New Life

This is going to be a collection of drabbles from RE6 if Wesker had survived and Ada helping him.

Ada wonders at her old partner, now human again, and thinks about the past and present.

She watched him. His steady fingers and the constant tapping against a keyboard. Practically silent, as gentle as he was with his expensive equipment. It was the only real thing she could do until he had need of her once more. He hasn't moved in all of the twenty-six hours he's been tapping away. He does not acknowledge her, not when she watches him. Not when she leaves, or brings him food. He is too caught up in his work.

She waits though, stays with him till he eventually collapses, which he will, likely within the next five hours. He usually lasts longer, nearly over two days. But she's withheld coffee from him, the only thing he will take from her, but he likely does not even notice it's absence without her physically giving it to him. She wants him to sleep, to stop trying to kill himself (again) from overwork.

He's only human now, something he both despises and is thankful for. She knows that he knows his newfound weaknesses, but he still pushes them (pushes past them). He's trying to kill himself, (But first Neo-Umbrella, he always says, and that bitch, Carla Radames).

She understands. What that woman was trying to do was everything he wanted to separate himself from. Carla was bringing back everything his death meant to end. He would kill himself over just to stop it, just to take hold of his own destiny for once, as well as to protect her from the mad woman.

Her plan was working, as his fingers began to slow and his shoulders slumped, "It's time to rest, Albert."

Albert Wesker, the man who tried to destroy the world and died for his sins, finally went quiet, hand stilling over the keyboard, "Perhaps you are right, Ada."

He never agrees with her, at least not about rest, "Are you feeling unwell?"

"Just tired." He says, standing slowly, "You will have your next assignment by tomorrow morning." Always business, never one to talk of weakness, "I've already broken into Neo-Umbrella's firewall. They will likely not realize it till another two days. There is nothing more I can do until all of their files have been downloaded. For now, I have placed a bug in their systems acting as a false firewall. Their own system will take time to discover the malware."

"How long until we have all of their files?" Ada Wong asks, as she places a hand on his shoulder, ready to catch him is he falls from exhaustion.

He shakes his head, but not her hand from his shoulder. He does not want her kindness, knows he does not deserve it, but also knows not to fight her when he is severally under rested.

"Not long, within the next eight to twelve hours." He tells her, finally making it to his makeshift room. It is a small apartment they use for their safehouse, one that, by tomorrow afternoon, will have no traces of them ever being here. They share the room, two cots making up the ground and thin blankets on each.

She helps him to the cot and watches as he lays on his side, facing away from her, not even changing from the clothes he's had on for the last day and a half.

"Good." She says quietly, as she makes her way to the door, to keep a lookout for her employer and friend, "Then that is when I shall wake you."

He makes a soft noise, but says nothing more. He will likely force himself awake within six if she does not force him to sleep longer. She will make him sleep longer though.

She shuts the door softly and makes her way back to the room, light up only by the light of the computer, a bar separating with a near miniscule blue speck amongst empty white, a '1%' underneath the near empty file loading screen.

She tries not to think of it, but in truth, the man she protects now nearly destroyed the world, in his crazed, virus addled mind. He turned his back on her when she trusted him more than anyone. Nearly killed her along with everyone she cared about. Even still, she sticks by him now, protects him, feeds him, practically clothes him.

He's broken, she knows, but he has been broken for the two and a half decades she has known him. From that young man of twenty-four, till now at the ripe age of fifty-one. But as she looks at him now, after his mysterious resurrection, from his volcanic end, he barely looks older than thirty. But she can see the age in his eyes, once red and now blue again. A dull blue, where, she remembers, was so vibrant when she was only thirteen

He truly believed his research would change the world for the better and so she followed him. She was so young then, too willing to please and unfamiliar with the world.

Even after all he had done, she was still willing to give herself to him fully, ready to give up everything to help in his recovery and subsequent revenge and destruction of everything he once worked so hard to achieve.

She waits in that room all night, watching the white bar slowly turn blue as more files were copied. It was nearly six hours later, and the scream read '73%' when Wesker finally, if somewhat stilted, walked back into the room. His eyes looked nearly grey in their sleep deprived gaze. He looked at her briefly, then at the screen.

"You should get some sleep." He says to her, knowing she has slept even less then he has, and stops her before she can dismiss his request, "I will not return to bed if you do not also rest."

Wesker's tone leaves no room to argue. His eyes sparking, taking on some color at the prospect of a battle he knows he can win. She decides not to fight him, nodding as she stands, dizzy and lackluster on her feet. In a mirror image of the earlier scene, he places his hand on her shoulder lightly, leading to the back room, where their cots await, cold and lonely.

He stops at the door way and bids her a good night, then leaves back, most likely, to either get coffee or to his work, never finished.

She still wonders on his change of heart. The man to become a God of a new world of infected, to this humble man of few words and the will to destroy those out to do what he nearly accomplished. She hopes it is his stab at redemption, to save the world now. She does not really know, wants to know, but too afraid to ask.

As she fades into exhaustion, she hears the coffee pot's hum and knows that he is likely not going to keep his promise.

END