in an exasperated tone. It had been almost ten years ago.
***
His single suitcase rolled along behind as he pulled it. The luggage was fairly light; the Information Department manager, Calvert, had told him that he wouldn’t need much. Wesker followed the “strong advice”, which was usually code for a subtle order; he had only brought three changes of clothes, a spare set of sunglasses, and a bottle of styling mousse. His preoccupation with appearance had earned him some healthy ribbing from one of the younger U.S.S. agents attached to the Department, a man codenamed “Hunk” of all things. “Think you’re going to romance some BOWs, Mr. Wesker?” He snarled at the memory as he advanced through the airport terminal and headed for the exit.
Not sure what to expect, Albert was somehow not surprised to see no one holding up a sign with his name on it, nor anything that looked like a company car waiting for him. So he flagged down a taxi with his free hand, wondering if his tenuous hold on German would get him by. The driver nodded after a jumbled mix of the local tongue and English to establish Wesker’s destination, then pulled out of the taxi stand once Wesker had pulled his suitcase into the backseat after himself and shut the door. Casual conversation was at a minimum, given the slight language barrier, but they managed a few dry exchanges. It was all quite cliché. Questions about what brought him here, if he was planning to see the sights, and so on. All of it was met with the cool, practiced responses Albert had gone through for days before the flight. In truth, he was confused by all of this, but Umbrella was nothing if not enigmatic. William seemed to think that perhaps they were sending him to spy on the European Division, or maybe just set them on edge by making them think they were being spied on by their American counterparts.
The company politics were an odd mess, to be sure. Spencer didn’t seem to mind the intrigue very much, though, probably because it usually made sniffing out his detractors and rivals a bit easier. As he mulled all of this, the cab came to a lasting halt after countless stoplights, parking temporarily in front of a towering hotel. The aged building had an opulent look to it, landscaped on three sides that he could see and sporting late-19^th Century architecture. After handing the driver more than enough Marks to cover the ride and ignoring the wash of thanks and bought pleasantries, Wesker opened the door to step out onto the sidewalk. Shutting it after himself and his case with a firm slam, he then proceeded up the stairs toward a set of revolving doors. The pricey façade continued, gold trim evident on the entire front of the five-star establishment. Well, this job isn’t short on its perks.
Check-in was quick, thanks to a sharply-dressed clerk who spoke fluent English. Truthfully, the man’s face and voice, the act of handing his single suitcase off to a bellhop, and the short jaunt he took through the massive lobby to the hotel bar were all blur to Albert Wesker. His sunglasses and the fact that he persisted in wearing them in low light drew a few curious looks, but no one spoke to him about it. Even the bartender only inquired as to what he’d drink, to which Wesker responded that he’d take a cold beer. When the beverage was set before him, he merely stared at the greenish bottle for a few moments before taking it in hand and swigging a goodly portion of the carbonated brew.
He’d relax tonight, and go meet his contacts tomorrow. This was his first “real” assignment, and they’d not saddled him with anything too complex. Visit a facility managed by Umbrella, gather relevant data on their Alpha Parasite project – either through official channels or by clandestine means if professional courtesy failed – and return to the U.S. All in all, it should take a week. His thoughts on the matter were given the backdrop of a fairly sparse crowd, a barkeep who was busy carrying on a flirtatious conversation with a middle-aged blonde further down, and the playing of an odd melody on a grand piano. Eroica, Albert recognized. The sound of Beethoven was unmistakable. What sort of off-kilter person plays a piece from a symphony that was intended as a funeral march?
Wesker stood, leaving his beer behind in order to satisfy his curiosity. He was expecting a man, first of all, for reasons he couldn’t quite identify. Perhaps he carried some slightly misogynistic ideals, but that vagary blew by quickly. Second, he had thought that a piano player, especially with such skill and in a place like this, was likely to be an aged sort. On both counts, he was wrong. Pulling off his sunglasses, he slipped them into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and blinked a few times. His blue eyes took in the sight of a lithe yet curvaceous, redheaded woman, dressed in a black off-the-shoulder dress with her fingers dancing deftly over the keys. He was speechless; though this wasn’t much of a shock, given that he was a fairly quiet man, this was an involuntary and stunned silence.
She was beautiful, and sat straight-backed upon the piano bench, body pitching ever so slightly when she had to reach over to hit a few rare notes. Wesker scarcely even noticed when she had finished, eyeing her and admiring the grace with which she stood, bowed, and then shut the cover over the long row of black-and-white keys before stepping down from the modest stage. She met his gaze, and he thought he felt his stomach turn to ice. Her eyes were a colder shade of blue than his own, but the way she smiled and nodded toward Albert, some of her crimson locks spilling over the left side of her face, gave off a sense of warmth. And her manner was clearly tinged with good humor, since she walked right up to him and asked, in accented English,
“Would you like to buy me a drink?”
Just like that. No preamble, no expectation of casting him a few glances and then having him chase her around awkwardly for half the night.
“I’d love to, but your performance…” Wesker trailed off, to her head shaking.
“I’m off for the night. Thank you for your concern…?” she replied, clearly fishing for his name as they headed back to the bar.
“Albert,” he responded without hesitation. Pulling a seat back for her, he settled back into his own and motioned to the barkeep as she sat down beside him.
“Vodka martini,” she told the young, dark-haired man, who sped off to fix her order. Then, to Albert she offered her right hand and said, “Erika. Erika Muller.”
Her hand was slender and felt so fragile in his, but the way she continued to smile at him belied the impression that she was weak or frail. Wesker briefly wondered if perhaps he was already being spied on in turn by the European Division, but dismissed the thought. Beautiful woman is a bit too obvious.
“So, Albert, tell me about yourself. Your accent is…intriguing.” Erika piped up as she took a frosted martini glass from the bartender and took a drink, careful to avoid swallowing the olive right away.
Wesker took another pull from his beer, just over half-finished with it, then shrugged slightly, “I was educated in a few different places over the years. Perhaps my manner of speaking is a bit cosmopolitan. What of you?” He turned, a small smile gracing his own lips, which was a rare sight indeed.
“Me? Oh, I don’t want to bore you. Of course, I am from here. Born and raised. I always wanted to be a musician…” Erika mused before taking another drink. Abruptly, she waved her free hand as if in a dismissive fashion and added, “You don’t need my rambling.”
“Nonsense; you’re not rambling. And if I say so myself, you’ve fulfilled your vocation,” Albert countered. Ms. Muller only smiled, and remained silent for a time, nursing her drink. When Wesker was about to try and make amends for possibly coming on too strong, she spoke up again,
“Dinner theatre and playing for hotel guests isn’t quite what I had in mind. Concert halls and composing my own work – that’s what I dreamed of.”
Albert could only nod at first, then met her eyes again and said matter-of-factly, “Perhaps you’re working up to it. You’re still young, and already very talented.”
Bolstering the confidence of others wasn’t exactly one of Wesker’s strong points, and he usually cared very little how others felt, but he was oddly compelled to try and reassure Erika. She tilted her head curiously, as if sensing that such sincerity and empathy were unusual qualities for him to display. For an hour or so, with more patrons going than coming, they talked. Selected pieces from his childhood and adolescence came up, like one instance which most would consider embarrassing. “No,” Albert said with a faux stern expression, “I consider it a point of pride that I caused a lab explosion at the age of nine. It was what I intended.”
She laughed and listened, and offered him her story in turn. Like him, her parents had been out of her life from very near to the start. Both had passed away in an accident when she was a very young girl. She had bounced from one set of relatives to another, gone to several different schools, but had always found balance and beauty in music. Perhaps it had been a passion of her mother’s; she couldn’t remember exactly, but seemed to think as much.
Despite the rapport they’d built, Wesker felt the odd tingling of awkwardness creep into their conversation when it became apparent that the bar was due to close. Should I? He was a professional, of course, but he was also still a man, and he hadn’t missed or imagined the way she had been looking at him. Signs were there, but Albert had a slight lack of social graces. Regardless, he began to bluntly ask, “Would you-?”
“Yes,” Erika answered before he even got to the actual question. He was shocked, just for a moment, and then left a sizable tip behind as he stood up to take her hand. They walked, by his direction, to the bank of elevators and were soon riding in one. His room was on the tenth floor, and the leisurely pace of the elevator car prompted him to turn and release Erika’s hand. With his fingers loose, he was able to bring them up and brush through her hair slowly. It was like fiery silk, and upon closer inspection, he could see that her eyes were more grey than blue. Erika leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a few moments as Wesker kissed her forehead.
She had a scent like flowers – specifically, something along the lines of lilies. He himself gave off the smell of fine soaps, shampoo, and highly-priced aftershave. The mismatched scents regardless came together in an oddly proper fashion, and Wesker found himself kissing his way lower. The difference in their heights meant that Erika had to stand on her toes slightly and Albert was forced to come down, but neither motion detracted from the spark that passed between them once their lips met. That was all it was at first, a peck. And it stayed that way for a while, since the doors came open. An older couple gave the pair a surprised look, and when they traded places, Wesker saw a frown on the old man’s face while the woman gave them a smile from behind the closing elevator doors.
Erika must have caught it, too, because she chuckled. Wesker led the way, turned the key in his room’s door, and then opened and held it for her. The room was dimly-lit and carried the residual chill that even luxurious places had; it wasn’t a place where people lived. It was only where they stayed. Nonetheless, it was well-furnished and was more like a set of rooms than a single one. Now it was her turn to act commanding, grabbing Albert’s right hand and taking him back toward the bedroom. Unexpectedly, she drew him over to the large, plush and silk-sheeted bed, then jumped onto it and bounced around for a bit, quite like a little girl would.
Wesker crossed his arms over his chest, playing the part of an upset grown-up, but the slight smirk on his face betrayed the act. Erika bounced pointedly, then landed on her stomach and propped her face up upon her elbows before casually asking,
“Going to join me, or what?”
Wesker arched a single of his golden eyebrows, the right one curving up with a mix of surprise and intrigue. When he did climb up onto the large bed, Erika playfully dodged away from him and winked. Albert kept a good-humored smirk on his normally stern features, but began to grow frustrated when she kept nimbly rolling and jumping away. Finally, when she flipped off completely and stood a couple of feet away from the edge of the covers, he gave her a faint frown. The expression melted almost the instant it crossed his face though, as Erika reached up to push the single broad strap of her dress to the edge of her left shoulder.
Rather than focus on her body, his ocean-blue eyes met the slate-grey of Erika’s, and remained there even when the thin black garment slid free and dropped to the plush carpet of the hotel room. She was left in a matching bra and panties, both seeming to be some dark maroon color that brought out the fairness of her skin. She returned to him then, no longer interested in avoiding his touch, but rather in getting Wesker out of his suit. The jacket went first, flying off to one side, followed by his shirt. The woman’s slender fingertips ran across the sculpted, defined contours of his torso, reveling in the feel of his pectorals and abs with a heated whisper leaving her lips,
“And I’m meant to think that you’re a banker or corporate sort?”
Albert remained silent, unsure of what to say in reply. When he did begin to form words, Erika’s left index finger stopped him in a “shushing” gesture upon his lips. She doesn’t want to know. The realization kicked off some odd feelings in Wesker; acceptance and unconditional affection, even if only for one night, were not things he was used to at all from others. Of course, he was no novice when it came to the fairer sex, but such things tended to be born of convenience or deception. Not in this case. She found him charming, attractive, and knew that he was probably not in the most wholesome of professions, but didn’t care. Wesker stroked her hair again, and Erika’s head leaned back with her eyes briefly shut to fully enjoy the sensation.
She did not tarry, though, and her deft fingers worked at his trousers without missing a beat. His belt buckle clinked softly, echoing the large room, followed by the zip of her opening the pants at the front. Erika pulled off his well-shined shoes as something of an afterthought, casting them cavalierly onto the floor, and then did the same with his black trousers. With him left in a set of satin boxers and her in lacy undergarments, Erika placed a delicate hand upon the center of Albert’s chest and pushed. He followed the gesture, laying back and relaxing even as her dizzying figure settled into place against him on his right.
Upon gripping her chin between his left thumb and index finger and tilting her head up toward his, he could see the flash of lust in her gaze and wondered if he was being quite so easy to read in turn. The fleeting thought vanished when she stole the initiative and kissed him with a firmness and intensity that seemed ill-fitting to someone of her slight build and mild manner. Regardless, Wesker responded in kind, his tongue finally meeting to lash, swirl, and flick against hers. She tasted of the vodka, olive and onion of the martini, but also had an underlying essence of peppermint mixed in.
While he gave off a soft moan approval, Wesker’s hand snaked around her body and unsnapped Erika’s bra at the back. She shifted slightly and pulled at the side-straps herself, slipping it off before pressing her bare chest against him and subtly placing her right hand upon his thigh. Albert pulled back slightly, moving his hand between their bodies to brush and grasp along her exposed bust. Her entire body shuddered and arched at his touch, nipples growing perky and firm with little prompting. For his part, Albert’s boxers were growing quite strained in the crotch.
Erika chose to relieve him of that pressure, hooking a single finger into the hem of the underwear and giving one sharp pull to draw them off. Almost in the same motion, her soft palm and fingers wrapped around him and gave a soft squeeze, which brought a soft gasp out of the man’s mouth. Wesker kissed at her lips again several times, the wet smacking sounds of the repeated pecks sounding impossibly loud in the otherwise silent bedroom. The squeezing gave way to up-and-down strokes of her hand, which held him just tightly enough.
Erika having a talented touch came as no surprise, but she dramatically shifted the pace of the evening in one fell swoop. Releasing his now fully-erect length, she slid lower down the bed on hands and knees, and drew down without hesitation, gripping and swallowing him between her soft lips. Albert’s body jerked slightly in shocked arousal, and continued to alternate between growing tense and going slack as the crimson-haired woman’s head bobbed repeatedly over his lower body in long, slow motions. Her lips formed a tight seal, and her relaxed tongue massaged him each and every time she swallowed his thick erection without so much as a single sound or sensation of gagging evident.
Albert’s left hand clawed and gripped at the soft sheets while his right did the same to Erika’s hair. Knowingly, she drew up suddenly with a soft, slick pop sound and grinned to him, speaking in a sultry tone,
“I know…”
“Do you?” Wesker challenged, and when she gave him a confused look, he made use of a jujitsu-based low-grapple and throw maneuver. He sat up, and then gripped her left arm just above the elbow along with her opposing thigh. Albert flipped Erika practically over his head, tossing her onto her back. Her eyes were wide, but not with fear. It seemed more like awe, at his skill and power, as if she were all the more aroused to be sharing the night with a clearly dangerous man. Wesker capitalized on this, both hands taking hold of the dark lace of her panties and pulling them off in an urgent manner. His blonde head moved up along Erika’s left thigh, firm yet moist lips trailing kisses over her soft, fair skin.
“Albert…” she whispered his name airily, her chest rising and falling with greater frequency now. Her entire body seemed to grow taut all at once when his warm, firm tongue lapped between the smooth petals of flesh between her legs. She was silky even here, completely shaved or waxed, and Wesker showed his approval by tipping at her clit with the end of his nose, following with his tongue and the fingers of his left hand. The way her body writhed, legs stretching or bending over his toned back, only spurred him on. He tasted her deeply, face pressed firmly against her warm mound, with his eyes shut as a deep groan vibrated along his buried tongue, branching out through every bit of her sensitive flesh.
Erika’s knees hung upon Albert’s shoulders as he went on and on, pulling back on occasion to finger her while his lips and tongue worked over her pink nub, but usually keeping his wild and fervent mouth busy with her increasingly heated and wet depths. When he could feel her inner walls tightening and pulsing in a telltale fashion, he too pulled away. Giving a quick yet thorough lick over his lips, Wesker smiled slyly up at Erika and retorted, “How does it feel?”
The slight ribbing did not faze the mix of pleasure and thinly-veiled disappointment on her face, and she even committed something of a cardinal sin – though she did not know as much – by grabbing hold of his hair. Wesker ignored the slight, though, and moved up at her prompting when Erika spoke between panting breaths,
“Come here.”
When he had, her legs wrapped tightly about his hips, crossing and pulling him against her. The strength of her thighs was impressive while having the intended effect of drawing the tip of his manhood against her inviting warmth. A moment’s hesitation crossed Albert’s mind, something of an oversight; he had no “protection” on him at the moment. But Erika’s prompting wasn’t to be denied, and he gave in to his desire for her without another rational thought rising in his mind for quite some time. Their lips joined again for the first time in several minutes, and it was her turn to gasp and shudder as Wesker pushed into her.
She was tight around him, but this was clearly not her first time. Nor was it his, but he felt an inexplicable connection to her behind the obviously physical one they now shared. He was inside of her, in more ways than one. Wesker could have anything of her he wished – that was the feeling, and it was new. His logic abandoned, the inverse was also true. Albert Wesker was completely open to Erika Muller in these heated, passionate moments as his lightly-muscled body moved over her soft curves. She stretched but also clenched around him in an alternating fashion, either to accommodate his girth when he thrust forward or to tightly cling about him as he drew back.
His hands did not take up their typical place, upon breasts or hips, but rather slipped around Erika’s waist to hold her in a firm embrace all the while. Tongues dancing for long moments now, he broke the kiss to get a breath, and the pair both released a long, deep moan in unison, gazes locked with mere inches separating them. Despite the size and thickness of the luxurious bed, even it rocked and shook with the force of Albert’s stroking thrusts. He was not moving with speed, opting instead for power and depth. Wesker’s forehead settled upon Erika’s, the fine sheen of sweat on both of their bodies mingling there and in several other places as he made a few final shaky thrusting motions.
The way they had synced up did not relent; when Erika’s soft, red-painted lips released a cross between an ululating moan and breathless whimper, Wesker’s throat unleashed a groan more akin to an animal’s growl. Both their eyes shut tightly in the simultaneity of joined climax, and while his orgasm poured heavy spurts of his potent seed into Erika’s body, her inner muscles tightened, taking all he had to give greedily. Still panting heavily, the two re-opened their eyes and merely stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, only their breathing and the ticking of a clock in the next room punctuating the stillness. Erika broke the hiatus in spoken words, verbalizing what had grown and blossomed in her mind, heart and body in such a short while after meeting this mysterious man,
“Ich liebe dich, Albert…”
Wesker blinked, just once, unsure of himself. He knew what the words meant, even with his somewhat limited vocabulary. Again, though, Erika’s solitary finger came up to silence him and she added,
“I see it in your eyes. You cannot…”
Albert shook his head and ignored her gesture this time, correcting her,
“I can. I do. But it’s hardly fair to you, Erika.”
She merely gave him a smile, tinged with sadness, and nodded before wrapping her slim arms about his neck. They settled into one another’s embrace for the night, not even bothering with the covers thanks to their joined heat. In the morning, Wesker left and fought hard the urge to look back. If he did, he feared what could come next. In that room, he knew, was a woman that he could happily turn his back on the Corporation for. She had reached him in a way that he’d forced himself to avoid. A way he’d been trained to resist. He could raise a family with her, live as man and wife…but what would happen when his superiors and their lackeys finally caught up to them?
So without hesitation or a second thought (at least none that showed), Albert walked out of the room and back into his own life.
***
“That’s it?” William asked, as if disappointed.
“I was seriously uncomfortable with sharing any sexual details with you, so be grateful.” Wesker shot back with a scowl. When he stood, he pulled out his wallet and opened it, then ran his thumb over a picture set into the very back, behind his S.T.A.R.S. identification card. It had come from a German newspaper, just a year or two before, and the article flashed back into his thoughts. “Concert pianist diagnosed with terminal illness”, it had read, showing a photo of Erika from one of her higher-profile performances.
The irony of it was, she could be cured completely, but of course Wesker was not free to move about and do as he pleased. And he certainly could not with closely-held medical secrets of the company. This much he’d learned upon transferring to the covert ops division of the I.D. Originally, he’d done so to seek out a treatment for Erika, but discovered that the safeguards in place were such that he might be able to steal the necessary materials, though not without incurring the wrath and pursuit of Spencer. William saw the gears turning in Albert’s mind and stood up, coming over to place a hand on his shoulder. Wesker promptly shut his wallet and pocketed it, then gave his friend a stern look and asked,
“What?”
“You just seemed lost in thought,” Birkin answered, pulling his hand back. “She really meant something to you, didn’t she?”
“Forget it,” Wesker snapped, that icy demeanor and the armor of his emotionless expression firmly settling back into place. “We have work to do.”
William sighed and merely nodded, heading off toward the door. They had a few things to discuss first, but the scientist somehow knew that Wesker wouldn’t be staying on much longer. The two men trusted each other with things that no others knew; William having the U.S. Government as a secret benefactor was known to Albert, and Albert’s view of Umbrella as a sinking ship was known to Birkin. When he opened the way out of the security office and they walked past the turntable toward the lab entrance, there began a fateful conversation:
“The leak out at the Mansion facility might just be the tip of the iceberg,” Wesker started.
“Why do you say that?” Birkin inquired.
“We’ve lost contact with the Ecliptic Express…” Wesker trailed off, as the two kept pace and walked deeper into the complex, vanishing behind an automatic door.

The End
- 1
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Broken Ice