Captain Albert Wesker looked tired, Jill reflected. Scratch that, he looked as if he hadn't slept decently for going on a month. He hid it well, though. It wouldn't have even crossed her mind if not for the tell-tale, impossible to conceal physical signs. Like the bags under his red, bleary eyes. His usually firm lips were parted slightly, and a tremor would course through them every so often, almost like a twitch. His entire body, for that matter, seemed to be strung tighter than a high tension wire: a finger would jolt, incongruously with it's owner's desires. A calf muscle would jump, or his foot would swing, and then resettle to it's hanging position.
But despite the fact he looked tired, he seemed keener than ever. His gaze was watery blue, but it still had the power to look straight through a person. Like he could just look at them, and know exactly what they were thinking. And it was impossible to tell what he thought. He either wore those damned, impassive shades, not that his eyes betrayed anything either. They were just as flat and reflective as his glasses, with one exception: a keen, startling intellect was in them. It would take Jill aback, from time to time.
She watched as he reached up with one knotty, long hand, and massaged his high, narrow forehead. He seemed unaware of Jill's perusal of his face and body- his attention was fixed solely on the papers scattered before him. His prominent Adam's apple bobbed, and he settled in his chair more fully, as he gave a slight sigh, and hazarded another query to Barry Burton about the information contained in the documents.
His hair shone under the fluorescent glare of the lights. It always made her internally giggle at his vanity. For the man who didn't seemed to care a whit about what people thought about him, his thick, ash blond hair was always impeccably coiffed. With what smelled like expensive hair gel. And it never moved- barely even in gale force winds.
It was just one of the oddities of Captain Wesker. There were other things too, other incongruous parts that didn't add up to his sum. Like his weird bouts of brilliantly-parsed biochemistry, when he was talking to Rebbecca in Bravo- there were several times where he would seem to almost slip up, and correct her, or feed her information during several missions when pulses were running high, and mistakes were easily made. Characteristically, he never lost his cool, but unknowingly let his façade slip just a little.
As Wesker moved again in his chair. He seemed to be restless today. She wondered if it had to do with the phone call he had gotten earlier). He wore the older styled, traditionally-colored S.T.A.R.S uniform, the navy shirt and dark pants. It heralded him as a man who had come into the unit when its popularity was just budding.
And he had unquestioned loyalty among the S.T.A.R.S members. She had seen several other, similar types of squads where their captain was some young guy, with a four year degree and fresh out of the academy, and his older, more seasoned people didn't have enough faith in him (or her) to follow orders thoroughly.
Even their resident hot-head, Chris Redfield, listened when Wesker gave him commands. And even when those commands seemed off the wall- for some reason, they always worked.
If there was one thing Captain Albert Wesker was, it was scarily brilliant.
Just as she came to this conclusion, her captain's head lifted, and slowly turned to her. He met her gaze, let his eyes flick up and down her once. Jill felt that familiar, initial iciness sweep over her, and she swallowed as discreetly as she could. And she knew that he knew she had been standing there, watching him all the time.
It took her a trip to the coffee pot, as well as several swallows of a cup doctored so thoroughly it almost tasted like ice cream to get that crawling sensation out from under her skin.