Resident Evil 1. Welcome to the Jungle

Author's Note: I feel the need to stick this here because I would feel like a sucky author if I didn't mention it. Yes, this is het from a yaoi author. And it will only get another chapter if I get a combination of 10 favs, story alerts, and/or reviews. So lemme know if you like it or hate it.

Ch 1- Welcome to the Jungle

It started the way most bad things started in Claire Redfield's life: with Umbrella. She thought some days that someone, somewhere in the company must have some kind of vendetta against her or at least Redfields in general. How else to explain the way it continued to fuck up Chris and her lives? The twenty-six year old woman sighed as she sat in one of those white crinkly gowns that hospitals always demanded you change into before they came in to inspect you. She had just gotten out of a hot zone that she had been sent to investigate for Terrasave and this was part of her welcome back debriefing. They had to make sure that she hadn't been infected. This was her first time returning home from an actual hotzone. Mostly her job was interviewing suspect companies. They'd already done the blood work, as the hello kitty Band-Aid at the juncture of her elbow attested and she was just now waiting for the physical once over. She already knew she wasn't infected. She hadn't turned into a zombie nor mutated into one of those horrific creatures. The brunette blew one of the loose strands of her hair out of her eyes. They made her take her hair down so they could check her scalp for wounds. They were taking not chances in a virus getting loose in America.

Claire looked up as the door opened and the red headed man who was responsible for all the incoming agent's medical debriefing. She smiled at him as he closed the door and sat on the stool. He snapped on a set of white latex gloves and wheeled the chair over towards her. He returned her smile and Claire thought briefly about the lack of a man in her life. Leon was still chasing the dream of Ada and most of the men she had tried to date had fled when they realized she was taking on the pharmaceutical industry the way she was. Or they freaked out when they realized what had happened with Raccoon City. Men didn't tend to like it when a petite woman could prove she had more balls then they did.

"How was your Asian vacation? Didn't get bit by anything nasty, did you?" he asked as he motioned for her to hand him her arm. She did shaking her head in the negative.

"Please, I barely ran into any B.O.W.s," she said rolling her eyes. And that was the truth. The island that the North Korean government had decided to use as a testing site had a very small population and once she had confirmed that the T-virus or one of its variants was loose they had sent in BSAA. Which meant that she had been forced onto a helicopter and flown back to the states. She was too valuable to Terrasave to be allowed to hunt down the people responsible. It didn't stop her from wanting to, though. "Ouch!" Claire winced as the doctor ripped off the Band-Aid that had been covering the forming bruise on her arm from the needle. She'd always had delicate skin, which was a nightmare in her line of work. She looked at her arm and expected to see a small dime shaped bruise. Instead she saw nothing. It wasn't even red from removing the Band-Aid.

"I thought they had your test results mixed up," the doctor said talking to himself. Claire looked at him confused. That was until she looked at her file which sat on the counter. It was hard to miss the large, red stamped "positive" on the top paper. Her eyes widened in horror. What did that mean? She hadn't been bitten. Hell, she didn't even have so much as a scratch from a licker. The only difference she had noticed was a sudden increase in her appetite and liking her meat a little rawer than normal. If she was infected, wouldn't she have died by now and turned into a zombie? Or mutated like Steve? What was going on?

While she was trying to puzzle this out, the doctor had not been idle. He had run from the room, hitting a button for emergencies of this nature on the way out. Claire started at the blare of sirens and made to get out the door, only to be pushed back in by dozens of men in biohazard suits. Panic started to set in then; all the horrors of what she had seen happen to people at the hands of scientists crowding into her mind. She began swinging, ignoring the pain that raced up her knuckles as she smashed the Plexiglas screen on one man's suit, throwing him into his fellows. They toppled like dominoes, and she used their distraction to bolt from the room. She barely made it five feet in the hallway before there were more. And these had what looked like rifles. They were kneeling on the ground to get her into their sights as she turned to run in the other direction. The first report was followed seconds later by something whistling over her ear. It landed in the wall in front of her, and she barely had time to register that it wasn't a bullet a tranquillizer dart before one hit her shoulder. Claire raised one hand up to her shoulder as she felt her legs give out on her. She fought the blackness coming over her, tears escaping her eyes with the effort. But whatever the dosage was on the dart was just too strong, and the last thing she saw before she blacked out was one of those masked men looking over her.

* * *

Five Days Later...

* * *

Albert Wesker was a patient man. He had to be. People rarely realized it, but scientists were forever waiting for something-be it results or for a computer to hum to life. So it was that he was bidding his time, waiting for Sherry Birkin to grow up, waiting for companies around the world to catch up with him. He had heard some promising rumors about the goings on in Spain. Perhaps there would be something there for him to use. He was at a dead end on creating genetically modified humans that had any kind of intelligence beyond that of eating what moved. He had thought that he had found the answer in himself and later Alexia Ashford, but it had proven not to be so. It seemed that they had been the rarest of the rare in that their mutation had not destroyed their minds. He was interrupted in his musings by the sound of punk music coming from his phone. He mentally made a note to ground Sherry. She should not being messing with his personal ite

"Ms. Wong," Wesker answered his light English accent purring down the phone. She was the only one besides Sherry who would dare to interrupt him when he was down in the lab. She was his eyes and ears in the outside world. True, he monitored the scientific world through the internet and had even published a few papers over the years under a pseudonym, but he was a little inconspicuous to be wandering around the outside world. His eyes were the least of his problems.

"I've just come across the most interesting piece of information, sir," Ada's voice came through loud and clear on the cellphone. "I'd thought you'd love to hear it before anyone else." Wesker frowned. He knew what that meant. It meant that it was information that Ada would likely get a lot for on the black market and the fact she was calling him first meant that it was likely related to something he had asked her to work on before. All of it added up to the fact that this was going to cost him a pretty penny. Not that it mattered to him. He already had enough money to buy a third world country with plenty left over.

"This had best be worth it," Wesker told her as he turned his swivel chair so that he was no longer looking at the computer monitors arrayed to show him a combination of data crunching, security feeds, and websites.

"Oh, it is, sir," Ada promised and the blonde could almost hear the smile on her face. "You remember how you were looking into that variant on the T-virus a few years ago?" He vaguely remembered asking her to see if she could dig anything up on the Ashford's and their research. "A little birdy told me that the American government just recently acquired a living host-a host that while carrying has yet to mutate." Her voice sing-songed on the end and Wesker suddenly didn't care what he was paying.

"Did this birdy also happen to tell you were they were keeping it?" he asked already planning out how long he could be gone before his other experiments suffered from lack of attention. He detested leaving them in another scientist's hands. They always seemed to fuck things up.

"It did," she told him. "But I'd hurry, sir. From what I was told it might end up in pieces before long."

* * *

Every inch of her hurt. Hell, she was convinced that her hair hurt and she knew for a fact that it didn't have feeling. Claire opened her eyes only to moan in pain and close them at the bright light directly above her. She heard voices but didn't understand what they were saying. It was like someone had stuffed her ears full of cotton and then put her underwater just for good measure. Her memories came flooding back a second after that registered and with it her panic. Where was she? She ignored the blurring of her vision from tears as she forced her eyes open to look around. She was on some kind of metal table and the voices she was hearing where two people in lab coats in the next room over huddled over a microscope. She tugged her limbs, letting out a low hiss of pain at the movement only to find them restrained. She felt tears leaking out of her eyes as she realized how helpless she was. She didn't even have the dignity of clothes. She froze as she thought she heard her name and began to concentrate on the voices. The brunette was surprised when she realized she could make out what they were saying.

"I hate how you do that," one voice, distinctly female said.

"Do what?" another male voice asked.

"Use her name. She's a subject and nothing more," the woman said and Claire felt her temper flare. She was a person, God damnit.

"Whatever, Mallory," the man said dismissively. "It doesn't change just how remarkable she is. I've never seen anything like this before. You know how there are theories about how mitochondria became a part of cells? How some scientists believe that it was originally a symbiote that somehow merged itself into our DNA? If I didn't know better I'd say that's what happened with the T-virus." The woman, Mallory, snorted.

"Impossible, Jenkins," she commented. "For how remarkable the T-virus is, it's still a virus. It replicates itself by injecting its genetic code into a host cell and forcing that cell to create little viruses instead of normal cells. These cells then take over the host and cause death and mutation." Well, that matched what Claire knew about viruses from her years in high school.

"But they didn't," Jenkins offered sounding like a little kid in a candy shop. "That's why she didn't die, why she didn't mutate. It looks like instead of her cells doing nothing but creating T-virus cells, they absorbed the genetic material of the virus and replicated _with_ the virus's genetic material added in. It explains why she wasn't detected until they tested for the virus. She comes up positive because the markers for it are still there, but it's not a virus anymore." Claire felt her breath hitch. So she was some kind of freak? Her body had somehow eaten the T-virus, the scariest thing on earth? Not just eaten it, but absorbed it. Something beeped and she looked up to one of the tubes attached to her and watched as yellowish liquid flowed out of it and into her. When she felt the blackness reaching for her, she didn't fight it this time.

* * *

One Week Later…

* * *

Wesker looked at the bunker sitting in the middle of the Nevada desert and sneered. The tattered sign on the fence he had jumped over in order to get here read Area 51 and he had to wonder at the cliché. No wonder the government never managed to keep secrets for long. They just kept using the same damn tactics. Wasn't the definition of insanity something along the lines of trying the same thing every time and expecting different results? The blonde checked his guns again making sure the safety was off. It was his set of magnums from the S.T.A.R.S. days. He carried them to remind himself of what often happened to best laid plans. He slid the weapons back into their holsters and proceeded to walk up to the steel door. The two guards at the door raised their weapons in his direction. He didn't even give them time to challenge him before he was on them. He crushed the one of the left's wrists with one hand while he used the other to snap the neck of the one on the right. He dropped the lifeless body, and wrenched the left one's arm around so he was kneeling in the sand.

"Give me your keycard," Wesker ordered, not bothering to raise his voice above a whisper. He man handed it to him and Wesker used the arm he had a hold of to slam him into the side of the building with enough force to dent the metal. He slid the card into slot next to the door and offered the camera facing the entrance a lazy salute. It had been a while since he had a chance to let loose and there was no way he was leaving a task as important as retrieving this subject to some underling. He only hoped the military had something better than the guards at the door. He would be so disappointed if they didn't.

* * *

When Claire woke again it was to the all too familiar sound of sirens blaring. She still hurt, but the pain seemed to be far away at the moment as she stared out the observation window and into the hallway. She watched the flurry of people in white coats as they ran for the exits and felt her heart jump into her throat. Did that mean that there had been a breach? Panic erupted in her once clam mind as she thought that they were leaving her in here with a possible outbreak. Panic, it seemed, gave her new strength and she managed to break her arms free with a wrench of metal twisting. She ignored the metal cuffs on her arms as she pulled wires out of her body heedless of the pain. Sitting up, she yanked metal bindings off her feet.

The floor was cold when she stood up, but she forced herself to ignore it and the panic bubbling under the surface as she set priorities in her mind. She needed a weapon and then clothes. If this was an outbreak, the weapon would be more valuable than clothing. She looked around the monitors and medical machinery for something to use before finally cursing, knocking one of the metal stands that a monitor was on over, and yanking a leg off. Standing there, holding it she felt her eyes widen. Holy fuck, she'd never been able to do that before. Faced with proof of her alteration by an infection she had no memory of gaining, she felt the panic she had shoved down racing towards the surface and closed her eyes. Panicking would get her killed and nothing else. She could have a nervous break-down once she was out of here.

Speaking of getting out of here, how was she going to get the door open? She tried to open the door using the button next to it only to be denied access. Growling in frustration, Claire raised her improvised club and slammed it into the door panel. Just as she was fixing to let loose a string of curses that would make Chris blush for doing something that dumb, the door slid open. Thanking God for her luck, she stepped out into the now empty corridor. The place was deserted. Walking towards what she hoped would be an elevator she caught sight on an office. She stopped as she caught sight of a garment hanging on a peg with footwear underneath.

A few minutes later saw her in a long white lab coat, only the top buttons done up to allow for movement and a pair of steel-toe biker boots. Clearly, this was not considered lab wear and was why they were in the office to begin with She was in the elevator, having jammed the up button and thankful not to have encountered anyone or _anything_ on the way. Seconds later the door dinged and she found herself plunged into the chaos of gunfire, gun smoke, and the smell of blood and sweat. As she stepped out of the elevator, she caught sight of a black blur taking on what looked like a tactical team. Focusing on the blur her eyes widened and a new type of panic hit her. Hell no.

* * *

Wesker had fought his way through most of the first floor, ignoring the civil employees as the rushed towards exits. They all smelled of fear and sweat, but none of them carried the scent he was looking for. The smell of infected was not something that could be covered. When the virus had improved him it had literally improved all of him, smell included. The blonde opened the door to the room that held the elevator according to Ada's stolen plans and found an entire security team waiting for him. Really, hadn't they learned that they couldn't kill him? He probably could just take the bullets and walk to the elevator doors, but he didn't like the idea of leaving enemies at his back. Mind made up, he became a blur of speed-a killing wind. He dodged bullets and had over half the team gone when his hearing picked up the ding of the elevator. That wasn't what caused him to pause in his whirlwind of destruction. It was the smell. The scent of cinnamon mixed with the sickening sweet smell of infected. He tossed the guard into his fellows as he craned his head around to look at her. Shock widened his internally lit eyes, and he didn't even feel the bullet enter his torso.

"Claire Redfield?" Wesker asked as his mind fit the face with a name. It was unmistakably her. He'd recognize his sworn enemy's younger sibling anywhere. Especially, after the whole incident in Antarctica. Antarctica, the Redfield siblings, Alexia, T-Veronica. Things made a sickening amount of sense then and he couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping his lips as he ignored what was left of the security team in favor of stalking towards the distressed woman. She was rapidly shaking her head back and forth. He reached out and grabbed her arm and she snapped.

He touched her. The bastard, the man who was often in the starring role in her nightmares fucking touched her. She moved without thinking, instinct telling her that it was a bad idea to let him touch her, and she swung the metal table leg in her hands with her full force. He hadn't been expecting it, and the blow sent him flying across the room though desks both metal and wood. Claire's eyes widened at the damage and she looked at the makeshift club in her hand. It was bent and twisted like she had hit a steel pole instead of the former S.T.A.R.S. captain. There was sound from his direction and she looked up to watch in horror as he got up. He raised an eyebrow over his dark sunglasses at her and popped his neck.

"I haven't been hit like that in a long time, Miss Redfield," he said voice even. It almost sounded like he was enjoying himself. Claire swallowed dryly. This was not good on so many levels. "Is that anyway to treat your rescuer?" he asked and it was then that she remembered that she was trying to escape a government laboratory of which he was not a part to judge by the fierce resistance he had been dealing with. But the idea of him coming to rescue her was ridiculous. Alarm bells rang in her head as it occurred to her just what he would brave this to get. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. He wanted what was in her blood. He stepped towards her and their conversation was cut short by the arrival of back up for the few men left of the tactical team. He crossed her in an instant and everything was put on hold. She needed to get out of here and he was her ticket out. While she seemed to have super strength she had no clue how fast she could move or even how to make herself move that fast. He seemed to realize the decision she had come to as he reached into his black coat and drew out a gun. He handed it to her and she took it forcing herself to ignore the S.T.A.R.S. logo.

"I assume you know how to use that," Wesker said flatly as he drew a matching weapon for himself. Claire glared at him as she took aim at one of the men aiming at her. She hit him dead center in the head before being forced to move to the side as he fellows opened fire on the two of them. She ended up taking cover behind a desk looking at the tyrant who just shook his head. "I'll cut a path, you watch our backs," and with that he _moved_. She peeked out from behind the desk and was startled to find that she could follow his movements as he tore through the men. Gritting her teeth, she moved from her cover and followed in his wake, having no choice but to trust that he knew the way out. He was moving fast and Claire was surprised to found herself able to keep up and nearly choked as an idea hit her. She was as fast as he was, she was as strong as he was. Dear God, was she just like him? No, she decided as she fired over her shoulder to try to keep some of the guards pinned while Wesker fiddled with a door. She was nothing like him. She'd get her out of here and then she would lose him.

"Miss Redfield?" he called to get her attention and she turned around to see desert and night sky. Freedom. It was to be short lived as she dashed towards it and a lucky marksman got off a clean shot to her head. Wesker watched as blood bloomed on her forehead, understanding even as he reached out to catch her. He swung her up over his shoulder, picked up the gun she had dropped from limp fingers, and headed out into the night. Fortune had smiled on him.


	2. Remedy

a/n: This chapter just kept growing. I only managed to hit 2 of the 4 things that I wanted to cover. But Claire and Wesker just kept running away with things...

Ch.2 Waiting for my rocket to come

The first thing Claire noticed when conscious thought returned to her was the smell; a combination of tooth-breakingly hard blueberry rock candy and the scent of burnt ozone that the atmosphere smelled like during a lightning storm. It was strong and thick as she inhaled, curling through her senses like a caress, even as her memories of before rose. She snapped open her eyes to find herself in the leather passenger seat of a car. The window tinting was dark and she could just barely make out the glow of the moon, full and thick reminding her of the passage of time since was taken by the goons in the government. She turned her head gently, a headache in full bloom behind her eyes, searching for the source of the smell. Eyes closed as she inhaled deeply, she found herself leaning over the center console towards the source. Opening her eyes, she let out a sound of surprise and threw herself back against the car door. Her face had been millimeters away from Wesker's shoulder.

"Are you quite alright, Miss Redfield?" he asked, the soft tone of voice reminding her of the tone one would use with a wild animal. Claire felt the blood rush to her face as she realized that she had just been sniffing Albert Wesker, bane of her and her brother's existences, madman and her current savior.

"What is that smell?" she countered trying to gloss over her current embarrassment and snatching a look at the landscape outside the car. It was mostly flat with nothing but what she assumed was rolling sand on either side of the road. It seemed they were driving through a desert of some kind.

"It would help if you could describe what you smell," Wesker stated without taking his eyes from the road. Claire noticed the fact that he was not wearing his ever present shades and that he had raised just one eyebrow as though he found her question entirely amusing. Her breath caught in her throat as she wondered just how she could see so much detail in the darkness. A sinking sensation appeared in her stomach as she realized that she could not only see his face clearly in the dark, she could see the individual grains in the wood paneling of the car. She swallowed thickly around the panic that lodged itself in her throat and forced herself to concentrate on the question she had asked-anything to keep her from panicking, even if it was talking to the man straight out of her nightmares.

"It's like blueberry rock candy and burnt ozone," Claire offered inhaling again, surprised for a second that she found it comforting. She found herself wondering absently if you could wrap yourself in a smell. Feeling less panicked than before, she lifted her eyes to look at Wesker as he spoke.

"You're infected, Miss Redfield," his voice was deep and controlled despite the soft coating of an accent, "While I imagine it will take time to determine just how your body has managed to cope with it and still retain both cognitive and functional processes without turning you into some kind of common infected subject, from what I've seen it is very likely the side effects from the infection are close to mine. From what I've experienced, the sweet smell, which your brain in an attempt to comprehend it has labeled as blueberry rock candy, is, in fact, the smell of infection. The stronger the infection, the sweeter the smell." All the blood which had previously found a home in her face rushed towards her toes. He didn't need to say anything else in order for her to draw her own conclusions about just what the smell was. She was smelling him and for a few seconds it had smelled good. Claire wondered if it was possible for her to get sick now that she had joined the ranks of the virally 'enhanced'.

Another thought struck her and she reached a shaking hand up to flip the visor down. Wesker had said that she was having the same side effects as him. Oh, God, would she have eyes like him? Would they glow like fire with demonic cat's pupils? What would Chris and Jill think? Would she even get to see them again? She flipped up the cover on the visor mirror and had to blink rapidly for several seconds as the little lights next to the mirror came on. The face that stared back at her was her own-pale skin, a small nose, and a mouth that was laughing as often as not. There was a patch of dried blood on her right temple, but running her fingers over it proved there to be no wound underneath. As a matter of fact, the only reason she even knew that she had been wounded in the fight was the fading headache. Had she been grazed by a bullet? She breathed in deeply ignoring the twinge of disgust she got at the smell of the blonde driving the car, and looked at her eyes. They were still hers; slightly almond shaped and a little lighter version of the usual mix of blue and green, but normal enough. Claire covered the mirror and put the visor back up.

"Satisfied, Miss Redfield?" Wesker's voice startled her and she whipped her head to look at him. "Were you afraid you might find a monster looking back at you?" If Claire didn't know better, she'd say that he sounded almost bitter about the last part.

"There is nothing wrong with wanting to know what the virus has done to me," she snapped at him for voicing her own fears. There was a reason that people didn't talk about what scared them. Hearing it seemed to make it all the more real.

"Was that really all you were doing, dear heart? It's not healthy to lie to one's self," his tone was patronizing as he continued to pick at her. Claire bared her teeth at him in a snarl.

"That's rich coming from a narcissistic, megalomaniac hell bent on furthering his own research without regards to the lives of others," she was warming to this fight. The tryant may be her rescuer, but he didn't have her gratitude. She knew that she likely would've made it out of the lab on her own. His timing had just been convenient.

"Ah, but there's the difference," Wesker told her flatly, "I've never lied to about that." Claire glared at him through the darkness.

"What was S.T.A.R.S., then?" she bit the question out. She had not been hurt by Wesker's betrayal of the S.T.A.R.S. team the way that Chris had, but she had been the one to trapeze across the world looking for him. She had been the one left to put the pieces of the brother she had once known back together again. Jill and she had been the hands holding him together for months until he could get it together himself. That was how she had learned to hate the man next to her and the corporation that had spawned him. There was silence between them for couple heartbeats and Claire wondered if she had won the argument.

"A mistake," his voice cut through the silence like a knife and Claire felt her eyebrows rise. What did he mean by that? As far as she knew, the ever glorious Captain Wesker never made mistakes, let alone admitted to them. Just as she was about to ask for clarification on his statement her stomach interrupted conversation. With its demand for attention came the realization that she was starving. She was so hungry actually, that she wondered how she had missed it. It felt like she hadn't eaten in a week.

"Can we stop somewhere and get something to eat?" Claire asked as neon lights up ahead proclaimed the fact that a greasy diner was up ahead. Wesker turned his head to look at her for a moment before giving a sharp nod. While he would've preferred to keep the delays to a minimum given the fact that the entire US military was currently looking for them, he also wanted Claire to stay with him. He wasn't stupid. He knew that the second Claire thought she had a chance she would likely attempt to bail on him. If he was a gambling man he put money on the fact that the only reason she had not jumped out of the car was the fact that they were surrounded by a desert and she had no clue where she was. From what he had observed of the Redfields, they had an amazing knack for survival. Wesker wondered vaguely whether it was an instinct or something environmental. If it was environmental he could attempt to replicate it without having to do an exhaustive gene study. He pulled into the diner's parking lot, taking the spot next to the door. Habit had him assessing all the ways in and out of the place before he even bothered to open the door. The more exits one had, the more likely they were to make it out alive. He turned the car off and pulled the keys from the ignition, the locks popping as he did so. He moved to get out of the car only to notice that Claire had yet to make a move.

"Miss Redfield, is something wrong? You were the one to request this pit stop," Wesker asked inhaling the spicy cinnamon-sweet scent that he had come to associate with her after spending hours in the car with it. He'd been mildly concerned with her condition after being shot, wondering if he would be left with nothing more than a corpse to try to explain the anomaly she presented. Thankfully, her heartbeat had started again minutes later followed by her breathing. It seemed that while the bullet had managed to render her unconscious and likely killed her for a few seconds, the virus was not about to let its host die just yet.

"I can't go in there," Claire said in a hurry and Wesker raised an eyebrow in question. She was proving to be just as loud and irritating as her brother. At the thought of her brother, the back of his mind began assessing just how hard it would be to get his hands on the other Redfield if it turned out that the propensity for survival was genetic. More than likely he'd just have to show himself briefly and the man would come running. But his current subject was speaking again. "I don't have any decent clothes!" At her words he did a quick assessment, running his eyes from the toes of the boots, up the partially open lab coat, to meet her eyes. Miss Redfield, he decided, was a decent looking woman. Her body was built for the innate athleticism her career choice demanded, but had given in correct proportions to the job nature demanded of all women. Which, unfortunately, meant that she was quite right. The lab coat she had on was clearly made for a male in that the shoulders hung off her while the buttons across the chest strained. It barely hid enough for modest, let alone social norms. He reached into the back seat ignoring the way that she tensed at how close he needed to be in order to do so. He had no immediate plans of harming her, seeing as he would learn more the longer she was alive and he had no doubt that a fight of the physical nature between the two would leave one of them dead.

"Here," Wesker said offering her a small black duffel bag. He had learned early on to carry extras of everything. One never knew when it would become necessary to vacate an area or if one needed to blend in with a population quickly. It was hard enough with his eyes; he didn't need t to run around in a blood soaked shirt covered in bullet holes. Claire took the bag and he eased out of the car, producing his sunglasses as he went. The windows were tinted dark enough that in the lack of light she would be given absolute privacy.

Claire unzipped the bag as soon as Wesker was out of the car and let out a sigh. It really had been too much to hope that it somehow contained women's clothes. Inside she found a pair of black cargo pants that she knew would never stay up in a thousand years, not to mention how long they would be on her. Much shuffling in the bag found a package of new black cotton boxers with an elastic waist. She kept these and continued digging, coming up with a black undershirt. Shaking it to get the wrinkles out, she found herself surrounded with a particularly strong whiff of his scent. She wrinkled her nose in disgust as she pulled the clothing on, wondering if the blonde tyrant owned anything that was not black. Honestly, didn't he know how morbid it was to wear noting but black? It made he look like he was ready to go a funeral all the time and she snickered at the image of some poor old lady thinking the same thing and trying to console him. The laughter died as she shoved the bag into the backseat and began to wonder what else was back there. Was that where he had put the weapons? She was just about to pull herself back there when her door opened and she found herself looking at Wesker.

"Are you ready, Miss Redfield?" he asked holding his hand out to help her out of the car. Claire sneered at him and ignored the hand as she got out of the vehicle. She heard him close the car door as she turned to look at the diner. God, the place smelled good; fries and greasy burgers, shakes and pie. She put her hand to her chin to make sure she wasn't drooling. Pleased that she had managed to keep that urge in check, she stepped out of Wesker's way as he walked into the dinner. He held the door open for her and she wondered where the manners came from. _Or perhaps_, a little voice nudged her, _he's doing it to make sure he can catch you if you try to run._ She sighed at the thought. She had thought about it for all of three seconds when he first pulled in, but dismissed it. She was moneyless and directionless. The government would likely pick her up in record time if she left.

"Heavens above," Claire swore covering her eyes with one hand as pain laced through her skull. It was like the worst migraine she had ever had and it started at her eyes. She felt someone nudge her and she squinted her eyes open to see a black gloved hand offering her a pair of sunglasses. Realization hit her and she shoved them on her face. They were too big and a man's pair besides, but the relief they gave her eyes was worth the fashion faux pas. She followed Wesker's back as he led her to a corner booth. He slid into the further most seat-putting the wall at his back and giving him a full view of the diner. Claire knew what he was doing as her own brother did the same thing whenever they went out anywhere. He wanted a clear view in case there was any kind of trouble. It was a protective measure and for a second Claire felt warm at the gesture. Then she remembered who he was and frowned.

"The photosensitivity is likely temporary," Wesker said watching as Claire pushed the too big glasses up her nose. "At least mine was." Claire frowned at him but was forced to refrain from saying anything as the waitress made her appearance. The woman was older with graying blonde hair and a lined face. She didn't bother with a uniform and chewed her gum open-mouthed. That wasn't what bothered Claire, though. People were people and she wouldn't have joined Terrasave if she didn't believe that all people had a right to exist. What bothered her was the smell. She smelled like bubble gum and cigarette smoke, but with something foul underneath. It almost brought bile to the back of her throat as her mind catalogued it. God, the woman smelled like week old infected. She smelled like she was rotting. The brunette was forced to hold the urge to gag back as she ordered and hoped it didn't show on her face. She snuck a look at Wesker as the woman walked away and knew that she had failed. "Don't worry there is nothing wrong with her, dear heart," he told her a twisted grin sliding across his face. "You're just smelling the decay on her. After all, humans get a little closer to death each day." The realization was sickening and Claire dashed out of the booth to the bathroom in order to dry heave. _Oh, God, would Chris smell like that?_

* * *

Wesker dialed the number of the house and laboratory he was hoping to use. It was on the border of the US and Mexico, which meant quick escape access should the government somehow find them. He had shipped the experiments that could not wait until he was done dealing with his current subject and wished to make sure that everything had arrived on time and undamaged. It would not do to get there only to find that a virus had escaped and was currently making its way through the population of the nearest town. Three rings brought him a female voice asking for his authorization number. He gave it softly, alternatively looking at both the door and the bathroom.

"Hello, Mr. Wesker," the voice said with false emotion. It was the AI in charge of the place. "I am pleased to note the arrival of your things. Would you like for me to sort them?" He ran over the mental list of the things he had shipped before giving her directions of how they were to be sorted-which level of hazard each thing was and what number lab room he wanted them in. "Order confirmed. Is there anything else I can help you with, sir?"

"Yes, I'd like you to hold security pattern orange until I arrive," the blonde told the computer as Claire came out of the bathroom looking better than when she went in. He waited until the order was acknowledged before snapping the phone shut. He had not told her what he had to be mean, but the sooner she realized that she wasn't human anymore the better. The sooner he could kill her hopes of returning to her old life the sooner he would be able to trust her not to run the second his back was turned. She slid into the seat across from him and refused to meet his eyes, tracing patterns in the condensation of her soda. The smell of cheap soap hit his nose mixing with her scent and he decided that he liked it better when it was just pure her. "Everything is okay, I trust," he asked as the silence began to stretch. "Much longer and I would've come in after you."

"I'm not going anywhere," Claire hissed at him, snapping her eyes up and nearly losing his extra pair of sunglasses from the movement. She reached up to adjust them and glared. "I'm not stupid, Wesker. I know every asshole with a badge and some without is looking for me. I'm penniless and homeless all because of some virus I don't ever remember contracting." Her voice was bitter and the blonde was forced to bite back his reply as the waitress returned with the food. It was his turned to stifle the need to gag as a half-pound of something greasy that may once have been a hamburger and fries that were covered with fake cheese and canned chili. As he watched her inhale the sickening mess with apparent delight, he decided that he liked the fact he only had to eat maybe once a week unless he expended a lot of energy.

"How much do you remember of Antarctica?" Wesker asked as she paused long enough to take a drink of her soda. Claire gripped the glass so hard as the memories of Steve and Alexia Ashford danced across her mind that it cracked. The blonde reached across the table in one of those moves that was hard to follow and removed her hand before she broke it and soda spilled everywhere. "I take it you remember."

"Of course I remember, you bastard," her eyes flashed and for a second Wesker thought he saw shining silver over the rim of her sunglasses. That was interesting. "I remember you beating my brother and me bloody. I remember being forced to leave behind a man who might've loved me because of your fucking scheming," it took every ounce of self-control she had to keep her voice from rising. She knew without looking that the waitress was watching them if for no other reason than the fact that they were the only people in there. Wesker dismissed her attitude, though he would not tolerate the name calling.

"Watch your words, Miss Redfield," he told her flatly as he released her wrist. "So perhaps you can tell me if you had anything virally adverse happen to you there. Did you by any chance get bitten or get any of Alexia's blood in an open wound?" His voice was so flat and cold compared to the rage inside her body that she wanted to reach over and rip his throat out with her bare hands. She could picture it, too. The look of surprise on his face and the arc of blood as it gushed from the wound. So many years of dealing with biohazards meant that she could picture it down to the last drops of blood on the tile. But it also meant she knew that he would heal from it. His skin would knit together in seconds like it had never happened and what he would do to her. She shuddered and forced herself to think of the events he was talking about. Claire frowned as she sorted through memory after memory and could find nothing.

"No," she said slowly and forced herself to continue to eat the food before in an effort to distract herself from the conversation. "Nothing like that. Although…," she trailed off as she studied a fry that was not covered in chili and cheese. She shook her head and looked up to see Wesker staring at her over his sunglasses with an intensity she had never seen before. She wondered if that was what he looked at his experiments like. She avoided his eyes by looking into the sunglasses as she spoke. "I was fighting this thing, Nosferatu or something I think they called it. Anyway, it hit me with some kind of poison and I blacked out. I woke up and Chris had me hooked up to some kind of IV. He said that it was an antidote…" Suddenly there wasn't enough air in the room. Oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God. It repeated like a mantra in her head. Chris had done this to her. Granted he had likely saved her life doing it, but she could just imagine how he would beat himself up if he ever found out. To make matters worse she couldn't breathe and there were black spots on the edges of her vision. Without warning, she was yanked around to the side of the booth and her head was unceremoniously shoved between her legs. The blackness receded and she could make out Wesker talking to someone. Something about how she was okay, it was only a panic attack. She reached up and swatted his hand away from where he was holding her down and sat up. "I'm fine," she gritted out.

"Whatever you say, Miss Redfield," he told her in that slightly patronizing tone. She growled at him as he offered her a hand up. She stood on her own, and he turned his back on her to pay the bill. She ran a hand through her hair, hissing in frustration as her hand stuck on the sunglasses.

* * *

A few hours later found them on the road, a world famous sign coming into view. Claire, who had been fiddling with her glasses after Wesker had used the controls on the steering wheel to stop her from playing with the radio, straightened up. She had noticed that they were getting closer and closer to civilization and the sun was just now peeking up over the horizon. She hooked the sunglasses onto to her shirt and turned to look at the blonde next to her. They hadn't really talked since the diner, though the silence hadn't exactly been strained.

"Can we…," Claire began wanting to know if they could stop long enough for her to eat again and get some decent clothes. Maybe she could even find a payphone and call Chris.

"No," Wesker told her flatly without even looking up from the road as he drove. Claire frowned at him and turned her head to look at him.

"But I need some decent clothing and I'm hungry," Claire said using the same annoying pleading voice that always made Chris do what she wanted. "This place is huge. Surely they won't notice two more tourists." She watched with in a sick sort of fascination as his knuckles went white on the steering wheel. Maybe he would break it. Then they really would have to stop. Speaking of stopping… "I know that we'll need to stop for gas soon. That is unless the car runs on air or something," she paused in her talking before blinking and trying to lean over so that she could look try to get a glimpse of the gas meter. "It doesn't, does it?" the brunette asked. She wouldn't put anything past Umbrella's former researchers. Wesker reached over and gently pushed her back over in her seat.

"No, it runs on petrol," he told her sounding amused. "A car running on oxygen would be extremely dangerous seeing as how highly flammable the molecule is." Claire rolled her eyes. She was discovering that he answered a lot of questions like that-rattled off bits of scientific knowledge in order to deflect the question. She watched as his eyes went to his watch and wondered what he was so concerned about the time for. The only answers she could come up with were shiver inducing. The brunette blinked as they pulled into the parking lot of MGM's Crystals. Her eyes almost bugged out of her head as he turned the car off. She had been so absorbed in trying to get him to stop that she hadn't even noticed that they were driving down The Strip. "One hour, Miss Redfield," he said looking at her over his sunglasses as he handed her a little black card. "If you're not here in one hour I'll come looking for you, and you won't like how I'll do it." His voice gave her goose bumps. She nodded and got out of the car, making sure she put on her borrowed sunglasses. The little bit of light that got in around the frames had her squinting. She leaned back into the car before closing the door.

"And what will you be doing for an hour?" she asked as he tossed something to her. She caught it out of reflex and swallowed at the look he gave her.

"It's a reasonably populated city, dear heart," Wesker said softly. "Do you really want to know?" Claire shook her head and closed the car door. No, she really didn't want to know. She watched as he took off and looked down at the object in her hand. It turned out to be a watch with a timer counting down from one hour. She ignored the looks she was getting from the tourists and rich customers as she practically ran into the mall.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later found a much more stylish Claire Redfield dumping a handful of quarters into a payphone. A pair of sleek mirror framed sunglasses covered her eyes and flashed in the noon sun. She had also managed to get to get an elastic to pull her hair up out of her face, and having clean underwear made her feel like a new woman. She had damn near hesitated at the prices in the place, before saying fuck it. It wasn't her money after all. It was likely ill-gotten gains anyway. So she had splurged on the pair of butter soft caramel colored knee high boots and the black jeans she had tucked into them. The white t-shirt and black vest fit her to a tee and she found herself once more getting looks from the men walking around the park like mall. She bit her lower lip as she heard the phone ring on the other end. She had a feeling that Wesker would be furious if she had any idea of what she was doing, but she had no idea what the government had told Chris. She blew air from her lips in frustration as the answering machine picked up.

"Chris, it's Claire," she began talking fast, knowing that his answering machine had a timer on it. "Whatever they told you about me it's not true. I'm safe for now, but don't come looking for me. I love you and I'll get in touch as soon as I can." She hung up and looked down at the watch, noting that she still had ten minutes left. She headed towards one of the food stands, wondering if she should grab Wesker something. He hadn't eaten at the diner last night. She frowned at the selection, never knowing that somewhere in space a satellite had picked out her voice and traced it back to the mall. She never knew that an automated all-points bulletin with her location was just know being faxed into the local police station. As she ordered a couple of cold-cut sandwiches she failed to realize that a couple unmarked cars had begun pulling into the parking lots to wait for her to come out.

* * *

Wesker pulled into the parking lot, his eyes noting the unmarked cars. The chances that they were there for Claire and him were slim, but instincts that had been honed in the police force made him take notice. He found Claire standing at the curb, a bag from some fast food place in one hand. He took a second to admire her sense of taste as he put the car into park and popped the locks. She slid into the car and put her seatbelt on before handing him back the watch and the credit card.

"Thanks," she said sliding the shades up so they rested on the top of her head.

"It was better than listening to you whine the whole way," he told her flatly as he pulled out of the parking lot. She glared at him and crossed her arms.

"You still haven't told me anything," Claire grumbled. "I don't even know what you want from me. What if you're worse than the government," she reached her hand out to grip the door handle. She could bail and would heal any wound that she was given. Hell, she was in the middle of a densely populated city. It would be easy to disappear, right? _What if the virus isn't done with you? What if you go crazy and start killing and infecting people like Alexia?_ She bit her lip in indecision.

"I highly doubt that, dear heart," Wesker said looking at her out of the corner of his eyes. "They were planning to start trying to infect others using your blood in hopes of gaining super soldiers. More than likely, they would've left you drugged up in some room somewhere milking your DNA for secrets." Claire couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine at his words.

"And what are you planning on doing?" she asked lifting her chin up to look at him. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror as he merged onto the highway and he frowned. There were several of the unmarked cars behind him.

"Studying you," Wesker said simply. "It's not every day that I come across someone else that the virus doesn't mutate into some kind of monster. I'd like to discover what is so different about your genetics. If I don't have to knock you and out and drug you to do it, I won't." He sped up on the highway as they left the Las Vegas City limits, watching as the following cars were exchanged. His eyes narrowed. He knew what was going on. The locals had been told to keep them within their sights until back-up in the form of the military arrived to take them out. It made sense, but what he wanted to know was how they had figured out they were in Vegas to begin with. He had only stopped to get gas and called the Red Queen to make sure that everything was on schedule with his experiments. Nothing he had done could've triggered the authorities. The credit card he had given Claire was secure-a card registered to a business instead of a person. He frowned as he downshifted in order to give the car some more speed. "Miss Redfield, you won't have happened to make any phone calls while you were at the mall, would you?" Her blanch was all the confirmation he needed. "That was foolish. You see those cars that are matching our speed? Those are unmarked police cars that have been ordered to follow us until the military can get units here to catch us," he explained as she turned around to look.

"What are you going to do?" Claire asked in horror as she realized what her actions had done. These people were likely only doing their jobs, but she couldn't let them take her back. Wesker at least was offering her the ability to not be a vegetable while he learned what was wrong with her.

"Can you get the metal case from the back seat, dear heart?" he asked. Claire nodded and undid her seatbelt so she could reach the back. It seemed Wesker had finally reached a speed that the police deemed not safe on the highway, because as one all the lights and sirens came on. The brunette winced from the high pitched noise as she opened the case. Inside was a black semi-automatic pistol and ammunition. She swallowed thickly. "How good's your aim?" he asked her as he began weaving in between cars to evade the police.

"I'm not going to shoot some innocent cops," Claire told him firmly. He looked at her over his sunglasses, mouth twisting into a snarl. Now was not the time for her to rediscover her damn morals. He couldn't drive and take out their pursuers. He knew they didn't have a lot of time before a helicopter showed up and he had not planned for such an event. He didn't have anything in the car that could take a helicopter down.

"Take out their tires," Wesker told her as he was forced into another lane by one of the cops and narrowly missed a semi. Claire frowned at him and his patience snapped. "Miss Redfield, I do not have time for your sensibilities. You either cripple the vehicles or I'll kill them myself," his tone left no room for argument. Claire nodded and loaded the weapon, rolling down the window. She slid out the window, repeating the mantra that she would heal from anything that happened, and found herself looking into the surprised eyes of a policeman trying to box them in. She took a deep breath and aimed, the bullet hitting a back tire. The resulting explosion had the car swerving out of control and forced Wesker to jerk the wheel in order to keep it from crashing into them. Claire groaned in pain as her back slammed into the window frame. She hooked her legs around her seat in order to keep from being thrown from the vehicle.

"Goddamit, Wesker," she swore at him. "Watch it!"

"I assure you, dear heart, it wasn't intentional," he ground out as he maneuvered around a vehicle that was trying to get in front of them. Claire knew she would've hit him if it wasn't for the fact that the cops were now returning fire. She found herself dodging bullets as she tried to aim. They passed an exit and the brunette felt some relief as she noted that they were keeping people from getting on the highway. She didn't want anyone to get hit by a stray bullet; which meant that she needed to take the three police cars out. She squinted behind her shades as she squeezed off another round. It took out a front tire and the SUV spun out, taking the car next to it with it. "Good shot," Wesker said frowning as he saw a police blockade in front of them. "Road's bout to get rough," he warned as he turned off the highway and onto the desert.

"Sonofabitch," Claire ground out as she pulled herself back into the car. The last police car couldn't follow fast enough and hit the barricade. She winced at the resulting fireball even as she put the safety on. She glared at Wesker and brushed some of her hair that had come loose behind her ear.

"Have you learned your lesson?" Wesker asked as he settled into the flow of traffic. The car was hot now and he was going to need to pick a new one up before he crossed the state line into Arizona.

"Fuck you," Claire spat as the adrenalin wore off and she began to shake. To her shock Wesker laughed. There was no doubt he was out of his mind.

* * *

Review responses:

Project X: Here's some more. Hope this answers whether Claire is alright or not. Thanks for being my first review. You made me so happy. ^^

Compa16: Thanks for the stars and calling my story amazing. I haven't really published most of my het stuff. Hope you enjoyed this chapter too.

Slhughson: We made the combination of reviews and such for a next chapter. I'm glad that I'll have at least one compulsive reader for it.


	3. Keeps Getting Better

**a/n**: This thing keeps growing like an infection itself. But I imagine most of you don't care about chapter length. I'd like to celebrate making it to 10 reviews! Keep 'em coming guys. Wesker feels a little off to me in this chapter, so be sure to let me know if something about it stands out to you guys.

* * *

Ch 3- Keeps getting better

It was dark by the time they finally made it to the small border town. The name was Spanish and even after Wesker told it to her she felt like she was still horribly mispronouncing it. It was dark as they drove through it and the only thing she could see that was open was a small bar. There were also a grocery store, gas station and a post office. There was a small cluster of houses around the buildings, but Claire knew that the majority of money that came in through this town was likely illegal: drugs and coyotes taking advantage of people. It was just the cesspool of sin she expected someone like Wesker to feel the most at home in. Another fifteen minutes and they were driving up in front of a sprawling ranch style house. The driveway was gravel and Claire was glad that Wesker had traded the sports car they had been driving for a H2. She couldn't imagine what the driveway would be like without the shocks built into the vehicle. Wesker stopped and turned the vehicle off.

"I'd advise you to wait for me before trying to get into the house, dear heart," the blonde said as he got out of the car. Claire frowned at him and narrowed her eyes. That almost sounded like a threat. Just what was guarding that house? She couldn't believe that he would be careless enough to leave B.O.W. wandering the house this close to population. The risk for an outbreak and rapid chain of infection would be too great. Which just left her wondering. She got out of the car, and began to open the back door to help Wesker get the things from there. Having helped transfer them from the sports car to the hummer she knew that there were at least six different duffel bags and two cases like the one she had gotten the pistol out of. She grabbed the last two duffel bags and had to jog to catch up with Wesker. It amazed her that he trusted her to carry his things, but figured that he had little reason not to. What would she do with them anyway? Toss them in the trash? She doubted that they were the type of things that the general public could handle without dire consequences. The blonde stopped in front of the door and instead of reaching for the doorknob he popped a panel out of the wood. It revealed a keypad and a large screen. He typed a series of numbers into it before resting his palm on the screen. She heard a sound like an airlock opening as the door swung open.

"You'll get your own code as soon as we go down to the lab," he told her walking inside. Claire nodded and followed him. She sneezed as she walked inside, the place smelled stale and full of dust. The furniture was covered with dust cloths and the entire place was dark. She actually took her sunglasses off and put them into one of the pockets on her vest so she could see better. She set the bags she had carried in next to the others in the hallway and frowned as she noticed that Wesker had disappeared. The place was giving her chills. It was like something out of a horror movie. She closed her eyes and inhaled, finding the rock candy and ozone smell of Wesker easily. The brunette began to follow it, her eyes slits so she didn't run into walls, and frowned as she picked up another scent. It reminded her of the woman at the diner and the people at the mall. It wasn't as strong as the blonde's smell, but it was clear that someone had been here. Several turns brought her to a door and she reached for the handle.

"I would not advise that," a female voice said sounding like it was coming from right behind her. She whipped around only to find nothing behind her. "You have not been given authorization to go into the labs," she looked all around the room trying to find the source of the voice.

"Where are you?" Claire asked and a sound like a computer humming to life followed. Seconds later a green tinted hologram of a child in a dress that belonged in the Victorian Era appeared. Claire sucked in a breath in shock as she heard the door open next to her. Wesker stepped out and looked amused.

"I trust everything was satisfactory, sir," the little girl said and Claire was left blinking between the two of them. She knew the little girl was some kind of advanced AI, but something on this scale was unheard of. The brunette knew she was gaping like a fish.

"Naturally," Wesker said. "Claire Redfield, I would like for you to meet the Red Queen. She runs security for all of my labs. We wouldn't want another outbreak like Raccoon City."

"It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Redfield," the computer said. It even gave a little curtsy. "What is your security clearance?" The question caught Claire off guard and she looked at Wesker uncertainly.

"She's not a researcher," Wesker said pushing a button next to the door and the lights came on. Claire winced and slid her sunglasses out and on. "She's a guest and will need her own codes for her stay. Give her Charlie access." Claire frowned at the two of them and wondered what that even meant. Wesker had given a lot of thought as to how much Claire would be would be allowed to see and poke around with in the lab. He knew that he needed to keep her away from the virus samples which she had unwittingly carried in just moments ago. There was no way he was going to let someone else handle them. There was too much potential for disaster not to mention the corporate espionage. No, he kept the virus samples as close to on his person as he could within the constraints of his life. He also didn't want her to happen on something delicate and destroy it thinking she was preventing something else getting on the black market. But he also needed her to have access to the lab in case of an emergency or if she was down there for some kind of testing. That meant she needed the lowest clearance she could get away with.

"The codes are printing in the main control room," the computer said. "Would you like the security report now or later?" He noticed how Claire was watching him and decided that it would not be a good idea to have the AI give it now. When he had gone down into the lab to switch on the main power and make sure there were no glitches in the system, he had noticed that there were several subjects locked in quarantine as per the security level he had set. He wondered who would be foolish enough to send people snooping here.

"Later," Wesker said as he closed the door to the lab. "If you would turn the power on to the rest of the house and get to work on ordering groceries." The hologram nodded and disappeared recognizing the dismissal. Seconds later the house came to life around them, air conditioning turning on, along with lights. "We'll get you settled into your room tonight and start running the basic blood work tomorrow," he said turning on his heel and heading down the hallway away from the door to lab.

* * *

"It's confirmed, sir," the young man in digital camouflage said as he saluted the woman behind the desk. She looked to be in her early thirties with pale blonde hair twisted up to fit in military regulations. A pair of half-moon reading glasses sat perched on her delicate nose and she wore a white lab coat over her dress whites. The eagles that sat perched on her shoulders were the most obvious indication of her rank as captain in the Navy. Reports were spread across the surface of her desk, all of them labeled classified. "Brunhild was confirmed by the locals in the Las Vegas area. It appears that she is traveling with Odin and that their general direction is south," the man said holding his posture ridged. The woman wiggled her fingers in dismissal. That made sense concerning what she knew of the man's movements. She had not expected the subject to willingly cooperate with him given the known history. She toiled over the photos from the surveillance cameras from Crystals. She needed the woman back. They had already tested her brother's blood to see if it would react the same as their samples. It had been a failure. They had almost had a biohazard on their hands with the way the pure virus they had extracted from her blood had mutated. With the subject's escape they were also dealing with pressure from Washington to shut down the Valkyrie program altogether. She needed to get her hands on the woman.

One perfectly manicured finger traced a still shot from the feed at the laboratory. It was the figure of a man saluting the camera. She knew him. Hell, every virologist and geneticist worth their salt knew who he was, even if he was a virtual ghost. He was whispered about in dark corners and it was rumored that nothing hit the market (black or otherwise) as far as viral and anti-viral technology was concerned without him having a hand in it. She didn't know how he figured out where the subject was, but she knew he would be the key to finding her. Unfortunately, he was as slippery as an eel. She would have to hope that he goofed up or that HUNK came through. The man was expensive but he looked to be worth it. He had gotten them the G-virus sample from Raccoon City, after all.

* * *

Wesker had waited until the Red Queen had confirmed that Claire was asleep before returning to the control room in the lab. He had noticed that while his metabolism had slowed down with the absorption of the virus, hers seemed to have accelerated. She had complained of being hungry roughly every three hours if she wasn't sleeping. That was one thing he was going to have to explore. He slid into the thickly padded office chair in front of the myriad of monitors. They came to life without prompting. A read-out of what had happened with his experiments since his last visit was on one screen, another showed him Claire's sleeping form, and yet another gave him the closing day's stock prices for the various companies he had his fingers in. There was a different humming sound as the Red Queen projected herself next to him.

"Would you like your report now, sir?" the little girl asked. Wesker waved a hand for her to go ahead. He would always wonder at the mind that had produced her. Why a little girl? Why not a full grown woman? Or, hell, a talking dog? "After being downloaded onto the current server and put into security level orange three armed individuals attempted infiltration. Judging from their level of weaponry they were expecting fierce resistance. I managed to lock them in the cell level. What would you like for me to do with them?" The blonde leaned so that his head rested on one hand.

"Did they have any identifying markers?" he asked wondering if he was going to have to make a trip down there.

"No sir," the little girl said shaking her head making her hair move around her head. "Though one of them had a hit in my database." He raised an eyebrow which was one of the learned cues for her to go on. One of the monitors went black for a second before displaying a captive in one of cells. He was sitting against the wall, throwing a hunting knife into the air and catching it. "His voice, despite the distortion from the mask, came up as one HUNK. He has made no attempt to escape unlike the others." Well that was noteworthy. Wesker was well aware of the fact that the man sitting in a cell three floors below was responsible for the death of his fellow researcher William Birkin. That was enough of a reason in his book to kill the man and he knew that the agent was well aware of it. Which meant he had to have a reason other than simple espionage to track him down.

"Anything else to report?" he asked the AI.

"No, sir," the computer said disappearing back into the background. Wesker spent the rest of the night studying the computer screens, mind whirling just as fast as the computers before him.

* * *

Claire woke as the sun shone in her face. Wrinkling her nose she opened her eyes, it took her a moment to place where she was. She sighed and sat up, clad only in the t-shirt she had taken from Wesker and her underwear. She hoped that she would have a chance to get some more clothes from somewhere. Maybe he would let her order them online. She put her feet on the wood floor and stretched, her eyes catching a white piece of paper on the table next to her bed and her sunglasses. She was pleased to find that the light wasn't bothering her eyes as she picked up the paper. There was a long string of numbers on it and she realized that this must be her access code for the place. She folded the paper in half and put it back, heading towards the en suite bathroom. She needed a shower before she did anything else. She probably smelled like a hobo.

The bathroom was elegant and clearly modeled to look much older than it was. She smiled to herself as she turned on the water to get it up to temperature. She'd have to put back on her clothes from yesterday, but she could live with that. She pulled the shower curtain and stepped into the hot water, closing her eyes in ecstasy. A small smile curled on her lips. One thing she had learned jet-setting all over the world for TerraSave was the value of a hot shower. Hell, half the time it was better than sex. Not that she had had much of that, and with the way things were going it was likely that she wouldn't for the foreseeable future. Who could she risk infecting? She knew that viruses and diseases were only passed more easily in blood transfer than in sex. The only person on the planet who would likely be capable of having sex with her without adverse effects was Wesker. Laughter bubbled in her chest before spilling over and out her lips. The entire idea was absurd. Yeah, he was good looking. But, he was also evil incarnate. She bit her lips and paused in washing her hair. Could she honestly say that after what he was doing for her? Granted, he had done it for his own selfish reasons, but he didn't have to be doing all this. He could lock her up in some cell somewhere and only bother with her when he needed a sample. Instead, he was treating her like a human and not a test subject. Well, she would find out just how far that extended today.

* * *

Claire walked out of the bathroom thirty minutes later drying her hair. She felt much better and was humming Chumbawaba as she walked towards her bed. She began pulling her clothes on and wondered just what Wesker would want her to do. He had mentioned blood work the night before, but surely he knew how bored she would get waiting around for results. But then again, maybe not. Science was his world. He'd likely find nothing else as entertaining. It would be like her brother and the newest copy of _American Handgunner_. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and grabbed the code to shove in her pocket.

"Mr. Wesker would like to see you now," a little girl's voice said. Claire nearly had a heart attack as she whirled around looking for the source only to remember that it was the computer system. What was eerie was the giggle that her actions produced. It made her feel like she was in a horror film.

"Can you please not do that?" Claire asked reaching to pull her hair up. "At least not without having a body? It's creepy." There was a hum before the Red Queen appeared.

"Is this better?" the hologram asked her. She nodded. "I'll lead you to him. The lab can be a maze." The little girl smiled at her and when Claire began walking she skipped ahead. She wondered just how someone had managed to capture the mannerisms of a child so well.

* * *

Wesker was washing his hands when the door slid open behind him. One inhale brought him the scent of cinnamon and sugar that was Claire overlaid with cherries. The extra scent was likely the result of her taking a shower. He turned around as he dried his hands to see her loitering in the doorway. She was biting her lower lip and seemed nervous, though he was pleased to note that she didn't seem to need the sunglasses. His own were firmly in place and he had decided to forgo a lab coat.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked motioning her inside and to the examine table. The room looked like a doctor's office and he hoped that it would help her feel at ease. She nodded her head. "You act like you're going to your funeral, dear heart. I promise to tell you everything that I'm going to do before I do it. If you don't want to do something we'll talk about it," he offered as he snapped on latex gloves. Claire glared at him.

"But you won't stop just because I ask," she said seeing the loophole he had given himself right away. She sat down on the table anyway though. Wesker twisted his lips in a little smile.

"No, but I doubt that I'll be doing anything you'd object to," he told her looking over the objects on a tray. Claire snorted.

"Forgive me if I find that statement ironic," she said eyeing the tray he brought over and set next to her. It held several neatly labeled tubes and a sterilized disposable needle. She was snapped out of her contemplation of the just what he was planning on doing with her blood as he put a large red ball in her hand to squeeze.

"I'm going to be taking your blood, Miss Redfield," Wesker told her as he tied a stretchy piece of rubber around her upper arm. "You're not afraid of needles, are you?" he asked as he ran an alcohol swab over the juncture of her elbow. Claire glared at him.

"No," she said as he flicked her arm to get the vein to surface. "What are you going to do with my blood?" She kept her eyes on him while he worked and barely felt the prick of the needle as he slid it into her vein with practiced ease.

"The standard: blood sugar, cholesterol, red blood cell count, white blood cell count, thyroid profile, hormone levels," Wesker didn't bother to look at her as he worked, fingers deftly changing the tubes as they filled with her blood. It was thick and a little darker than normal, but it smelt the same as an infected to him. "I'm also going to run a full genetic profile and try to separate out the virus from your cells." All of which sounded so incredibly boring to Claire. Yes, it might tell him what was going on with her on a cellular level, but it would take hours and hours of waiting.

"And what am I supposed to do while you run your tests?" she asked as he finished and put a piece of cotton in her hand before pressing it and her hand to the wound. He put the blood into a tray and threw the needle down a shoot labeled biohazard.

"There's a computer upstairs and a TV," Wesker said snapping his gloves off before tossing them as well. "I wouldn't recommend trying to contact anyone, though." He watched as Claire stood up and swayed for a minute. "I would suggest you eat, however. It should help you recover from the blood loss."

"Don't I just heal over like you?" Claire asked as she pulled the cotton away from her skin to not even see any blood on it. The blonde took a second to think about it.

"It seems to not be as instantaneous as mine. It did take you almost half an hour to recover from a fatal gunshot wound to the head," he said at length. "It's one more thing to explore. Now I suggest you go upstairs and get yourself breakfast." Claire glared at him as she made her way out of the lab unsure as to even what had made her mad.

* * *

Three hours later and Claire was decidedly bored. She had eaten and she would be beyond glad when the groceries showed up. All that had been in the cupboard were instant ramen and a snickers bar. Surprisingly, the candy had been in date and she ate that while waiting for the ramen to cook in the insanely futuristic looking microwave. The entire kitchen looked like something out of a science fiction novel. Everything was chrome and black marble. The microwave had more buttons on it than a Swiss army knife and it was nothing compared to the oven. The dishes and everything had been covered in a layer of dust despite what she knew was the best attempts of whoever had been here last to prevent it. So, she had put all the dishes into the dishwasher in order to get the dust off them after eating her ramen.

Then she had run through the house pulling dust sheets off furniture. This ended in a coughing fit and the Red Queen had been forced to open all the windows in the place in attempt to help air everything out. But she had found two more bedrooms, three bathrooms, a formal dining room, study, and living room. The study was where she was currently, having just finished a marathon online shopping session using the same little black credit card Wesker had given her to use at the mall. She had looked at the name on it this time and couldn't hold in the snicker. It was one like the one that TerraSave gave her to use on business trips; which meant that it was monitored by the parent company. She wondered how the blonde was going to explain two weeks' worth of women's underclothes to his boss. She could just picture the face of the poor person in accounting. Eventually, the giggles subsided and she sprawled in the over padded office chair.

"God, I'm so bored," Claire whined looking up at the ceiling like it might have some answers. She had been through all the files on the computer that she could get into (the Red Queen seemed to be monitoring her activities and had been forced to bounce her out of her email twice before she gave up). She'd been everywhere in the house and had no desire to unload the dishwasher. That left the lab. She bolted out of her seat a wicked little smile on her lips. Wasn't this sort of what she had always wanted? She now had the innermost workings of a bio-weapons lab spread before her. She could learn everything there was to know here and be able to tell TerraSave and her brother the second she managed to go back to her life. Because there was no doubt in her mind, she would be going back to her life. Objective firmly in mind, she headed for the entrance to the lab, digging in her pocket for her clearance code.

* * *

Chris Redfield sat in his boss's office, frowning out the window. He'd just managed to get back on the ground from dealing with the outbreak in Korea and found one weird ass message on his cell phone from Claire. Something about not believing anything he was told. To make matters worse he had been calling both her cell and home numbers and getting anything. The cell was out of service and her home phone was nothing but a message machine. Then, he had gotten a call from his boss in DC demanding that he come straight there. He couldn't even get a hold of Jill to ask her if she knew what was up with Claire. The last he had heard, she was on her way back to the states from Korea. He knew that Claire could take care of herself and so hadn't been concerned. Until, that is, he got that message on his phone.

"Redfield," the man said as he came in and closed the door. "It's good to see you in one piece." Chris stood as the man entered, the old military habit having come back when the US government starting taking over the BSAA. Claire had told him this was a good thing, but Chris and Jill weren't so sure. Granted, it got them out on missions more often and they spent less time trying to actually run a 'business', but the man who had been put in charge gave him the chills. Not as bad as Wesker had in that last year, but still bad.

"It's good to be home, sir," Chris offered as they sat. He was getting a bad feeling about this. His boss leaned back into his chair, and Chris's eyes went to the retirement plaque. He had been a three star general before taking on this job.

"I'm afraid that I have some bad news," he began and Chris focused on him, his entire body stilling. "It's about Claire. She never made it home from Korea. We've officially labeled her MIA, but with the level of things in the area she was in, the chances of finding her alive are next to none." He gripped the armrest hard enough that his knuckles stood out in stark white. _Don't believe anything they tell you_. Claire's voice rang in his head. Now he got it. The message was dated the day before, which meant that she was still out there and that either his boss was lying or he didn't know. Someone was trying to cover something up. His instincts told him so. So he sat in a boiling rage, the man thinking it was at what happened, rather than at the idea that the government had done something to his sister. "You're understandably upset, so we're going to be giving you a few days off to deal with this. If you need anything I want you to know that we're here for you," the man said in clear dismissal. Chris stood and was pleased that the wood had warped where it had touched his hands. Something had happened to his sister and he didn't care that she had told him not to look for her. He was going to find her and find out what the hell was going on.

* * *

Wesker moved around the lab like he was born to it. He was in his element here-moving among the vials and machinery like some kind of twisted dancer to music only he could hear. This place had been as close to a home as he got and it had been that way for a long time. He had graduated college at seventeen and been snatched up by Umbrella before the ink was even dry on his diploma. He had spent a majority of his time in the lab, with his only other hobby being the peace of mind he had when making use of his marital skills. That was the reason he had been chosen for the S.T.A.R.S. project to begin with. Well, that and the fact that Umbrella wanted to separate Birkin and him. William really was the closest thing he had to a friend in his life and the two of them together had advanced the T-virus by leaps and bounds. They saw things that even Marcus would never have thought of in the potential of the virus. A dinging noise was heard and he turned around in a whirl of white lab coat to face a machine that was rapidly printing out something. He frowned as he held the paper up.

"Red Queen," Wesker said flatly and there was a tone to indicate that she had heard him. "Where's Miss Redfield?"

"Claire is in the third level attempting to get into the cell block," the little girl's voice stated. The paper made a crinkling noise as he crushed it in one hand.

"What?" he hissed all concern over the results gone. He was reminded of a book he had seen one of the kids in the hospital with when he had gone through there in order to collect some results. _If you give a mouse a cookie…_

* * *

Claire had just been wandering around the lab seeing what rooms she could get into when she found the elevator. Most of the rooms turned out to be locked, though she had found a gym she was planning on making use of later and a shooting range. There hadn't been any weapons in stock, but she figured she could likely talk Wesker around. The way that she tended to stumble onto shit like this meant that she needed to keep up her practice with firearms. At least, that was the plan before the elevator. The second floor had been full of little individual lab rooms and what looked like unused offices. The entire time she had been getting commentary from the Red Queen. She was proving to be quite talkative for a computer. It seemed that she had been ordered to answer her inquiries, even if she hadn't been allowed to open the lab doors. That was how she knew that the T-virus and all of Wesker's other viral samples were on the second floor in lab 208. Not that she could get at them…

Which lead her back to the elevator. There was one more floor. She popped her code in and hit the button. The elevator roared to life and she found herself in some kind of foyer. One door led to the left, another to the right, and both were thick steel doors unlike the air lock ones on the other floors. Claire walked over to the door on the left and keyed in her code, only to hear the hum that meant the Red Queen was materializing. She had taken to heart the bit about the brunette not liking it when she just spoke from seeming nowhere.

"You're not allowed in there, Claire," the little computerized girl said. Claire pouted at her and put her hands on her hips.

"Why? What's in there? Wesker's personal collection of B.O.W.?" she couldn't help but smart off, even if it was to a harmless computer. The little girl tilted her head.

"No, he didn't bring any of his bio-organic weaponry with him. It is too dangerous to ship on commercial carriers," the little girl's dress moved as she smoothed her hands along it in what appeared to be a nervous gesture. Claire was once more left wondering at the genius that had created her.

"So what's in there then?" she asked again.

"That is where prisoners are kept," the computer told her. The gears turned in Claire's head turned. If there was no one in the cells then she wouldn't be denied access. That meant there were people in there! She didn't even bother to think about it as she pulled a bobby-pin out of her hair. Jill had taught her how to pick locks one winter during a blizzard while Chris was stuck at the grocery store. She had also said that while most modern facilities used swipe card or code locks, running a bobby-pin down the swipe slot would often pop the door open. "I would not advise this," the computer said sounding worried. "Mr. Wesker will be most unhappy." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and snorted.

"Yeah, well, fuck Wesker," Claire tossed out her mind on just who could be behind those doors. What if Sherry was back there or some innocent people from the town? She couldn't just let them suffer until Wesker came along and decided that they would make good experiments. Speaking of Wesker, why was she smelling him? Hell, if she didn't know better she'd say he was right behind her. Freezing, she turned around and found herself inches from a black t-shirt. She swallowed thickly and looked up at him a nervous smile lighting her face. A black gloved hand was around her throat and lifting her in the air seconds later.

"I invite you into my home, clothe you, feed you, and you decide to disregard my wishes at the first opportunity?" Wesker snarled. He had always been told he had a temper. The time he had spent in S.T.A.R.S. had been pure torture and as soon as he had freed himself from he had vowed to never suppress it that way again. Claire felt her own anger peeking at his words. She had hardly asked him to do anything for her. Hell, he was the reason she was here in the first place. If he had never worked on the damn virus in the first place she would never had to escape Raccoon City, never had to chase Chris across the world, and never gotten infected. She glared at him and her eyes narrowed into slits. Fuck it. She was not about to let some bastard who was barely human push her around like this. Swinging her leg back to get momentum, she shifted her hips and kicked him in the face. The brunette ended up in a heap on the floor in shock. Both Wesker and she were too used to him being more powerful. This was fortunate for her, seeing as she put her entire strength behind the kick fully expecting it to have no effect. Unfortunately for Wesker, this meant he hadn't bothered to block it and with her new strength had been sent flying into a cement wall. Claire was quick to regain her feet as she watched Wesker pull himself out of the broken cement wall.

"You're going to regret that, dear heart," he snarled cracking his neck as he advanced on her. The brunette held a defensive stance; feet spread shoulder width apart for balance, arms across her torso, one high and one low. Most people thought that Chris was the reason that she had learned how to fight, but that wasn't true. The Judo lessons had been her idea and once she had realized how much she loved the martial arts more had followed. Chris had tagged along behind her as she wandered her way through everything from kickboxing to Tae Kwando. It hadn't been until after the Raccoon City and Antarctica incidents that she found her niche though. It had been from a war friend of Chris's. The man had gone to work for the Israeli Mossad-their version of the CIA. He had stopped in at the BSAA to do a demonstration and Claire had ended up hooked on the practical Krav Maga.

"Really? It isn't like I have anything else to regret, is it?" Claire snarled as he began to circle her. She watched him, being sure not to present him with her back. "It's not like I even want to be here. This is all your fucking fault anyway," she hissed her temper getting the best of her and causing her to lose her patience. She rushed him, bringing her leg up in a roundhouse. But the element of surprise was lost. He caught it and used it as leverage to toss her back.

"Language, Redfield," Wesker told her before he was on her. "What would your dear brother think if he could hear what was coming out of your pretty little mouth?" Claire ducked, some instinct screaming at her to move as he blurred with speed. His fist hit the steel door opposite the one she had been trying to get into and it groaned.

"He'd be sad that he wasn't here to tell you himself, you bastard," she used the second it took for him to pull his fist out of the door to launch a vicious kick to his kidney. It missed and he grabbed her upper arm that was already on its way to follow through with a punch from the missed kick. He twisted it around behind her only to be stopped from following through with the hold as her other elbow slammed into his solarplex. A cracking noise was heard as he slammed into the door. Wesker was surprised as he pulled himself out of the human shaped imprint on the door that he was having trouble breathing. More than likely she had broken a rib. When was the last time someone had managed to hit him, let alone break a bone? But he had little time to think on it as Claire was already trying to follow up on her previous attack.

"And what, pray tell, are you planning on doing if you manage to get into the cells, hmm? You don't know anything about the people in there. They could be worse than me," the blonde tyrant said using the momentum from her attempted charge to slam her into the door. The steel gave a whine of protest before it gave, electricity sparking along the frame from where the security panel had been. Claire let out a groan of pain as she leveraged herself up off the twisted remains of the door. Blood was running along the palms of her hands from where she had tried to stop herself resulting in the nastiest case of road rash she had ever had.

"I doubt that," she spat rolling to the side to avoid a well-placed kick. She failed to notice the sizzling sound coming from the metal door from where her bloody palm slid across it. But Wesker was on her before she could get her feet underneath her. He grabbed onto the front of her black vest and lifted her up, throwing her into the open door frame of one of the cells. A wrench across her shoulders indicated that he hadn't meant for her to go flying, but the material in the vest had given. There was a loud popping noise and Claire wouldn't be surprised if her shoulder was broken from where it took the impact. "What could be worse than the man who has killed and experimented on thousands? A man who was willing to kill his entire team, the people he had spent so much time building up just so he could get some data? How about one who injected himself with some kind of virus to gain power only to end up as a monster? When was the last time someone bothered to look at you without fear, Wesker?" She knew that she was treading on thin ice as he pulled her up by the hair. But she didn't care. These were the things she had been thinking since she had seen him on that island all those years ago. They were questions that she wanted answers to. The pain brought tears to the corners of her eyes as she reached up to grip a sleeve covered wrist. He forced her to look at his eyes, eyes that were shaded by black tint.

"I'd watch what I said, dear heart," Wesker hissed giving her a good shake. "You're a lot closer to this monster than you think." Claire felt her eyes widen as she looked at her reflection in his sunglasses. There was no color, but even she could see them shining with an eerie light. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO. Her mental repetition was interrupted as he dropped her. "Fuck," he swore looking at his wrist where she had been gripping him. The material surrounding it had been burnt away and the flesh was just hanging there. It looked like someone had splashed him with acid. It was seconds later that the automated sprinkler system came on.

"An acid spill has been detected," the Red Queen's voice stated. Claire blinked and looked around to see the metal door smoking. What had happened? She got to her feet cradling her shoulder just as Wesker appeared satisfied with whatever he had been doing to his wrist.

"Acid? Where did the acid come from?" she asked blinking the water out of her eyes. Wesker sighed, the water having cooled his temper and ran one hand through his hair. This was what he had wanted to talk to her about in the first place.

"That would be you, Miss Redfield," he said motioning to her palms. She looked at them, the blood being washed away by the sprinklers. "It turns out that your blood is highly acidic. That would be why you don't heal from flesh wounds as fast as I do. It's a defense mechanism." Claire looked at her hands in horror the memories of Alexia Ashford and her flammable blood running through her mind. "I would suggest you go upstairs and see if you can find something to change into. I want to go over the results of some of your blood tests." Claire felt her cheeks darken as his eyes swept up her soaked form. The jeans fit like a second skin and her t-shirt was white; it had turned transparent under the onslaught of the water. She was practically displaying everything. She quickly crossed her arms, failing to notice that the pain in her shoulder was gone. She practically fled the room, prisoners in the other room forgotten.

* * *

Reviews:

Tayzie-Lee: Still amazing?

Shadowninp: Hope you're still enjoying this. And I want there to be more good Claire/Wesker stories out there. The length of the chapters can attest to the chemistry between them

Project X: I get noteworthy and addiction in one review? That is deserving of a cookie. –offers-

Tinkies: Glad you love my descriptions. Sometimes I worry that I babble. And is this ASAP enough for you?

HappyThursday: Hope you continue to enjoy it and thank you for the praise.

Ceville: So am I still on par? Still intriguing?


	4. No Fear

A/n: Sorry the chapter ended up so short, but Leon was a nightmare to write and now that break at school is over my time got a lot shorter. So don't expect these rapid updates to keep up. Oh, and say hello to my lovely beta: Brushstrokefox.

**Ch 4- No Fear**

Claire shivered as she hugged herself in front of the dryer. The Red Queen had been nice enough to find her a robe, but the quest for other clothes turned up nothing unless she wanted to wear something of Wesker's. She had refused. She was mad at him for keeping people locked up down there. She could just picture some poor illegal aliens that had gotten too close to the house or that some coyote had sold. She didn't want to touch anything that had to do with the blonde tyrant at the moment. If it wasn't for the fact that she was so freaked out about her own blood she would've been out the door, government or no government. She could always flee to Mexico, learn Spanish and spend the rest of her days teaching underserved children. She'd just have to be overly careful with paper-cuts and anything else that might break her skin. She closed her eyes and sighed. It was a nice fantasy. She had already stopped by the bathroom to look at her eyes. They had stopped glowing, but were now like liquid quicksilver. They reflected light and if it wasn't for the fact that they represented what the virus was doing to her body, she would've found them pretty. There was a hum and Claire opened her eyes to see the Red Queen seeming to sit on the dryer. She was looking down at her hands in perfect imitation of a nervous child.

"I want to apologize for Mr. Wesker's behavior," she said, and the brunette felt her eyebrows reach for her hairline. She doubted that Wesker had asked the computer to come apologize for him considering that he likely felt that he was in the right. "You have to understand, Claire," the computer looked up at her, "his level of interaction with others has been very limited for a long time. It got worse with the death of Doctor Birkin and Sherry going away to school." And this, Claire decided as the buzzer went off on the dryer and the Red Queen relocated herself so she was standing next to it, was one of the things she would never have expected. She was happy to hear, however, that Sherry was away at school somewhere, and not locked in a dungeon somewhere.

"You're making excuses for him," she said as she began pulling her delightfully warm clothes out of the dryer to put them on. "He chose to spend his life in a lab somewhere instead of out in the world. He chose to make his only interactions with people those of death and manipulation." There was a pause and Claire wondered if computers required time to think. Maybe it was a behavioral thing that had been programed in? The developer seemed to have spent a remarkable amount of time making sure that you thought of the computer as a little girl first and a computer second.

"You know so very little about him," the computer said shaking her head, and making her virtual hair move. "If that were true, why hasn't he locked you in one of the cells downstairs?" Claire frowned as she put her feet into her boots. She had been asking herself the same question. The Wesker she had thought that she knew would've put her in there if not in the beginning, then certainly after the incident downstairs. Hell, he could've knocked her out, and stuck her in one of those cyrostatis tubes. She finger combed her hair as she thought. What was the computer trying to tell her, besides the fact that Wesker operated like an ever changing rubik's cube? The brunette let out a sigh and headed towards the lab.

* * *

Wesker sat behind the metal desk in the room he used as an office, a file spread before him. It held the mish-mash of number and figures that compromised most of the results from Claire's blood work. There were even black and white pictures of her cellular structure paper-clipped in. But he didn't see any of it. He had memorized the contents of the file as the results had come in, even the notes he has put in neat block writing in the margins. No, what had his mind so far away as he waited was another image-the one of a young woman fighting without hesitation. The quiet was broken by the sound of papers wind-milling through the air. He let out a sigh of frustration as he moved to pick the papers up. He had known that Claire was strong before that fight. He had been aware that she was decent looking before she had seen fit to try to send him flying through a steel door. But now, when he thought of her it wasn't test results, figures and hypothesis that came to mind. No, it was her breathing hard, staring at him in horror, soaked to the bone.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and had the Red Queen play back the fight and he had only been mildly surprised to find that the two of them had been moving at speeds faster than the computer's camera could capture. He was certain that she had not been able to do that before the fight. Wesker used his thumbs to rub his temples as he put the papers back on the desk. He doubted her rate of infection could be increasing. The blood work had shown that almost all her cells showed clear infection markers. Which led him to the question of why she didn't display other signs of infection? They could both pass for human if it wasn't for the eyes and even then she was closer to human in appearance. He frowned deeply as an idea occurred to him. The virus had changed both of them on a cellular level. He hadn't just been talking when he said that he was no longer human. What if the virus was…?

The smell of cinnamon and sugar invaded his nose cutting his thought process short. He looked up to see Claire leaning against the doorframe and he felt a weird sense of déjà vu. He motioned for her to take the seat across the desk from him, noting the loss of the elastic holding her hair up. She refused to look at him as she sat and he found it amusing. He could tell from the tension in her body that she was likely trying to keep her temper in check. He leaned back into his seat and hoped she'd be able to understand what he was going to tell her. Chris, for all that he was a good soldier, was not the brightest person on the planet. Unless it had to do with weaponry or big explosions, it went in one ear and out the other. From what he had seen, Claire was just as impulsive as her brother if significantly smarter.

"Miss Redfield," Wesker began only to cut off as her eyes snapped up to him.

"Could you please not call me that? It makes me want to look around for whoever would be dumb enough to marry Chris," she said with a sigh. He raised an eyebrow at her words. Could they possibly have the same opinion of her brother? Not likely.

"As you wish, dear heart," Wesker said watching her mouth twist in distaste. She'd get over it. "I have all your tests back with the exception of your genome mapping. Nine of every ten cells in your body are positive for infection. But," he cut over whatever she was going to say. The look on her face was pure horror. "It's not T-Veronica. It may have been in the beginning, but it has since mutated beyond that. This is likely due to the 'antidote' you took. It was enough to offset the symptoms, but not enough to purge the virus from your system. You likely created anti-bodies which forced the virus to go underground, so to speak. It mutated into such a form that it could assimilate into your cells without displaying any of the markers your white blood cells looked for in infected cells. Unfortunately, this means that it encoded itself into your DNA. This is the reason that you didn't mutate like the normal infected. It didn't overwhelm and reconstruct your DNA so much as it seems to have _added_ itself to your DNA. As for how much of itself it added and what that addition will do to you other than the obvious, we have to wait for the genome mapping to finish. The good news is that you aren't contagious in the normal sense of the word. One would have to dilute the virus out of your DNA in order to infect someone else. It's actually not even a true virus any longer." Claire blinked as her mind tried to absorb what she had just been told. It sounded pretty close to what she had overheard while held by the government. But Wesker was taking it one step further.

"So you're saying that this is permanent? That there is no way to cure this?" Claire asked slowly. He put his elbows on the desk and folded his hands together so that he could put his chin on them. She was essentially everything that Wesker and Birkin had been working so hard towards. She was displaying perfect acceptance of the T-virus and all its gifts. Yet, instead of being overjoyed or marveling at her new powers, she wanted to go back to the way she was-pathetic and mortal. It made no sense to him.

"Would that be such a bad thing, Claire?" he asked softly looking at her over the top of his sunglasses. "You've made it your life's goal to help other people and to put an end to viral weaponry. Now you can go directly into the hot zones without worrying about petty little things like dying." Wesker watched as she narrowed her eyes thinking about what he was saying before shaking her head.

"I'm not you, Wesker," she said at length. "I'm not even my brother. I'm not meant to clean up the infection itself. I'm supposed to help people put their lives back together, supposed to prevent the use of viral weaponry to begin with. I don't want this." Claire did her best to look in the blonde's eyes as she spoke, willing him to understand her. "I chose a different path on purpose. If I have to live with this, I will. But I need to know, Wesker, is there a way to reverse this?" Wesker leaned back in his chair. He knew better than to offer her false hope, but at the same time she was so sincere. He had a feeling that he would never understand her.

"I don't know," he told her with a sigh. "The chances of it being remotely possible are small enough to be insignificant. I can't be sure of anything, however, until I finish with the gene mapping. It should tell me precisely where the virus mixed with your DNA." Claire nodded at his words, her mouth a thin line.

"If you can cure me, will you?" she asked pleased at how her voice just barely trembled. This had been a thought lingering in the back of her mind. Even if Wesker had the ability to fix her, would he? She was just a sample to him-an experiment he had not started but one that he was studying. She could understand him finding a cure just to say he had one, but having him actually cure her with it was another matter. He could take all the samples he needed, produce a cure and just leave her the way she was. Or worse yet, he could give her to the government. Wesker watched her fidget slightly as she waited for an answer, his own mind turning the idea around in his mind. The entire idea of wanting to go back to being without everything the virus gave him was so utterly foreign he had trouble grasping it. But it wasn't like it would matter either way. He'd have to kill her eventually if she stayed the way she was now-she would be a challenge to his own power. If he could find a cure, she would die when his plans came to fruition anyway.

"It's your life, dear heart," he said flatly. "If it's within my power to return you to your former self and you wish for me to do so, I will. You have my word." Claire had no way to explain the reason that all the tension melted out of her body at those words, just as she had no way to explain how his scent made her calm. She knew that he would likely do everything he could to wiggle out from what he had just said, but it made her feel better all the same.

* * *

Leon sat in the cramped living room of Chris' apartment and wished the other man had taken up his offer of using his place instead. The condo Leon rented would've comfortably fit the five of them without having to make Barry lean on the doorframe to the hallway. As it was, he was standing next to the TV with Jill and Carlos taking up the love chair and Chris pacing. Leon watched through his bangs as Chris relayed the reason he had called the Raccoon City Survivors Reunion. The information had him frowning. He smelled cover up, but more than that he was concerned for Claire. The two of them had been dancing around each other for years. But between their jobs their own inability to make a real effort, nothing had happened. And now, Chris was saying that something had happened to her.

"What do you need us to do?" Leon asked almost afraid to meet the other man's eyes. Chris had practically given his blessing to the two of them, and Leon knew the urge to protect that he felt was nothing compared to that of Claire's brother.

"We need information," it was Jill who answered standing up and moving so that she could put her hand on Chris' shoulder. "Chris and I will check with TerraSave, and Barry has access to all the records at the BSAA. Carlos, you can search the grayer areas. You've got your contacts in the government itself, right Leon?" He nodded as he noticed how lost Chris looked. There was determination there too and he was reminded of another Redfield who had worn that look. They'd get Claire back for sure.

* * *

Captain Mallory's heels clicked on the polished marble of the Capitol Building. The place was practically empty this time of night, which was why she had been summoned to see Senator Ron Davis now. The man was one of the few senators who knew the whole story behind the Raccoon City incident and was one of the strongest supporters of Project Valkyrie. He was most displeased with how things were progressing in the search for Brunhild, and he had demanded she give him an update in person. Her fingers just about crushed the file she held as she thought of the rotund, disgusting man who almost single handedly held the purse strings on her project. She paused and knocked politely plastering a fake smile on her face. The door was open to reveal a man built like a linebacker who had allowed his body to long go to fat. His hair was graying and he wore a black suit, the jacket discarded. He looked both ways in the hallway before motioning her to come in.

"Why is he here?" Mallory snapped as she walked in and found herself looking at a tall, slender Englishman. His hair was silver and he wore thin framed glasses. His suit was dark gray and he was sitting just in front of the desk, a glass of what she knew was scotch in one hand.

"Insurance," the senator said as he closed the door behind her. "You're not the only avenue we have for this kind of research, Mallory. Dr. Downing is one of the top researchers for WilPharma, but I guess from your reaction you already know that." Mallory looked down her nose at the man before taking a seat next to him in front of the desk.

"The insurance is unneeded, Senator Davis," Mallory told him, pointedly ignoring the other man. "It is only a matter of time before Brunhild is back in our hands."

"Oh?" Downing said tilting his head and forcing her to acknowledge his presence. "Have you managed to locate the ever allusive Albert Wesker, then?" Mallory narrowed her eyes at him in a glare.

"No," she said tersely. She hadn't heard anything from HUNK, but he had said not to expect anything until he got the asked for results.

"Then I fail to see how you plan on getting the test subject back," the Senator said leaning back in his chair. The navy officer smiled wickedly.

"You overestimate this man's ability to hide himself, especially when we have someone who knows him intimately," Mallory said sliding the file folder across the desk. The senator opened it and frowned.

"This is a police file from Raccoon City. What does this Chris…," Mallory jumped in to cut off Davis. She would not put it past Downing to try something if he knew the names of all the players.

"Baldur," she put emphasis on the name, "is one of only four people to survive the twisted games Wesker played in a mansion outside the city. He worked with the man for close to two years and from his recent activity, we can determine that he is looking for the man. We have put him on leave due to the fact that he is related to Brunhild. Even now we are making sure the information we want is being funneled to him." Mallory had worked hard to make sure that everything looked like Wesker had taken Claire from the beginning. It would enrage her brother and, if the report she had managed to get her hands on about the siblings was anything to go by, he would stop at nothing to find Wesker. Once he found the man and eliminated him, the military could come along behind him and snatch up his sister. Two birds with one stone. It was brilliant.

"You better hope this works, Capt. Mallory," Senator Davis said closing the file and sliding it back across the desk to her. Mallory smiled viciously.

"It will Senator. It will."

* * *

Claire was still bored and to make matters worse, she now had more thoughts in her head than she could reasonably deal with. Sitting on the couch in the living room, one leg propped up so she could rest her head on it, she keep thinking over her memories of Chris and her other friends. Would she ever be able to see thing again? Would they be able to look at her without seeing a monster? Because there was no way she could hide it now. She had gone to check her eyes again, and they were silver with just hints of the blue-green they had held originally. She was half convinced that the color she saw was just them reflecting the color of the bathroom walls. She hugged her leg and sighed doing her best to keep the tears that were threatening at bay. She knew that Wesker had cameras everywhere, and she would not cry while there was a chance he could see. But it was so hard when she felt so alone, hell, she hadn't even spent one day in this place and it felt like years. The doorbell rang and her head whipped up. Who would come knocking here?

"Will you please get the door?" the Red Queen asked not bothering to materialize as she was keeping track of something going on elsewhere. "It seems the groceries have arrived." Claire blinked and stood up. She had completely forgotten that they had ordered groceries. She ran to her room and grabbed her sunglasses. They last thing she wanted was to scare off whoever was at the door with her freaky eyes.

"Just a minute," she called running down the hallway completely unaware of just how fast she was moving until she tried to stop. She barely missed crashing into the front door. She hadn't had the ability to move that fast before. She was going to have to work on keeping herself at acceptable speeds. Claire planted a smile on her face as she opened the door.

"Finally," the woman on the other side of the door said putting one of the brown paper bags in her arms before she had a chance to react. "I was worried no one was coming, chica." Her voice was loud and thick with a Spanish accent as she bent to pick up another bag. The woman was short with wildly curling black hair and dark skin. She looked like a younger Selma Hayek even if she was only wearing a pair of tattered jean shorts and a pink tank-top. "You going to let me in or what?" She asked and Claire felt her cheeks color as she moved into the house. The woman followed her into the kitchen and they put their bags on the counter. "You living here by yourself, chica? I gotta tell you that there are some nasty rumors about this place," the woman said as she began to help her put the groceries away.

"Really?" Claire asked nervously as she shoved the milk into the refrigerator.

"Yeah," she said putting a strand of hair behind her ear. "The people in town say this place is what gave birth to la Chupacubra. They claim that a few years ago something came out of this place and killed a whole bunch of vacas. Spooked the vaqueros something awful," Claire barely understood what she was saying with the odd mix of Spanish in her words. She turned from putting away some spices to look at Claire, who was standing frozen. What could she really say? The chances are it was likely true.

"Do you believe that?" she finally settled for asking as she worked through the cold groceries.

"Nah, chica," she said waving her hand in dismissal. "I think it's just something the coyotes invented to scare the poor suckers they take across the border." She finished putting the groceries away and smiled at Claire. "Do you have a name? Maybe we could hang out if you swing by town. I run the tienda." Claire bit her lip as she closed the fridge. She was desperate for a friend at the moment, but she had a feeling Wesker was not going to be happy with her. Well, screw Wesker. He was still on her dog list after this morning.

"It's Claire," she offered with a smile and held out her hand. The woman took it and smiled back. "I'm Rosa," she rolled the r as she said the name and Claire hoped that she wasn't expecting her to be able to do that. Her high school Spanish had been terrible. She let Claire's hand go and dug into one of the pockets on her shorts before producing a small card. "That's my number if you ever want to hang out, chica. But I need to go. Gotta feed the niños." Claire nodded as she took the card wondering how a woman so young could have more than one kid. Her eyes flicked to her hand, and she noted the lack of a ring. It wasn't her place to judge, though.

"I'll be sure to give you a call," the brunette said as Rosa walked out of the house to get into a beat-up old ford.

* * *

Wesker decided as he got off the phone with Ada that HUNK and his minions had stewed enough. Ada had just informed him that the military was on the move. He wouldn't be surprised if every police station, police officer, and two bit bounty hunter had pictures of the two of them. The numbers Ada had given him were enough that he was going to have to start watching for a leak in the company. They hadn't mentioned him in the warrant, just her. He knew why. The company was protecting him, and if people got a whiff of just who they were dealing with, no one would take the job. Wesker had a reputation in the underworld. He slid into the infirmary, the same room he had drawn Claire's blood in earlier in the day. He pulled out a syringe and filled it with a semi-clear yellow liquid. He stuck it in his coat and began walking towards the elevator.

"Red Queen," there was a chime of acknowledgement as he put his pass-code into the keypad next to the elevator. "What is Miss Redfield doing?" The elevator opened and he stepped inside hitting the button that would take him to the cell level.

"She is putting the groceries away with the aid of the local store owner," the computer told him. Wesker ran through his memory of the people who lived in the little town before he came across the attractive woman. She had been an agent for Umbrella selling unsuspecting illegals to them for research. Her test subjects had always been among the best that they purchased, though most of that had ended now that Umbrella was on its last legs. It was a good thing he had signed on with a different company when he did.

"Good," Wesker said and walked out of the elevator, lifting one lip in disgust as the mess the two of them had made of the second set of cells. "Make sure she stays busy." He typed his code into the door on the right and entered the cell area. It looked like the labs upstairs, all stark white and sterile. The doors were metal without handles or visible locks. The wall of the cells that faced the hallway was a one-sided mirror. He stood in front of the cell holding the man who was simply known as HUNK. He had taken the helmet off revealing a rough sort of handsome face with a light scar across his nose. He was sitting next to the wall facing the mirror cleaning his nails with a hunting knife. The blonde put his hand against the panel next to the door, and it opened just long enough for him to step inside. The man didn't bother to look up at him.

"I wondered how long it would take before you came to visit," he said in a voice harsh likely from so many attempts to strangle him. The knife disappeared in his hands as he looked up at Wesker, who stood with his hands behind his back. He looked into eyes the color of liquid chocolate and found no fear there. He found very little there that he was used to. There was no nervousness, no fear, not even simple curiosity. It was like he was some kind of blank slate.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Death?" Wesker asked the man who was watching him from his position on the floor. He leaned his head against the wall behind him.

"You know the answer to that. She's upstairs more than likely scared out of her mind by this whole thing. How did you ever get her to come with you?" he smirked as he noticed the tension in the tyrant's body. So he was wondering that question himself, interesting.

"Who are you working for?" Wesker asked moving towards him so that he was within reach. HUNK gave a little chuckle and smirked at him.

"I never kiss and tell," the man said, and the blonde moved so that he had Hunk by the neck in the air. But he didn't struggle. He hung limply from the other man's hand the smirk on his lips growing to a full blown smile. Wesker frowned as he wondered if the other man was mad. It would explain a lot. The reason that he took these suicidal missions was because he wanted to die. Well, there were a lot worse things than death. Wesker tossed the man at the wall, and he slid down it with a sick thump. But he was already sitting up as the blonde pulled the needle out of his pocket. He smiled cruelly as he watched HUNK's eyes glue to the piece of medical equipment.

"You may be willing to die, Agent HUNK," he said pushing the plunger lightly to make sure there was no air in the needle, "But there are much worse fates than simple death, hmmm? Tell me who you work for, and I may just grant you the death you crave." To his surprise the former Umbrella agent started to laugh.

"You want to know who I work for, Wesker?" he said standing and using the wall as support. He wasn't badly hurt, but it was clear that he was in pain. "I work for the highest bidder and I always get the job done. I doubt a little thing like infection would stop me. I survived Birkin after all." There were questions Wesker had about that. He had seen the results of the G-virus, and knew that the infected never stopped until their prey was confirmed dead.

"Then, I guess that will make me the highest bidder," Wesker said as he blurred his movement to sink the contents of the syringe into the side of the man's neck. HUNK reached up and yanked the spent syringe from his neck. "That's not a virus, Mr. Never Die," he watched as the man's body seemed to turn to jelly, and he pitched over face first. "It's a rather nasty poison. It won't kill you, just leave you paralyzed and still able to feel everything. I would strongly suggest you give me a name before the effect becomes permanent." There was more laughter from the man on the floor as Wesker squatted.

"Mallory," he said between his laughter. "Alica Mallory."

* * *

Reviews:

Shadownip: This chapter ended up shorter than the others for some reason. –hand behind head nervously- I'm glad no one seems to find anything wrong with Wesker. I always have to beat his muse to get anything out of it.

Ceville: I'm glad you like the differences in their viruses, though they were different to start with. T-Veronica was a different strain of T and as such would have different results. I actually played with the idea of her having Alexia's flaming blood. But decided that would be too much. I loved the Red Queen in the movies and felt that she needed to some play with Wesker. I love how Claire thinks she's a harmless computer.

Kymyin: Next chapter-

Project X: -dances- Am I still achieving greatness? And here's the next bit.

Weskerism1: That's it. The story's over. Mission has been achieved. I actually got someone to want to go back and play the games? Best compliment ever.

Miry5: Sorry the chapter ended up so short. This chapter just did not want to cooperate. Leon made me want to pull my hair out.

JennyT: You sound so surprised by how good it was. And I am honored that you think this is an original take on the pairing.

Spark of insanity: Hey, I read your stuff! Reviews are wonderful inspiration, though I've gotten enough lately not to have to put a warning on the top. Thanks so much for fav'ing and such though.

Tinkies: I have way too much time on my hands to work on this, though it will be going down now that school is back in session. So it will be slower. My beta will likely whip me into it though. And Wesker and Claire going from fighting to normal totally normal in my head. You spend so long fighting things eventually it's not that big a deal to fight anymore. The fluffiness? What is this fluffiness? –evil grin- Thank for the fav.


	5. One Step Closer

**Ch 5- One Step Closer**

Claire woke the next morning feeling like she had been hit full on by a Mack truck. She groaned as she pushed herself into sitting position. No doubt this was the result of getting smacked around by Wesker the day before, but shouldn't the virus have taken care of this? She stood and frowned as she forced the muscles in her calves and thighs into action. As far as she knew the damn thing only healed injuries and soreness wasn't exactly an injury. It was likely the result of going so long without any physical activity, which was something she could easily remedy via use of the gym in the lab. Sighing, she shoved on socks and boots, and wrinkled her nose in disgust, at the fact, she was going to be forced to work out in her makeshift pajamas. But there was a washing machine that was perfectly workable, and she doubted that Wesker was going to leave his work to watch her, so lack of sports bra would not be too much of a problem.

She crossed her arms as the chill from the lab level hit her. She knew that the place was kept cold on purpose. Something about the temperature helping to keep bacteria from growing as rapidly as it could in warmer temperatures. So, she didn't bother to complain too much. She passed by the door she knew led to the room Wesker had taken her blood samples in and stared at the little bit of glass in the upper corner of the door. The light was on. That likely meant the blonde tyrant was in there. Maybe she should stop and ask him if they could get some weapons for the firing range. It would be one more thing to keep her from growing bored. She could always threaten to go gallivanting through the town if he refused. Mind made up, Claire punched her code into the side of the door. There was a little whirling symbol to indicate that the machine was thinking before the words _access denied_ flashed across the screen. She glared at the door before walking the few feet to the window next to it. What she saw had her temper boiling over. There was someone in there. The man was hooked up to more machines than she was sure had been in there to begin with.

"Red Queen," Claire ground out between clenched teeth. The hologram of the little girl appeared next to the door. "Where's Wesker?" her voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke.

"Mr. Wesker is in the control room…," whatever the rest of Red Queen's sentence was, it was lost as Claire marched over to the door and began to bang on it, already guessing that he code won't work.

"Wesker!" she yelled all the soreness in her limbs forgotten after seeing the plight of the man in the other room. Just what was he doing to him in there? "Open this door, right this second! I want to know what you're doing to that man! WESKER!" She raised her hand to level the door if she had to only to find her fist hitting a solid black kelvar vest. There was a grunt from the hit as she looked up to find Wesker looking down at her without his glasses. His hair was out of place-it looked almost like he had been running his hand through it too much for it to stay in place or that he had been sleeping. The long black coat he normally wore or its white lab coat twin was gone. He was simply in dress pants and vest. This was the closest she had ever seen him come to looking disheveled and the sight had her frozen.

"Was there something you wanted, Miss Redfield?" he asked his voice a tone lower. She swallowed thickly as he raised an eyebrow in amusement. It was the amusement that snapped her out of the semi-trance his appearance had put her in.

"Don't call me that!" Claire said straightening to her full height. It wasn't anywhere near his, the top of her head just reaching his shoulders. "I want to know what you are doing to that man!" She pointed down the hallway as if he wouldn't know who she was talking about. His eyes left her face to look where she was pointing before coming back to look at her.

"I'm treating him for poisoning," Wesker told her before turning around and heading back into the dark room that was the Red Queen's control room. Claire followed him, not registering what he said in her anger.

"What gives you the right to…," she trailed off as she saw him grab his sunglasses off what looked like a cot along one wall of the room. She had interrupted him from sleeping? He slept? That was such a human thing, something she thought that he was without. She blinked and his words registered. "Oh…"

"Yes, oh, dear heart," Wesker said sounding more than a little amused by her as he put the sunglasses on. "Was there anything else I can do for you before I get back to work?" Claire frowned at him, but what could she say? Wesker was actually doing something nice for someone. But she knew better than to allow herself to believe that everything was as it seemed.

"I want to meet him," she said doing her best to look him in the eye despite his shades. He studied her for a moment.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Claire?" he asked moving to where she was. He was close, invading her personal space, forcing her to inhale his scent. She recognized what he was doing. She had seen Chris use his size to intimidate others before. She wasn't about to let this man do that to her. She looked up at him and glared.

"Never more certain," she hissed before turning on her heel and walking towards the door. She paused when she got to the doorway and looked over her shoulder at him. His hands were crossed across his chest and he was merely watching her. "I'd also like you to stock the firing range. If I'm stuck here the least I can do is keep in practice." He watched her leave tilting his head to the side. He had known that Claire Redfield was like her brother: short fuse, every thought that entered her head came out of her mouth, and she was undeniably soft. The fact that she asked to see HUNK, completely unknowing of his circumstances demonstrated that. But she was also strong; strong enough to stand up to him. He had seen leaders of entire countries quake in fear at the sight of him. And she had the nerve to make demands? It was quite amusing. Maybe he would even let her see HUNK once the poison was purged from his system. Not without telling her what he had done, of course. It was time she met the real man responsible for what happened at Raccoon City.

* * *

Two hours later found Claire leaning against the tiled wall of the shower, eyes closed in ecstasy as the water washed away the dried sweat on her body. She had pushed her body to the limit, partially to see what it could do, and partially because while she was forcing herself to move she didn't have to think. Thinking, she was learning, was not something that was good for her here. She simply thought too much and ended up chasing herself in circles. She sighed and turned the water off. Stepping onto the floor mat she hoped her clothes would get here soon. She had tossed the pajamas/work-out clothes into the washer before getting into the shower and had washed her clothes from the day before last night. She pulled the clothes on and left the bathroom pulling her hair up into a ponytail in order to keep it out of her way. The second she hit the door another smell hit her nose. It smelled good and spicy. She hadn't had a chance to eat yet and it made her stomach grumble in need. She put one hand on it and headed down the stairs wondering who was cooking.

Claire followed her nose into the kitchen to a sight she had never thought to see. Wesker was standing in front of the stove sautéing what looked like a combination of meat and vegetables with something else cooking next to it. He had his back to her and an open bottle of white wine on the counter. The scene was utterly domestic and completely surreal. Sure, she figured he had to eat sometime but she never would've thought that he ate normal food. In her worst imaginings, she could see him eating the infected like a larger-than-life monster himself.

"It is impolite to stare, dear heart," he said without turning around and turning something off on the stove. Claire frowned at him and crossed her arms to lean against the doorway.

"I thought you were above such human things as eating," she said before she could stop herself. Great, now she sounded like some kind of bitch. His eating habits were really none of her business. He turned around after dumping what she assumed was pasta into a colander in the sink.

"One of the results of my virus is a slow metabolism," he said conversationally pulling a wineglass from behind him and pouring some from the bottle. "I need to eat only once every two to three days." He set the glass on the island and slid it towards her before returning to the vegetables which he flipped using a deft turn of his wrist. Claire took the wineglass and raised it so that she could smell it. She doubted he would poison her but there was little doubt in her mind that he would knock her out if he thought it more convenient. She sipped the wine, the light fruity taste dancing on her tongue.

"Well, that explains the pasta for breakfast," Claire said watching him as he got out two plates and silverware without taking his eyes off the skillet on the stove.

"You don't have to eat it if it is not to your liking, Claire," Wesker told her flatly as he removed the skillet from the heat. She felt her cheeks color at his words.

"That's not what I meant. I've had odder things for breakfast. I just…," she was rambling. She snapped her mouth shut recognizing the slight tilt of the corner of his lips as a sign of his amusement. He filled two plates with the pasta and what was in the skillet before handing one to her. He made no move to head to the dining room or sit at the island. Claire set her glass on the island and carefully twirled a bit of pasta onto her fork. She bit into it and closed her eyes in pleasure. Damn, that was divine. Not that she would ever tell him that.

"I got your genome results last night," Wesker said the clear note of amusement in his voice telling her she had failed to keep her delight to herself. "It looks like the virus didn't alter your DNA the way I was thinking. Rather than change the sequencing or add on to your normal strand, it bounded its DNA with yours." And Claire wondered how it was possible for him to lose her so completely while he was speaking English. Her confusion must have shown on her face because he sighed and tried again. "Normal DNA represents itself with a double helix pattern kind of like a ladder twisted into a corkscrew. Yours is like two ladder that share one leg-one set of 'rungs' belongs to your DNA the other set to the virus' DNA." Well, the explanation gave her a better picture, but not much else.

"So what does that mean?" she asked finishing the last dregs of her pasta and moving towards the sink.

"It means your chances for a 'cure'," he said putting his own dishes into the sink and earning a glare he didn't see. Honestly, the dishwasher was like three more inches away. "Are nearly non-existent. I would have to break apart the molecular bonds that held your DNA together and then somehow put the right pieces back together." She frozen in the process of closing the dishwasher and looked at him. Her chances of going back to a normal life were gone. The blow was harder for her to deal with than she thought. She closed the dishwasher door in a controlled movement, before beginning to make her way to the hallway. She needed to be alone with this news right now. He reached out before she could move more than a few feet and grabbed her wrist. "I'm not finished, dear heart," she looked up at him and wished for the first time that he wasn't wearing those damn sunglasses. She'd give anything for some kind of hint as to the nature of the news he was about to give her. "While not curable, it should be possible to suppress it. Cells naturally suppress the parts of their DNA that they don't need in order to do their jobs. That's how you get red blood cells and white. They all have the same DNA, just different parts turned on and off," he let her go as he finished and she rubbed her wrist absently. It wasn't like he had hurt her. She watched with unseeing eyes as he left the kitchen to go back to the lab. Why was he still offering her hope?

* * *

Wesker had barely set foot in the room he had set up as his actual lab when his phone rang. He pulled it out and put it to his ear as he went about turning on the various machines he had shut down last night. He would see about making her the suppressant for no other reason than the fact that he wanted to see if he could do it. He was also working on meticulously reconstructing her virus for further use and study. Not that she needed to know that. He had a feeling she would make his work most difficult if she knew about it.

"Miss Wong," he greeted the only person who would be calling him right now. Sherry should be in class this time of the morning and he knew that they wouldn't call him over something like her getting sick.

"I've got that information that you wanted on that woman," her voice was slickly amused.

"Good," Wesker said absently as he slid a slide under one of the microscopes behind safety glass. He knew it was better to be safe than sorry when dealing with viruses. "You know where to send it."

"I'd like to discuss payment," she said and he felt an eyebrow climb towards his hairline.

"Name the price, and it will be wired to your account," really, the woman was just getting too expensive. There was a mirthless chuckle on the other end of the phone.

"I don't want money, sir," she said flatly. "I want information-a very specific piece of information." Wesker felt his eyes narrow at her words and was forced to pull his hands out of the mitts in order to make sure he didn't drop the slide in shock. Ada was a good agent precisely because she didn't ask questions. She followed his orders to the letter, did everything he asked, and never divulged his information. Why? The perfect blend of fear and money, now she was trying to bargain with him?

"What piece of information would that be, Miss Wong?" he kept his tone carefully in check as he spoke. He had a feeling that the information she asked for would be very telling.

"Was Claire Redfield the living sample of T-Veronica?" she asked him and he frowned. He knew Ada would not take any job that put her into direct opposition to him. Her survival instincts were very well tuned, but the fact that she was asking…

"Can I ask just what your fascination with the young Miss Redfield is?" Wesker needed to know what was going on and Ada had been his eyes and ears for so long. He was beginning to see the folly of allowing her to become that. If she turned on him who would he have?

"There are two separate bounties out on her, sir," Ada told him. "Both of them are beyond anything her brother or his friends could put together unless one of them was holding on the rest of them. I've managed to trace one to the US government and your Mallory. The other I'm still working on. But this is all you're going to get until you answer my question." Wesker sighed and close his eyes. Two bounties? Claire was getting hotter by the minute. Soon he was either going to have to move the two of them to somewhere more secure or dispose of her.

"Not anymore, Miss Wong," Wesker settled for. Let Ada take that how she would.

"What?" the woman asked and Wesker sighed.

"The answer to your question," he growled patience stretched to the limit. There was a reason he thought humans were beneath him. So slow on the uptake. "I expect the information in my inbox within the hour." He hung up before she could say anything and turned back to his slide. He needed to get his hands on what he was thinking about calling the T-Claire Virus. He needed to do it before events forced his hand.

* * *

The building was new pristine and white. It screamed money, power, and capitalism. But that was not what made it different than the other buildings in the Santa Fe skyline. No, what made it different was the sudden appearance and influx heavily armored men, trucks, and barricades. News crews were as close as they could get making a sub-barrier to prevent the curious from seeing very much. In the midst of this swarm of humanity, Capt. Alica Mallory stood. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a tight bun, and she wore tactical gear. The blue digital camouflage was hot under the southwest sun, and the rig holding her weapons was not the most comfortable weight. But she had to be here for this, it had taken her team forever to find one of his puppet companies that were almost guaranteed to have live samples of his work. Horizon Inc. had fit the bill. She could see the interpretative sunrise that was their logo as she pushed open the glass lobby doors. The place was swarming with police and the National Guard. She got a sharp salute upon entry, and a young ensign approached her, clearly her escort.

"Capt. Mallory," he said falling in step with her as she walked through the lobby. "We managed to locate several live samples, though no human ones. We're having trouble moving them out, because of the press." Mallory stopped to look at a paper that some chief needed signed.

"What do you mean?" she asked beginning to walk again. "Is the press carrying guns? Threatening to shoot you or the samples?"

"No, sir," the ensign said looking slightly confused.

"Then I fail to see what the problem is," Mallory snapped as she stopped walking.

"But they'll see the samples," the man said going pale at her glare. Mallory massaged her temples. How stupid were these people? The whole point of this raid was to let Wesker know that they were looking for him, and that the little bit of protection he had within the government was gone. Maybe they would even get a little good press from it for seeming to crack down on companies that were doing illegal viral research. None of that would happen if the samples were hidden from the press.

"That's the point," she snarled and the man scurried away to inform the rest. She looked up at the ruby colored sunrise and saw only a bloody sunset. She smiled at it. Brighter horizons were certainly on the way for her.

* * *

Claire sat in the living room a bowl of popcorn in her lap. She had managed to finally figure out how the TV worked after enlisting much aid from the Red Queen and had been happy to learn that they had satellite. It was after dinner and a Friday night which meant there would be plenty of movies on. She wondered when the last time she had actually sat and watched TV was. Her life was full of trips for TerraSave, and jetlag had long since become a dear friend. When she wasn't doing that she was filling out paperwork, or advocating for people in those out of the way countries that no one really wanted to help. Being the only Raccoon City survivor to go into this line of work, she was also the public face of TerraSave a lot, not that she minded it. It was her helping people, which was all she wanted to do. She wondered if she would ever be able to do that again. She sighed and turned on the TV. What she saw was enough to just about cause her a heart attack. It was a pharmaceutical company surrounded by reporters, and the military was taking out things that haunted the deepest darkest parts of her memory in cages right in front of reporters. The bowl of popcorn was forgotten as they brought out a Licker in an _open_ bar cage like it was some kind of lion. She watched in abject horror as its tongue slid out to grab one of the soldiers by the neck. It shook him like a demented ragdoll before the man's comrades shot the hell out of the creature. It gave a cry as it died, but Claire knew from the way the man landed he was long dead. A woman stepped onto screen. The woman was pretty if severe looking in her uniform. She began yelling at the men and Claire watched in horror as the Licker she thought dead began trying to get up. She raised a hand to cover her mouth, only to let out a little scream as one of the side tables made impact with the television screen.

"That BITCH," Wesker roared from behind her, and Claire turned to look at him in shock. There was a piece of paper crumpled in one hand, and his chest was heaving with rage. He didn't seem to even notice her sitting on the couch. "Three years! Three years' worth of work gone," he growled the last and she watched as he swept a bunch of bric-a-brac onto the floor. Seconds later it was followed by his fist impacting the dark wood of the shelving it had sat on. Wood splinters flew into the air, a few harmlessly bouncing off her. She had never seen anything like this before. He was like some kind of human tornado as he swept about the room in wave after wave of destruction. She could hear him talking about some woman and research in between the incoherent swearing. This rage, it was almost inhuman. _But he's not really human, is he? _Oh, God, when had she started to think of him as something other than the monster from her and her brother's nightmares? She saw him reach for a bookshelf, and she felt herself snap. Her body moved of its own accord, and she found herself next to him with a vice grip on his wrist.

"That is enough," Claire snarled as he looked up at her. She could almost feel the rage flowing off him, but she refused to back down. "You're acting like an overgrown two year old." He sneered at her.

"Me?" Wesker said yanking his arm from her grasp. "Like you would know anything about children, you're the one who so foolishly left a little girl in the care of the foster system to selfishly chase your brother. Damn near killed him while you were at it." Claire reacted like she had been slapped, but she stashed the lid on her temper. He was trying to get a rise out of her. He needed an object for his rage to focus on and she refused to give him that. She needed a coherent man in order to find out what was going on, not a murderous tyrant.

"Maybe," she said getting into his personal space, "but at least I have someone to go running after. I doubt any of your precious experiments would bother to do that for you. I can almost see why you have no friends. Do you tear the place apart every time something doesn't go your way, or is this a special occasion?" He refused to back down from her and their chests were nearly touching as he looked down at her.

"You have no idea had close you are to being hurt, Miss Redfield," Wesker growled it and Claire swore she could feel the vibration in his chest. She glared up at him. There was a tension here as she looked up at him. This rage was so deep; it was like she could get pulled in and never let out again. She wondered what made him so angry. There was a sharp edge to his scent as she stood there breathing it in-it was like all the jagged edges of the rock candy were sliding down her throat. Here, she had the feeling, in this place between rage and the sharp snap of action she had found the man behind that carefully controlled manipulator. But he was waiting for some kind of response and as much as she wanted to stay here and study him like the puzzle he was, she couldn't.

"Then hurt me," Claire whispered thickly. His hand reached out and grabbed her shoulders. For one split second she thought he was going to pull her closer, but it was hard to read anything behind those sunglasses. Then she was airborne, and her back was coming in contact with what was left of the TV. She let out a cry as shards of glass from the screen pierced her back. She landed and rolled in the junk that was littering the floor. Her head hit the corner of a bookend and blackness took her.

* * *

Claire woke to the bright lights of one of the lab rooms. She was lying on her side, shirt discarded and clad only in her rather lacy bra. It took a second for the pain of an incision followed by something probing at the wound to hit her. When it did she let out a whimper and rolled over to see Wesker leaning over her, his glasses long gone. She felt her cheeks heat as she jumped up and just about ran from the lab table she had been lying on. Wesker sighed and for a second Claire swore she saw every one of his years cross his face.

"Sit down, Claire," he said motioning with a pair of tweezers in his hands. He wore a pair of latex gloves and a scalpel sat in a small tray next to him. Another tray was on his other side and it held dozens of small pieces of glass. She ran her hand across her back as she remembered the fight. She let out a little whimper of agony as she brushed one of the cuts that still held glass. Things made sense then. He was pulling the glass out of her back. But why? Last she remembered he had been pissed at her. She decided she didn't need to know as she sat on back down. It wasn't like she could take the glass out herself. She bit her lip against the pain as he settled into a rhythm.

"That was foolish," Wesker said flatly nearly startling Claire into moving. "You knew I was in a rage." She felt like rolling her eyes and would've if it wasn't for the fact that he chose that second to go after a particularly deep piece.

"You were going to destroy the house," she told him as though it made perfect sense.

"The house can be replaced, dear heart," he said and she heard the sound of glass hitting all the other little pieces. She heard what he had left unspoken and she couldn't help the warmth it created. She could not be replaced. Claire inhaled and closed her eyes. His scent was normal again; the rock candy and ozone thick and calming. She found herself lulling into the pattern of pain and wondered what it said about her. She barely noticed as he finished. "Don't do that again," Wesker said standing and she rubbed her arms from the cold as she heard him dispose of the gloves with a set of snaps.

"What was that all about anyway?" she asked looking around for her shirt.

"That would be the US military reminding me that they know who took you, dear heart," he said sounding completely cool. There was no trace of the murderous rage from before, and Claire found herself wondering if she had imagined the moment in the living room. But she couldn't have, the glass he had spent time pulling out her back attested to just how real it was. "They are trying to annoy me into giving you up." Claire narrowed her eyes as she found what was left of her shirt. The once white material was everything from pinkish to red from her blood and there were numerous cuts in the material of the back. What was with her clothes getting destroyed every time she had a tussle with Wesker? Maybe the universe was trying to tell her something? She shook her head and sighed.

"Do you have a shirt I can borrow?" Claire asked as the blonde as he made to walk past her out of the room. He turned and looked at her for a long moment. She couldn't help the heat that rose to her cheeks and flushed along her neck. She knew with the skin tone she had that the color would run all the way to the tops of her breasts, but refused to cross her arms. It would make the problem worse and tell him how uncomfortable she was. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it to her. She caught it and wasted no time in pulling it on. It dwarfed her, but she could hold the front closed and cover everything that mattered.

"I came upstairs to tell you that your clothes had arrived at the delivery entrance. I put the boxes in your room," he told her before disappearing into the hallway. Well, that was nice to know… She hadn't even been aware they had a delivery entrance.

* * *

Wesker poured over the information that Ada had managed to dig up on Capt. Mallory. Most of it was useless and utterly boring. She had been born to a long line of military people and clearly groomed to one day become an officer. She had graduated from Harvard with a degree in microbiology. She had spent the last seven or eight years making a name for herself. She was so squeaky clean it hurt. No husband, no kids, not even a boyfriend. He folded his hands and looked at the monitors in the dark room. He had lost a lot of money with the way Horizon's stock had bottomed out, but that wasn't what really bothered him. The company had merely been one of the many that made up the Organization. There were plenty more a lot further on the research he needed done. No, the loss of the company would've happened sooner or later. What bothered him was the sheer nerve of it. She was about to learn why his name was the most feared in the underground, by the time he was through she would be begging him to kill her. He scrolled through his email until he came across a piece that would normally go into his trash bin. It was perfect. When was the last time he had gone to the American Society of Microbiology's Annual Gala? Mallory was member, after all. He knew just how frustrating it could be to have what you wanted dangled in front of you. He wondered what the look on her face would be. He was sure it would be perfect.

* * *

Reviews:

Spark of Insanity: I think I'm just going to avoid Leon. And Ada. The two of them deserve each other. As for Mallory, I have habit of making sure people get their just desserts. I've been told I make excellent villians…

Tinkies: I think my sweet comes out more as twisted as evidenced above. Wesker, in my opinion is not capable of having a normal relationship. He's brain just doesn't work that way.

MIRY5: I try to hit around 6k a chapter. So anything shorter than that is a short chapter for me (like this one). Hope it's still holding your interest.

JennyT: You said it was gold. I'm gonna heart you forever. And Wesker is still an asshole, he just is a practical one. Flies and honey.

Eventide: Can I just say how much I love your work? I would love for you to post another chapter. And I hope this wall-o-text wasn't too insurmountable. I'm glad I've managed to get you to read even the little bits with no Claire or Wesker. I try to keep them to a minimum seeing as the main characters have no idea any of this is going on. I'm glad you liked HUNK. We will be seeing more of him once he is no longer paralyzed. Wesker has schemes. I'm glad you feel my characterization is good. I worry about it sometimes.

Project X: -takes bow- Thanks so very much. You have no idea how much reviews mean to me. There are the food that feed this author.


	6. Disturbia

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful beta, brushstrokefox, without whom ya'll would have 2,000 words instead of over 10,000 and Wesker would be using words like ya'll (seriously, I'm not allowed oreos when trying to write him anymore). So thanks, Nai-chan!

* * *

Ch 6 Disturbia

Time, Claire decided, was a funny thing. The past two weeks had gone by in a blur. Oddly enough, a routine had been established, and that was the only reason she even knew that time was passing. Mornings were spent in the gym running through katas and sparring with Wesker. He had shown up the third day she had come to the gym; scaring the shit out of her when he walked up behind her and corrected her stance for a throw. She had told him off for correcting her and he hadn't done anything but watch until the next day when she had destroyed the punching bag with a well-placed kick. Covered head to toe in the mix of sand and other materials, she had been pissed. Wesker had then calmly asked her if he volunteered to go a few rounds with her if she would lay off the gym equipment. She had taken him up on the offer and won only one of the three rounds. She wasn't a match for him in strength, she was just too petite for her to ever compare to him on that level, but she was _faster_. Plus, she had more agility thanks to years of yoga. It was just a matter of making use of it. She was getting better at controlling it.

So, she was surprised when she entered the gym in a pair of grey, stretchy capris, black sneakers, and one of those tops that doubled as both a sports bra and top, and found him missing. He was almost always in the gym earlier than her. She had even caught him once or twice running through tai-chi stretches on the blue practice mat. It was odd to think of such a violent person doing something that was meant to be almost strictly defensive. But she was digressing; eyes that had returned to some semblance of normal scanned the room with a frown. Maybe he was just late, she decided as she took her shoes off on the side of the mat. She didn't want to think about the only other reason she could come up with for him being late. It would mean that something had gone wrong in the lab here.

* * *

Wesker, however, was dealing with a problem, though not of the nature Claire had envisioned. There was no outbreak, not there nor in any of the labs that he monitored. His projects were coming along on schedule or better. Mallory had hit a dead wall after her little bit of showboating with Horizons. The Organization had raised its defenses around all the little companies that made it up in a way that was reminisce of mafia families. No information went anywhere without express approval. Normally, this would've mattered to him. Normally, he would be holed up in a lab so far under the radar, conditions were that way normally. But this time, he wasn't and the Board was pissed. They had caught wind, naturally, of his involvement with Mallory's need to expose them. The only good thing to come out of their knowledge of just what he had gotten his hands on was the disappearance of the second bounty on Claire. They had her already in their minds. They were just pissed he hadn't said anything. To make matters worse, they were threatening to demand he hand her over to someone who could spend more time with her.

He sneered and leaned back in his chair as he watched the stock market fluctuate. It was petty on their parts, but a good point. He had been neglecting his other projects to deal with her. He kept up with updates, true. He even sat in video meetings with those he had left in charge. But it was not the level of hands-on that he normally displayed. Wesker was a control freak by nature, and he could not understand why he was willing to loosen the reins seemingly for her. It irritated him almost as deeply as the summons sitting in his email inbox. The Board, which consisted of the heads of the different companies that made up the Organization, had demanded that he bring her with him to some kind of business meeting/dinner in Phoenix to see if his claims were real. It was enough to make him want to kill them all and just take charge himself. He heard leather creak and had to remind himself that he was not capable of being in two places at once. If he killed them, he would have to devote too much of his precious time to running companies and not his research. That was the point of recruiting these people in the first place. So, he was going to have to go and think up some reason for Claire to come with him. He doubted she would be willing to go meet the Board and let them poke and prod her like an experiment over dinner, which meant he needed an excuse.

* * *

Claire got out of the shower and into a pair of jeans and red t-shirt. A frown marred her face as she caught the smell of Wesker cooking in the kitchen. It was his day to cook breakfast by her count, but that wasn't what annoyed her. What annoyed her was the fact that he had skipped out on their morning spar. She had been left to run through her list of katas and demolish two of the punching bags in her need to vent the aggression. Now he was cooking them breakfast like he hadn't just missed the only little bit of human-and that was stretching the definition of human a bit-contact that she got in this place. She was practically seething in anger as she made her way to the kitchen. It wasn't even like she wanted _his_ attention so much as she wanted _someone's_ attention. While she had never counted herself as a social butterfly, she had always been surrounded by people-Chris, friends, people at work… The lack of contact was driving her nuts, and he had the nerve to take what little bit she was giving away and then act like everything was hunky-dory? Fuck, no.

The kitchen looked like it always did in the mornings he cooked-supplies neatly cleaned up from where he had done prep-work, two places on the island with silverware, a wineglass filled with the fruity wine he favored placed near the edge for her. His smell mixed with the scent of the same pasta dish he cooked whenever he bothered to eat and she could almost feel the need to hurt something. He gave no indication that he even knew she was there as she picked the wineglass up and downed its contents in one long swallow. Rather than set it down, though, she tossed it at the back of his head. Wesker's movement was too quick for her to follow as he tilted his head to the side in order to dodge it and it shattered against the hood over the oven. She noted the deliberate way he turned everything off on the stove before turning to look at her. She felt her nails biting into her palms as she noted the thick line of blood just over his right eyebrow from where the glass had flown into it from impact. He took the sunglasses off slowly, clearly trying to rein in his temper with the movement.

"Can I ask what that was for, dear heart?" Wesker said slowly and she bit back the growl in her throat. She was pissed, and he was so bloody calm. She felt her temper spike at his attitude.

"Because you are a motherfucking bastard," Claire snarled almost shaking in rage. Why the hell was she so angry? She didn't question the mood swing; just went with it. She watched him raise an eyebrow and felt her temper go with it. "You just come up here and act like nothing's wrong! You bastard, you fucking stood me up!" She had moved so that she was in front of him now and jabbing a finger into his chest. Wesker looked at her in surprise and grabbed the wrist of her offending finger.

"I wasn't aware we had a date," he said simply and watched as her eyes grew round for a second before narrowing in a glare. She began trying to pull her wrist away from him.

"We didn't, you jerk," Claire hissed. That wasn't what she had meant at all! "You didn't show up this morning for sparring. I ended up reducing two bags to sand!" She finally got her hand free from his grip. She stood on her tip-toe to try to look him in the eyes. Their red and orange light didn't bother her at the moment. "Like I would want to go on a date with you! Even if it wasn't for the fact that you've killed thousands and are my brother's worst enemy, you're hardly my type. I like my men to actually have hearts," she was breathing heavily by the time she finished. She could almost see a tick in his jaw as he forced himself to hold his temper.

"I assure you the feeling is quite mutual, Miss Redfield," Wesker said moving away from her. "I'm hardly attracted to little girls with bleeding hearts." The sneer in his voice was unmistakable. She raised her hand to slap him, but he caught it and leaned in. For one split second, she thought he was going to kiss her to prove his point. But the second passed and he used her arm to shove her painfully into the counter with the sink. She let out a grunt of pain, but from all the time she had spent across from him on the mat she knew that this was not even a tenth of his strength. "I suggest you clean this mess up now that breakfast is inedible thanks to the glass," he told her as he released her arm. He walked away before pausing at the doorway and speaking again. "You now owe me a meal, dear heart."

* * *

Claire huffed as she began disassembling the handgun on the counter in the gun locker off of the firing range with the intent of cleaning it. She could not believe the nerve of him! She had been forced to take apart the top of the stove in order to make sure that none of the glass was stuck under the burners. It had taken forever. And to top it all off she couldn't come up with a good reason for her to lose her temper like that. She was normally really good at keeping her temper in check over the little things. She sighed as she forced the little pipe cleaning down the barrel of the gun. He had been really nice as of late, too. She had woken up one morning last week to find the firing range fully stocked without a word from him. He tolerated her presence in his lab when she was well and truly bored. Hell, he had even let her look at her own cells under the microscope. If it hadn't been for the fact that they were her cells, she would've found that beyond cool. Sure, they had had little fights over the last week, but that she knew was normal when living with someone even if you hardly saw them.

Deft hands began putting the gun together as she finished her task, pausing to make sure the slide moved cleanly and didn't need any more oil. She didn't know why his parting words bothered her so much either. She was more than willing to cook him something, and it was about time he ate something besides that damn pasta. It was good, true, but man could not survive on pasta alone. Though, a tiny voice reminded her, he wasn't exactly a man. That was another thing that was bothering her. She had to remind herself of that a lot more now than she did when they first interacted. She figured it was likely from the fact that she didn't want to think of herself as anything but human and it was hard to think of him as a monster when they were so much alike as far as genetics went. She put the gun back into its case in the locker and sighed. Really this was all so damn confusing. There was a static hum and Claire turned from where she had been staring into the locker like it held the secrets of life to see the Red Queen.

"Mr. Wesker told me to inform you he expects you to be ready to leave for dinner at five," the little girl said her fake hands clasped in front of her. Claire looked at the computer in puzzlement. They were going out to dinner? "He says that he has laid out appropriate attire in your room."

"Where are we going?" she asked in confusion clamping down on the part of her that wanted to rage at the idea of him picking out her clothes.

"I am not sure of the exact destination, Claire," the computer said tilting her child's head to the side. "It is four-fourteen now. I strongly suggest you head up stairs to get ready." The brunette let out another puff of air as she headed towards the door. Just great.

* * *

Wesker leaned against the doorframe as he waited for Claire to show up. He wore a black suit the custom tailoring making it hang on him in a way he knew made him look good. He hadn't bothered with a tie, leaving the top two buttons undone. The only splashes of color in the entire ensemble were the two rubies that flashed on his cufflinks. He knew they would be the same shade of red as the dress he had picked out for Claire. A lot of posturing was done in the business world based on looks alone, and while she would have no clue about what she was walking into, he wanted to give her some advantage. He needed the other company heads to side with him about keeping her. He was not at the point where he could just tell them all to fuck off yet.

He raised an eyebrow as Claire appeared in the hallway. Her hair was pulled up in some kind of braided bun that left her delicate neck exposed. There was no jewelry as she hadn't ordered any and he hadn't had a chance to get his hands on any. But she didn't need it. The cocktail dress was ruby red with the fabric artfully wrinkled. It cut her mid-thigh with a neck line that rested just short of being indecent. Silver beading looped underneath her breasts before moving up like a chain to become the straps that held it up. A pair of strappy red stiletto heels gave her the illusion of legs that went on forever. The only thing that ruined the image she presented was the nervous way she was acting under his scrutiny.

"Is something wrong, dear heart," he asked as he opened the door. She rubbed her arm absently as she walked out onto the porch.

"I feel ridiculous," she told him, and she did. She couldn't remember the last time she had worn heels this thin and tall. She felt like she was going to tip over any second or at the slightest push. This did not appeal to her sense of survival and self-preservation. Even when she had been forced into going to fundraisers for TerraSave, she always wore something that she could fight in if she had to. Her life had been crazy enough that she felt a little bit of paranoia was justified. The way she was dressed up made her feel like some kind of glorified doll, and she hated it. It reminded her of when she had been younger and had tried so hard to fit in with the other girls in high school. They had always been prettier and smarter than her. It had taken years before she realized that she didn't have to try to be like them. The memories that dressing up like this invoked were not good, but she wanted to make up for her behavior earlier.

"You look lovely," Wesker assured her as he closed the door behind them and locked it. Claire couldn't help the little smile that his words caused as she took the time to look him over. She wondered if it was the virus, but he hardly looked like he had aged any since he had been captain of STARS.

"You don't look half-bad yourself," she told him as she followed him towards the hummer. She wobbled as she tried to walk on the uneven gravel and let out a squeak of surprise as he threaded her arm through his. She was thankful for the aid as she made it the few feet to the vehicle. These things were dangerous.

* * *

They hadn't bothered to talk until Claire realized they were pulling into a small air field. Wesker drove right into the hanger and she looked at the place in amazement the question that had been in the back of her mind since the Red Queen had mentioned dinner came tumbling out of her lips as he parked.

"Where are we going, Wesker?" she asked hoping that she would not have to go through airport security. She had no ID or anything. He undid his seatbelt and looked at her over the top of his sunglasses.

"There is an excellent restaurant in Phoenix," he said handing her, her own pair of sunglasses. She slid them on a look of puzzlement on her face. They were flying half-way across the state for dinner? Sure he had plenty of money, but that didn't make it any less silly to her. She bit her lower lip as she followed him out of the car. Thankfully, the concrete was easier to walk on as she made her way to the jet. It was big, white, and looked fast. A set of stairs were pulled down and a man in a captain's uniform came down them to greet them. He was older with grey hair and lines on his face. The smell of decay that hit her nose had her blinking for a second before she had a hold of herself.

"It's a pleasure to serve you again, Mr. Wesker," the man said as he shook hands with the blonde. "And you've brought a lovely lady as well. A pleasure," he said and Claire offered him a smile as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. Most of the time the gesture irritated her, but she had been away from people for so long that any contact was welcome. He let her hand go and helped her up the stairs. The plane was small and luxurious done in whites and creams. She settled into one of the chairs and Wesker sat opposite. She couldn't help it as she ran her hands over the softness of the armrests repeatedly.

"One would think you've never been on a plane, dear heart," he said and she glared at him stopping the movement.

"Shut-up, Wesker," she said crossing her arms and sinking into her seat. "I'm just trying to enjoy myself. I've been locked up tighter than Ft. Knox for over two weeks. Cut me some slack." Wesker merely raised an eyebrow, but he refrained from comment for the rest of the flight. It was best that she got this out of her system now. She was not going to be happy when she figured out what was going on.

* * *

Leon looked at the video section of his phone, knuckles white. Hunnington had dug it up from some friends. He had been pulling every string he could get his fingers on, calling in every favor he had, and a few he didn't trying to get information on Claire. It had turned up largely nothing. It was like she had disappeared over the pacific. TerraSave claimed that she had never made her appointment with their doctors in order for her to be tested for infection. It had been two weeks since the phone call and all of them had hit respective dead ends. All except for Carlos who had disappeared off the radar, in order to pursue his leads, then someone sends this to Hunnington with his name on it. He hit replay the second the video ended to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him. It was a security camera, and the quality was lousy. But he knew just from the way she moved who the woman was, he watched as she was shot. Watched as she fell into the arms of the blonde black clad man, he had only met the man in passing maybe once or twice in the halls of the Raccoon City police department, but he was not someone you easily forgot. He saved the video with a flick of his fingers and dialed a phone number he had learned by heart in recent weeks. This was going to kill Chris.

* * *

It was the limo that tipped Claire off that they were not just going out for dinner. One thing she had learned about Wesker in living with him was that he _liked_ living in the shadows. He _liked_ the fact that no one but him knew he was the one pulling the strings. He _liked _the look on people's faces when they discovered how they had been manipulated. He _liked _watching people squirm in his web. So the fact that a big, shiny limo was parked right next to the plane when it landed set off a thousand alarm bells in her head. She still got in it, though. She knew better that to cause a scene in public. No sooner had Wesker given the driver the go ahead to take off than he was handing her a sheathed knife complete with a thigh holster. She took the knife and glared at him.

"What the hell?" Claire hissed gripping the knife hard enough she heard the leather it was wrapped in creak. Wesker just leaned back in his seat and looked at her over his shades.

"Calm down, dear heart," he said stretching his legs out the picture of leisure. "We're still going to dinner. We're just going to be taking care of some business while we're at it." Claire glared at him.

"And the knife?" she asked shaking it in front of him.

"I merely wanted to know that you were armed if things were to go awry," the blonde man said like it was the most normal thing in the world. She raised both eyebrows and began wondering what on earth this 'business' was. "Pouting is most unbecoming, dear heart. It's just a business meeting where the main topic of discussion happens to be you. Just because I happen to be working on a genetic suppressant for you doesn't mean I'm not still responsible for all my other projects. They are not happy with the amount of attention I have given you. They've called a meeting to discuss having someone else handle your case." Claire looked at him like he had grown a second head.

"You don't think you might've said something to me about this?" she asked him untangling the straps on the holster. "I mean, it only affects whether or not I end up in some lab somewhere." She had them untangled now and could feel color rising in her cheeks as she realized it was an inner thigh holster and she was going to have to put it on with Wesker sitting across from her.

"I hardly doubt that will happen," Wesker said with a snort before pointedly looking out the window. Claire hiked her dress up and quickly began securing straps. "Unless you do something utterly foolish. I merely told them that if you were taken from my custody you would become volatile." She paused in her work and looked up at him wondering how long it would take him the recover from a knife through the forehead.

"So what? They think you're my Prozac so I don't go nuts and kill everyone?" she said as she finished and pulled her dress back down. The blonde turned his attention back to her.

"It's logical," Wesker said simply and she let out a growl of frustration. "We could tell them it's a lie, and you could end up in a lab somewhere like a common licker or hunter-only brought out when something needs to be taken care of." There was no need to tell her that it would never happen. Wesker was not about to let the genetic anomaly that was Claire Redfield into anyone else's hands. She frowned at him before sighing in defeat. This dinner was going to be torture.

* * *

And it was proving to be. The restaurant was nice, and the room they had been ushered into for cocktails before dinner was really rather pretty. If it hadn't been for the fact that she was forced to deal with a bunch of sleazy CEOs and their pet scientists without the aid of the cocktails floating around on the waiters' trays she would've actually been enjoying herself. Wesker kept her close to his side as he spoke with the other eager men and women in technical terms that sounded like a completely different language. She had tried to remember names in order to be able to give them to Chris or Leon once she got free, but they were just given so fast. She ended up being forced to catalogue them based on how they looked at her. The CEOs saw her as money in their pockets, and the scientists all looked at her like what she imagined kids in a zoo looked at a trained chimp like. They were polite and kept their hands to themselves, but she could almost see the twitch of their fingers from the want to poke and prod. The smell of decay and sanitizer was thick and she desperately wanted a drink. She was relieved when it was determined that she wasn't going to harm anyone and the wives were brought in. Everyone left for small talk and she was finally able to snatch one of the fruity drinks off a passing waiter's tray.

"So how did you snatch him?" a young woman asked and Claire looked at her in confusion. The woman was pretty with high cheekbones and long blonde hair. She looked like she had been poured into her dress and held a thin flute of champagne in her hand.

"How did I snatch who?" the brunette asked the other women began to crowd around her. The woman motioned with her head, and Claire was glad she hadn't bothered to take another sip of her drink. Her eyes followed the woman's direction and she found herself looking at Wesker. He was watching her as he talked to some man with silver hair and glasses. She frowned. "No. Not just no, hell no," Claire said shaking her head and sipped her drink. "I wouldn't touch him like that with a ten foot pole. Our relationship is strictly business." The woman gave her a little knowing smile.

"Several of us having been doing everything we can think of to get so much as a look," another one of the woman said. Claire couldn't believe this. These women were so pretty, and they seemed to be very interested in Wesker. Didn't they have any idea what he had done? Well, they had come as escorts or were wives of the men who had just spent the last twenty minutes asking questions about her in a language as foreign to her as French. Maybe they just didn't care?

* * *

Wesker listened with half an ear as Downing went on about his efforts to create a vaccine for the T-virus. His efforts were foolish. He knew just how quick the virus was to mutate without the aid of something making sure that only the strongest survived. Maybe it would have its purpose though. A stronger strain was always welcome. Mostly, he watched Claire. She was surrounded by most of the females in the room, the only exception being Excella Gionne. The woman made it a point to stay away from them as the only female CEO in the room. The woman was a shark and he had plans for her.

"Wesker," a voice said at his side and he looked at the man who had almost appeared next to him. He was young with a black military air cut and bright blue eyes. His suit was grey pinstripes and he was confident in his movements.

"Doctor Jenkins," the blonde said in surprise. The other man was one of the up and coming in the field that he had snatched to work for him.

"Please call me Eric," he said and his eyes flicked to Claire. He didn't seem to care that he had cut off Downing who was glaring and moving on to speak with Excella. "Utterly remarkable, isn't she?"

"Very," Wesker said as he sipped from his champagne wondering where the other man was going with this. Jenkins gave him a little half smile before sighing.

"I don't suppose there is any chance that you'd be willing to allow someone else a chance with her?" Jenkins asked and the look Wesker shot him was enough to have him raising his hands in defense and backing up a little bit. He'd heard that the blonde could be possessive when it came to his experiments. There were rumors about him killing his mentor in order to make sure that he would have perfect access to the T-virus. "You have to admit our luck though that the virus choose a female," he continued on undeterred. He had expected the answer. Anything else would've been odd, but it was not going to stop him from sharing his thoughts on the matter. "With a female the chance of replication of her condition is easier. We have all the eggs in her ovaries to use as potential. Diseases carried on the X chromosome have a higher chance of carrying onto the children. And with a possible living incubator the chances of the fetuses being viable goes up." The blink Wesker gave was long and slow as he thought. He had spent a majority of his life and time dealing with the virus in terms of weaponry not in the creation of super soldiers. That had been closer to what Birkin had been interested in. When he looked at Claire he hadn't thought in terms of replicating the results, but in terms of isolating the virus and seeing if it had BOW applications. Mostly, this was because if it could be replicated in others the same way it was in her there would be others able to compete with him, and he wanted to keep his advantage. Wesker was nothing if not calculating and the idea of someone being on par with him physically was not something he would tolerate. He barely tolerated Claire's ability to occasionally best him in a sparring match as part of finding just where her limits were.

"The virus leaves the infected sterile," Wesker replied softly, "except in the case of the G-virus which replicates by finding a blood match." He had done a few bits of research into whether or not things like hunters, lickers, and Cerberus were able to breed. All of them ended in miserable failure. He had been forced to come to the conclusion that the virus made the infected sterile and chalked that up to the reason that he had practically lost all form of sexual desire.

"But that was due to the fact that T is able to infect others through body fluids. What need would it have of preserving the host's ability to produce offspring?" Wesker's eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses as he listened to the other man. He said that like he knew that Claire was not contagious the way that other infected were. He had not mentioned that in the brief he had given earlier knowing that it would make her less vital in their eyes which would give credence to their calls of neglect. Before he could say anything, they were called into the dining room for the actual meal. He made a note to find out what he could of the younger man's activities.

* * *

Claire decided that she was going to have to find some way to get Wesker back for this. She was seated between him and one of the CEOs. The man was thin with grey starting to set in at the roots of his hair. The suit was so new she bet that if she looked hard enough she would find the little strings from the price tag. His features were sharp and his eyes were like looking into two blackholes that saw nothing but money. Wesker had more emotion in his eyes with the damn sunglasses on. The worse part, however, was the overly cared for hand on her thigh. It was soft, the lack of callouses making her want to gag. It was clear this man had never had to do an honest day's work in his life. The only reason she hadn't hauled off and punched the man already was the fact that she knew what was at stake if she 'misbehaved'. She had no doubt in her mind that the man would deny touching her, especially since his wife was on his other side. So, she gripped her fork a little harder than needed and tried to glean information out of the conversations going on around them.

Wesker was engaged in trying to ignore the overly flirtatious behavior of Excella in order to listen to what she had to say. The mind was sharp even if she seemed unable to take no for an answer in other areas. Normally, he wouldn't have a problem taking someone like her to his bed. She was smart, attractive, and ruthless. But he knew she would try to use the bedroom to control him, and that was not something he wanted to deal with at the moment. He watched as Claire picked at her salad out of the corner of his eye a slight frown appearing on his face as he noticed the white of her knuckles as they held her fork. He imagined that the conversations going on around her weren't the most interesting or deep things she had ever heard with her lack of knowledge on most things scientific, but he could think of no reason for her to be distressed over them. She should've been delighted by Downing's work as the man sat across the table from her and was talking to Jenkins about it.

"Is everything alright, dear heart," Wesker asked as Excella finished her monologue on the acquisition of former Umbrella research labs. With Umbrella going under thanks to Chris and Jill's efforts they were short selling everything not nailed down. Claire's eyes flickered to his over the rim of her sunglasses-they had made her put them back on after everyone had examined her eyes earlier-and he was surprised by the level of venom in them.

"Just peachy," she said in a false voice. He decided he would have to inform her of just how bad an actress she was before she put on anymore performances. He could tell that she was lying without having to check for a tell. Claire felt her eyes narrow as the man on her left took her words as a cue to inch the hand just under the hem of her dress. She stood abruptly and felt everyone's eyes on her. She forced herself to inhale in an effort to keep a hold on her temper. "If you'll just excuse me for a moment? Nature calls." She took off in such a hurry she failed to notice the fact she had not released her grip on the fork.

* * *

Claire washed her hands in the overly ornate bathroom. The entire place was pretentious-more of a symbol of how much money a person made than anything else. She sighed as she looked at the mangled remains of her fork. The metal was bent and twist to the contours of her fist. She could hardly give it back to the staff looking like that. She didn't know how she was going to make it through the rest of dinner with that prick sitting next to her. All her normal avenues of getting rid of him were rendered unusable. If she harmed him she would be labeled unstable and they would demand she be sent to some lab and doped up while they did whatever they wished to her. A smirk lit her lips as the irony of how hard she was working to stay with Wesker hit her. How much of her life had she spent running from him or one of his projects? Hell, he was practically the monster under her bed, and she was stifling her need to throttle someone so she wouldn't leave his side. She checked her appearance in the mirror and grabbed the fork as she realized she had likely spent all the time in here that she could.

The brunette made to open the door only to have it open of its own accord to reveal the CEO from before. What the hell? She blinked at him as he stepped inside still trying to process what he was doing.

"That was smooth thinking with the bathroom bit," his voice was high and cold making her hand clench around the fork. "Though we don't have much time before people start to wonder where you are." He moved forward to touch her and she danced out of his reach by reflex. It hit her then what he was doing here. He thought that she had left so that they could have bathroom sex like she was some kind of cheap whore. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Hell no.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she ground out between her teeth her hold on her temper getting smaller. She made to go around him.

"Now, don't play that game," he began and grabbed her upper arm. She reacted without thinking, her instincts screaming for her to not let this bastard touch her. She stabbed his hand with the fork hard enough that she felt the prongs touch her skin before he released her. Claire looked at him as he cradled the wounded hand close to his chest and felt horror rise in her as she caught the smell of his blood. Her nostrils flared as she took a step towards him before catching herself. His blood smelled like thick rich chocolate and some part of her wanted a taste of it. Wesker had not mentioned this when he spoke about the way humans smelled. She back up until she hit the swinging door. She needed to get out of here. Now. She hit the hallway and fled, not paying attention to the wait staff or the guests out in the actual dining room.

* * *

Wesker knew something was wrong the second she left, but had let her go. Maybe she just needed a moment to compose herself? But when Ratslinger, the CEO of QuickChem, rose a few minutes later with the same excuse he couldn't help but make the connection. The man was a pervert and letch; there had been reports of him asking lab techs to strap down female infected so he could have his way with them. The blonde had tolerated it because of the fact that the man had some of the best labs for test result turnaround. Besides, the man would end up infected and dead at some point without his 'help'. He just about swore under his breath about failing to anticipate this. He made his excuses and headed down the empty hallway towards the restrooms. Claire's scent was thick in his nose with an odd tang to it. But it was nowhere as thick as another smell that reminded him of the pasta dish that had been ruined earlier in the day. He was feet from the women's room when the door opened and he found himself looking at Ratslinger who was cradling a paper towel wrapped hand. There was a dark stain spreading from it and Wesker knew that the other man was bleeding. But that was not his concern at the moment. He was far more interested in the whereabouts of Claire.

"Where's Miss Redfield?" he asked inhaling again to find that her scent was fading from the area.

"That bitch stabbed me!" Ratslinger said clearly enraged.

"No doubt you deserved it," Wesker told him moving his head first left then right trying to figure out which way she had gone. He was forced to look at the wounded CEO as he reached with his good hand and grabbed the labels of his suit jacket.

"I'm going to see to it that she's locked in the deepest darkest dungeon that I can find!" the man said practically foaming at the mouth. Wesker looked down at him and once more found himself in wonder at the complete lack of self-preservation people had.

"Oh?" Wesker asked looking both ways for witnesses. The CEO seemed completely oblivious to his actions.

"Yes," he hissed waving his bloodied hand. "I don't care what you or the other scientists say! We're going to cut her into little itty-bitty pieces and see if she can heal from that!" Deciding that the man was an imbecile, and that Claire had likely fled the restaurant in an effort to get away from the man, and what was likely to be an attempt to send her somewhere else, he reached out and grabbed the man's throat. He lifted the suddenly frightened man into the air and pressed him back against the wall. He barely felt Ratslinger's hands as they tried to break his grip.

"I highly doubt that, Mr. Ratslinger," Wesker informed him in a calm voice like he was talking about the weather. "I happen to be doing the research on Miss Redfield, and find your…suggestions to be uninformed. I'm actually going to pretend that I didn't hear them and for your sake I hope you pretend you never uttered them. Do I make myself clear?" He watched the man nod vigorously and pried his finger off from around his neck. He still needed the man's company, though he was now going to get a little 'help' in speeding up his quest to become infected. Wesker turned and began walking in the direction he had determined Claire to have gone. "You might want to get that wound looked at…," he tossed over his shoulder.

* * *

Claire rubbed her arms against the cold of the desert night. She was lost and wanted nothing more than to find some dark corner she could curl up and die in. Was that what humans smelled like to the zombies and other infected monsters? Like the greatest, darkest chocolate in the world? What would she do the next time Chris was wounded? Would she even be able to walk into the hospital? Because she knew, as sure as she knew her name, and that she had just barely controlled the urge to lap up that disgusting excuse for a person's blood. She shivered and looked around herself. She was still in the entertainment district and was actually standing in front of a club if the loud pounding was anything to go by. God, she could use a drink and not that fruity shit they had been giving her at the meeting. She moved up at the door and flashed the bouncer a smile. He looked her up and down before motioning her in without even asking her for an ID. _Thank God for little miracles,_ she thought before wincing at the onslaught of noise on her ears. She made her way to the bar intent on downing anything and everything she could get her hands on.

* * *

Eric Jenkins ignored the rambling of his boss as he checked the man's wound. Really, he should have learned not to play with fire now and with Jenkins being the only _actual_ doctor in the entire place he was stuck trying to tell the man he might not ever get full use of his hand again. The prongs of the fork hand gone clean through, and the dumbass had pulled it _out_ before bothering to seek treatment which had caused more damaged than when it went in. But that was not the part that really bothered him. He finished doing the best he could before sending Ratslinger to the hospital and pulled out his cellphone. He dialed a number on speed dial with a look of pure loathing on his face. He hated the woman, but was not about to lose his sample over his boss being too grabbing in the bathroom.

"Mallory," a female voice answered.

"Tags are Arizona, 1286HP," he sat flatly. His driver had sent the limo tags to him in a text message just in case. They were about to see just how much damage the two of them could handle.

* * *

Wesker decided, as he walked through the crowded sidewalks that made up the entertainment area of Phoenix, that he really hated masses of semi-drunk humans. They barely paid attention to what was going on around them, though he had already gotten a few woman try to stop him. Honestly, was there anything about him that said he was interested in some female that smelled like the rotting flesh that they were? He breathed deeply and concentrated on the sharp cinnamon and sugar scent that was Claire. He hadn't bothered to give excuses to the people at the meeting, just walked out the restaurant after her. He doubted anyone would say much. They had been satisfied by Claire's presentation, and he doubted that Ratslinger would bother to make an appearance. Intimidation was one of the things that Wesker did really well without having to think about.

The blonde felt both eyebrows raise as he found himself looking at the outside of some club. The place was packed with people and a line had formed on the outside, but he knew her scent said that she was in there. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and popped his neck. He had hated clubs before his rebirth and nothing about them was in the least appealing at the moment. He ignored the protests of the people standing in line as he walked up to the bouncer. The man looked at him, and he had to stop himself from stepping back. Here was someone with a decent sense of self-preservation. Wesker didn't say anything as he walked into the club.

The music was loud enough that he wondered how people without his ability to heal didn't go death. Bodies writhed on the floor in something that looked a lot more like a public orgy than dancing, and the sour smell of human pheromones mixed with the rotting smell that followed them everywhere. He scanned the mass anyway, looking for Claire. Her scent was lost in the sheer volume of other scents in the place. Deciding that she was not among the twisting, lewd bodies he headed for the bar. It was there he found her; a few strands of hair escaping the careful twist of her hair, a glass of something a putrid shade of yellow placed in front of her. He watched as the bartender reached over with a lighter and lit it. He moved so he was leaning on the bar next to her as she took a sip and waited. The last thing he needed was for her to bolt again.

"They call it a flaming zombie," she said and let out a little giggle that told him she was not quite as sober as she could be. "They've clearly never had to _deal_ with a flaming zombie," Claire said frowning as she looked at the drink. How many of these had she had? The bartender was nice enough that he hadn't asked her to pay yet, and she knew that Wesker would come looking for her one way or another. She hoped her bill wasn't too large and then snorted at the ridiculousness of it all.

"I think it's time for us to go, dear heart," Wesker said softly, but knew she could hear it over the noise. He took her elbow gently and eased her off the stool. She wobbled a second before getting her footing. His hand never left her elbow as he began to steer her through the crowd, one hand hitting the little button on his phone that would summon the limo. She waited until they were outside before shaking him off even as she listed dangerously in the heels.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she hissed her eyes flashing behind mirror lenses as the sleek black shape of the limo pulled up on the curve. Wesker merely raised an eyebrow as he opened the door before the driver could get out and do it.

"Tell you what?" he asked as she continued to stand-it was more like sway with her sense of balance being so off- on the sidewalk. She let out a sigh and moved to get in the car. There were a million different things she could make that one question ask. Why hadn't he told her in the beginning about the meeting? Why hadn't he told her more of just what was being affected by the virus? But she went with the most obvious as he got in the limo after her. The limo took off before she answered him, the drinks in her system making her mellow.

"Why didn't you tell me I would react that way to blood?" Claire finally asked. Wesker stretched himself out as he thought. Sure, Ratslinger's blood had smelt good, but it was not good enough he would want to eat it. Is that what had happened to Claire? Her running made more sense then. Any connection she found with the masses of infected bothered her more than anything else about her situation.

"How did you react?" the blonde asked, and Claire wanted to pull her hair out. She glared at him and took her sunglasses off.

"It smelled good, alright?" she snapped. "Like the best damn dessert in the universe." It felt like something hurt her to say that, a pain deep in her chest. What was she turning into if she found human blood irresistible? God, would she be safe to let loose in the world? Maybe she should be locked up somewhere.

"But you didn't go after it, did you?" Wesker asked finding her seeming moral dilemma amusing. She was distressed over something little like this? What was she going to do when she encountered basic infected and found they no longer tried to attack her? Would she find a corner somewhere and wail until something attacked her to shut her up?

"Sort of," she said through clenched teeth. "I had to stop myself." He shrugged at her then.

"Seeing as I encountered a biteless Ratslinger in the hallway when I went looking for you, I fail to see how this is even an issue," Wesker said his mind already more interested in the results from the centrifuge machine at the lab. Claire wondered how she could see her eyes were so narrowed.

"Some of us would like to be human, Wesker," she snarled her anger practically crackling in the air around her. "Not all of us are so eager to shed our humanity and those who tie us to it. But then again, you never had anyone, did you? I wouldn't be surprised if you were born in a test tube and grew up in a lab like some kind of overly interesting insect." She didn't care that what she said was mean and almost designed to set off the blonde's temper. She was angry, but more than that she was scared-scared that she was losing her humanity bit by bit. The brunette's personality made it impossible to own up to the fear, especially with the man sitting across from her. So, she clung to her anger and hurled it at him.

Wesker was next to her in a flash, his speed that unnerving blur of power. She felt his hand around her neck and instead of being afraid all she could think was that his hands had calluses on them. The webbing of his hand that rested just under her chin was rough from dealing with the recoil of a slide on a handgun, the fingertips on the sides of her throat harsh from working the weapon. She inhaled and wondered at her own mind before deciding to blame it on the drink. Too much rum could do lots of things to one's mind. But Wesker just held his hand there, tilting her chin so that she was forced to look him in the face.

"You have no idea how lucky you are that I need you alive, dear heart," his voice was barely a whisper as his thumb traced the pulse point in her throat. She inhaled, feeling her throat flex against his grip.

"I seem to remember having this conversation before," Claire said her voice just as quiet as his; his scent scorching down her throat. It tasted like before, sharp edged rock candy overlaid with burnt oxygen-deadly and sweet. They hung there for a moment-her watching as he drew a breath to say something before the sound of squealing tires was heard with a roaring crunch. She had a split second to curse the lack of seat belts in the limo before she made contact with the black tinted glass hard enough to shatter it and continue moving. She was unaware of Wesker following her path via his attachment to her neck nor of him twisting them in the air so his body took the majority of the impact when they slammed into the side of a parked car. The car alarm was blaringly loud in her ears as she pushed herself into sitting position. She blinked in confusion. There were warm trickles of something as it crept down her back, shoulders and arms. She brought a hand up to look at it, red coating her fingertips. Looking at it brought her back to reality with the force of a punch to the gut and she stood rapidly her mind thinking about the _unique_ properties of her blood.

"Fuck," Claire swore as she stumbled, one of the heels on her shoes having been broken in the impact. She heard Wesker moving behind her but didn't bother turning to look at him as she drew the knife still thankfully attached to her and protected by the flesh of her inner thigh. She kicked off the heels as she counted the armed men illuminated in the light provided by the fire in the twisted remains of their limo. They had hit it with an armored car. "Wesker," she whispered out of the corner of her mouth all enmity forgotten in the face of this threat. A desperate laugh wanted to choke its way out of her throat as she was rapidly hit with the stupidity of her appearing to bring a knife to a gunfight. "_Wesker."_ She heard a grunt and the sound of something a part of her could identify as bone popping as it was put back in place.

"I see them, dear heart," Wesker's voice was just as quiet as her own. He flicked his eyes from the wreckage where he could just barely make out the logo of the Phoenix Police Department. These people were not military, and being that they were sworn to protect, they would be worried about civilian casualties. Still, things were not good. There were around twenty of them in full riot gear, and he had bled all over the car door. While Claire was not traditionally contagious, he was.

"Don't move!" a male voice said in a commanding tone, "Drop the knife and put your hands behind your head!" He could see Claire practically tremble with tension at the order. Neither had intention of complying. He estimated the distance and the strain he was going to put on his rapidly healing body seconds before he moved.

"Duck," the blonde hissed at Claire as he crouched reaching under the side of the car to make sure of his grip milliseconds before he _heaved_. The car flew-scant few inches of clearance between it and her back as she hit the road. He was stronger than human but heaving the car was still not something easy for him to do. He was already running, reaching down to haul Claire up like she weighed nothing, as the car hit the limo and exploded in a shower of flames and twisted metal. The two of them ran flat out-super human speed making them almost blurs to the gunman. Pings and cracks were heard as they opened fire despite the blast, and he wondered with a bit of amusement just how the government was going to explain him hurling a car at them.

"Where are we going?" Claire asked as they hit the end of the street and he was pleased to note she still had white knuckled grip on her knife. Perhaps there was a reason beyond dumb luck that she had managed to survive so far.

"The airport," he told her as he took note of the traffic on the street. He stepped in front of the first car to come along hissing as he took a bullet in his upper shoulder. They were aiming to cripple, how nice. It screeched and swerved before stopping. Wesker walked over and pulled the gibbering driver out dumping him on the side of the road. Claire said nothing as she got in and buckled her seat belt. Wesker threw the hybrid into gear, sneering at the lack of acceleration the thing had. He could hear the sirens headed their way but with a little bit of luck he'd make the three miles to the airport before they caught up.

* * *

Claire didn't put the knife away until she was on the plane and even then her fingers flexed like they were still expecting it to be there. Wesker had spent the past half hour on the phone with someone. She had been too busy shaking as the adrenalin ran out and her body rejected the alcohol she had ingested to find out who it was. He had just finished and stood from the seat across from her. Her eyes widened as she saw the crimson smear he left behind on the chair.

"You're injured," she said rising to follow him despite the exhaustion in her limbs. He was in the small bathroom digging around under the sink. He didn't bother to pause in his search as he spoke.

"Your powers of observation astound me," Wesker said flatly as he stood up holding the first aid kit. The brunette frowned at him. The wreck had taken the edge off her anger, and he appeared to be trying his damnest to put it back on. She followed him as he carried it back to the area they had been sitting in.

"I merely wanted to know if you needed some help," Claire said watching as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and began trying to undo the buttons one handed. She had caught the wince as he moved his right shoulder and sighed. She moved so that she was in front of him and slapped his hands away. She began unbuttoning them without looking at anything, other than the chest that was rapidly revealed. She ignored it beyond a cursory acknowledgement that it was wrong for someone to be so evil and built so well. She helped him ease it off his right shoulder and looked at the gunshot wound. The trail of blood it was leaking was sluggish, and she frowned at it. "Shouldn't this have healed?"

"It will as soon as the bullet is removed," Wesker said flatly handing her a pair of tweezers from the kit. She took them with a little sound of comprehension and pushed against his chest so he tilted to the side, and she had better light. She pressed two fingers from her left hand on either side of the wound and pushed gently to open it so she could see. She had gotten decent at removing bullets from the time she had spent pulling them out of her brother. He had an almost fatal fear of hospitals.

"Breathe in," Claire said as she caught sight of spent round. She felt him being to inhale and inserted the tweezers grasping the edge of the bullet. "Out," she said as she yanked. He grunted as the bullet came free. She held the tweezers and spent round out to him still without looking at him. He took them and she moved so she was back in her seat. She threw the armrest next to her up so she could sprawl. "I'm going to try to get some sleep," she told him over the sound of him packing up the kit.

"Very well," Wesker said, but his reply fell on deaf ears. She was already asleep.

* * *

Reviews:

Naoko Suki: Glad you like this and I happen to believe that Wesker has very few actual romantic bones in his body. He _might _find one for the sake of manipulating someone, though. Hope this chapter was worth the wait.

Furrygrrl: Glad you like the slow build up, though things are about to hit the two steps forward three steps back bit next chapter. All I can say is I provided plenty of clues…

Jenny T: This is totally something that had ruined by own college homework more than normal…-looks at large stack of books- Eh heh… Anyway, I agree that Wesker is an arrogant asshole too! I don't think that he thinks much beyond the practical in order to reach his goal. I'm glad you liked the picture of him cooking. It reminded me of V in the movie as I wrote it…But Wesker refused to wear the apron…

Spark of Insanity: -wishes she had her hot chocolate- Glad you like this!

Eventide: I might be wishing I had your muse sometimes. –looks at the scary whip wielding lady sitting behind her with Wesker plushie- Hope this wall of text is full of happy descriptions for you! And the slow build up is about to hit nature's fast-track. All I'm sayin'.

Riridono: Hope you're still excited-

Nikki-Marie-Wesker: Love the name, btw. Glad this pairing has brought you so much joy and hope my humble sampling does so as well.

Project X: Love how a lot of people seemed to think that the Gala would be this chapter… We're like two chapters away from that. I just like to let people see some things coming. But hope this chapter was good enough without it!

PurgatoryNymphe: Wesker has a plan and Mallory will be going down…-evil grin- Even Wesker's temper has its limits.

lillethweskerXoX: Me too! Uber embarrassment of death time...


	7. Goin' Down

**A/N: This is me apologizing for the wait and giving a couple warnings: 1-there is some minor HUNK/Claire that will be explained. 2-We're starting to earn our M rating. No lemon, but we get pretty close... And 3-No beta. She got busy and didn't get the chapter back to me fast enough. lol**

Ch 7 Goin' Down

Wesker used his thumb and forefinger to lift his sunglasses up off his nose in order to rub his eyes. He had not bothered to go to bed, just put Claire on hers and gone to clean up. He had then spent most of the night in the lab working to distract himself. After Claire had gone to sleep on the plane, he had been left with time and nothing to really do. Things were set in motion and he was playing the waiting game on results. So he had sat, with the lovely Miss Redfield curled on the seats across from him and _thought_. This normally would not have been a problem. It was something he did for large portions of the day and the reason he was always so far ahead of his opponents. When you only had to sleep once or twice a week you suddenly had quite a bit of time on your hands. The problem was the way his eyes seemed to focus on her without his consent. It started with a study of her hands, both delicate in size but powerful in use. The nails were short, kept that way for practicality, and they was a small bit of light crimson on the fingers of her left hand from where she had braced them against his wound. They were really quite striking. Which was where his mind had stopped, realized its course of thought, and rerouted itself to think about who could possibly have connections with the military to be able to sic them on Claire and himself at the party. His eyes went to the side of her neck where blood had dried from a cut with the glass in the limo window. The trail started just behind her ear and curled down underneath her chin across the front of her throat. It was an exquisite, slender throat. He knew the feel of it under his hand, of her pulse beating faster in rage or in fear. He wondered what it felt like now as her heart beat slow and steady. And that was when he came to the conclusion that she was bad for his concentration. His mind had cycled like that until they landed and he had taken her to her room. He had then thrown himself into his work.

He looked up as a machine let out a little beep to tell him it was done and he allowed himself a small satisfied smile. He had just finished extracting and refining the virus from Claire's cells. He stood from his table and walked over to the machine. He pulled out the twisted tube and looked at the bright silver substance in its depths. It was a thing of beauty he could compare little else to. Perhaps only its host held a candle to it. The blond shook his to clear the thought away. He slid the virus into the cylinder made to hold such things and snapped the top on. He walked over to the sterile syringe kits and grabbed one. He was hardly going to inject Claire with something that could be potentially lethal to her until he had proven whether he could suppress the virus or not. There were two potential guinea pigs sitting in the cell blocks eating his food, after all.

* * *

Claire woke because she was cold, and the unpleasant grit sealing her eyes, along with the foul taste in her mouth, told her she had ended up in bed without going through her normal nightly routine. She reached blindly for a blanket, her hands sliding across a cool quilted surface that told her she was on top of her covers. She sat up with a little growl of frustration and felt her hair move like a giant dead weight against her scalp. She grimaced in disgust as a swipe of her hand revealed it to be a mess of bobby-pins and tangled hair. She opened her eyes to find herself still wearing the now dirty red cocktail dress and the events of the night before came crowding back into her mind. Clearly, the combination of alcohol and adrenalin had drained her to the point where she slept through the landing, the drive back, and Wesker carrying her to her room. She ran her hand over her arm, feeling the way her flesh had pebbled in Goosebumps. Yes, the dress was thin, but she hadn't been cold last night when she had wandered around. As a matter of fact, she had been neither hot nor cold since the government lab. She put her feet into the plush rug under her bed and hissed at how cold it was. Since when had a carpet been cold? She stood and made her way to the bathroom, wincing at the feel of the hardwood. It was like walking on a frozen lake and she was thankful when her feet finally went numb from the perceived cold.

* * *

Wesker watched the specimen from the control room; no observation glass allowed in the experimental holding cells for safety reasons. It seemed that just as his genetic code was unique, so was Claire's. Mere seconds after being injected the subject had begun to mutate. The muscles had gone thick and his skin had been hard pressed to keep up with the new bulk. New teeth had come in like rows of daggers, a few longer than his lips. Eyes had grown huge, many faceted, and bulbous to resemble the insects Alexia had derived her version of the virus from. Pincer-like claws had replaced his hands and his knees had popped backwards to allow for better springing capabilities presumably. All in all, he was a work of mutated art. The only question he had was why he was not going after the man cowering in one corner of the cell. He watched as the mutation struggled not to get closer, clearly fighting against the need to attack the other. He wondered vaguely how long it would hold out.

* * *

Claire was in the middle of rinsing her third bout of detangler from her hair when she felt it. It was staggering-the fear, the loathing, the sheer determination. And the hunger, oh God, the hunger. It was like a ravenous beast trying to push its way out of her via her navel. Swipes and pinpricks of pain danced on her nerve endings, but determination kept it in. It brought her to her knees with a little moan of pain. Her head hurt and she squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to soothe it. That was when she saw it: a room, more of a cell without anything really, and a man crouching in fear in the corner. He wore tactical gear and Claire knew with a frightening level of certainty that he was one of the men who the Red Queen had captured. The knowledge of what was likely happening brought bile to the back of her throat. She reached out with one hand blindly, a single thought echoing in her head as she turned the water off. She had to help them. She didn't bother to dry herself, just reaching for the robe on the back of the door. Nothing was going to stop her from what needed to be done.

* * *

Wesker looked at the time posted in the corner of the screen he was watching. It was ten minutes after he had gone back to the cell and stuck a knife into the human's liver. The wound was fatal, but the smell of blood and organ meat would drive the mutation crazy as he bled out. The amount of resistance to the virus' urges was amazing. He had never seen anything like it. Perhaps Claire's virus was the key to perfect control over the infected. He was so engrossed in his study he failed to notice when a monitor on his left showed Claire, in a fluffy white robe, entering the gun locker and exiting with an assault rifle. He didn't even remove his eyes when he heard the Red Queen speak.

"Claire is attempting to break into the specimen holding cells," her little girl voice said, "And according to protocol I am unable to actively resist her for fear of injury." Wesker's eyes flashed to the monitor that displayed Claire shooting out the control panel to the cell block door. How had she even known what was going on down there? Snarling at the fact he was going to have to intercept her, he made his way out of the control room.

* * *

Claire held the weapon pointing up as she moved down the stark white holding cells. The place was huge, bigger than both of the other floors combined, though there were no windows to the cells. Just slits in the reinforced steel doors. She shivered as she felt the hunger pull her down a corridor to her right. No wonder the infected attacked anything that might be considered food. The need to feel flesh in her mouth, blood running down the corners of her mouth, was overwhelming and it wasn't even _hers_. Finally, she found the right door, the feel of pure anguish and determination mixing with that of chocolate and the almost syrupy sweetness of infection. She put her hand on the door as she searched with her eyes for a control panel, knob, or anything she could use to open it. The roar from the other side as it felt her there shook the metal of the door and burrowed into her bones urging her faster. She slammed the door with a fist in frustration as she felt the determination beginning to crack. She had to help him. The door groaned and dented. Seeing a way in, she took it ignoring the way her fist hurt after the first few blows and her skin split over the knuckles. The acidic properties of her blood began to melt the door as she worked it loose of its hinges. The door at long last caved with a screech of protesting metal and flew into the opposite wall lodging there. She didn't bother check to see if it hit the human as she turned to face the monstrosity that was studying her. She felt tears, hot and wet, slide down her cheek even as she set the butt of the rifle on her shoulder. She knew, even as she pulled the trigger to put the creature out of its misery that this was the result of her blood and the virus it contained. The bullet hit it right between its large grotesque eyes- exploding blood and brain matter against the wall behind it, but even as she was released from the grip of the other's emotions clouding in with her own, the hunger remained. She watched as the body twitched and was aware of the little noises of fear the man who had missed being hit by the door by inches was making. She wanted to snarl at him to shut up, but was in the process of destroying what was left of the thing's head and hoping to God her virus wasn't like G.

So intent was she, she failed to notice the sudden curling of burnt ozone and rock candy in her nose that heralded Wesker's arrival or the fact that the clawing hunger was gone. Claire had shut her mind down into that little place she went when all that mattered was survival. She needed to make sure it was dead and not going to get back up to come after her. Wesker watched as she continued to pull the trigger after the cartridge had choked dry, stance still perfect. Her legs were shoulder length apart, butt of the gun tucked just between and slightly under her collarbone and shoulder. Her hair was drying in frizzed layers around her face and her robe had partially come undone from the recoil of the rifle. He gritted his teeth and reminded himself why he had come down here and it hadn't been to admire her shooting stance.

"Dear heart," he said walking through the growing puddle of thick red-brown blood still pouring out of the dead mutation. Claire shivered at the sound of his voice and the dry cough of the spent rifle stopped. Suddenly, she was back in Antarctica and the reason she was cold had nothing to do with the fact she was wearing a robe, but with the fact that cold that strong and deep could never be completely gone. "It's quite dead," the blonde said as she made no other movement. He was close enough now to catch the difference in her scent over the sickeningly sweet smell of so much rotting fruit that was the specimen. There was the normal cinnamon and sugar of her, but now something else coated the back of his throat. It was sweet, crisp, and natural almost like she had doused herself in perfectly ripe apples. He reached one gloved hand for the barrel of the rifle, knowing he needed to get it out of her hands before he could figure out what was going on. Things did not randomly change scents.

Claire's mind saw his hand reaching for her weapon and, in the place her mind was, Wesker was her enemy. He was the one who had tried to kill her brother, the one who had tossed her down stairs and dragged her by her hair to taunt her brother. There was no way in hell she was handing him her weapon, empty or not. In a movement too fast for normal eyes to follow, she changed her grip on the stock as his hand closed on the barrel and slammed the back end of the weapon into the side of his head. There was a crack as his sunglasses broke and he was forced to let go of the barrel. She moved back from him, slipping slightly in the blood. He looked at her with those odd eyes and she swallowed the fear threatening to choke her. It took every ounce of her determination not to flee from those demon eyes. The blonde blinked the dizziness of the head blow away and moved. He ripped the weapon from her grip and slammed her up against the gore covered wall. This close he could see her pupils, which had dilated to the point that her irises were thin silver rings around her eyes. His mind put that and her dry firing together in a split second. She was suffering a traumatic episode and clearly was not completely there.

"Dear heart," Wesker said catching the hands that were aiming for his face with his free hand and pushing them into the wall over her head with just enough force to keep them pinned. Her squirming and protests had become more pronounced when he called her that and he frowned. She was going to hurt herself if she kept this up. "Claire," he said as calmly as he could muster and using his leverage at her throat to make her look at him. He ignored the way her pulse fluttered against his fingers like a panicked bird. She looked at him, breathing raggedly out of her mouth. "I need you to take deep breaths or I'm going to have to hurt you."

"Fuck you," she got out in a harsh gasp as the panic started to leave with each inhale of ozone, rock candy and something that said male clearly in her mind like he was wearing a sign. He lifted her off the wall a little bit before slamming her back against it to make sure she knew how displeased he was with her choice of words. Oddly, her head cracking against the wall did more to clear it than anything else. With the clarity that she was not in Antarctica, came the rage as she realized just what Wesker had done. She bared her teeth at him and hooked her leg around his knee sending them both to the blood and gore covered floor. He let out a grunt as the back of his head hit the cement floor and Claire landed on top of him. "You bastard," she snarled as her hands grabbed fistfuls of fabric on his shirt, "You did this to him! You did it on purpose!" Her rage had her hair flying around her face as she used his shirt for leverage to slam him into the floor. He didn't bother to dignify that with an answer as he flipped them other.

"You say that like you expected me to do anything else, dear heart," he pinned her hands with his own, clasping her hands in a parody of intimacy even as his shins sat across her thighs to keep them from moving. His words took the fight out of her and she laid there her head turned to the side so she won't have to look in his eyes, her breathing deep and harsh. "I am who I am, Claire," Wesker said as his eyes took in the line of her throat she had presented to him and the smell of her was overwhelming to everything else. He had moved his head closer without conscious thought and when she turned to meet his eyes they were a hairsbreadth apart. How could she have thought anything different? She knew he had been working on isolating the virus in her blood and using it on someone else was only the next logical step for him. So then why did she feel so betrayed by it?

"I felt him, Wesker," she said softly as she used this chance to study his eyes up close. They were beautiful with the slit pupils almost hiding behind the flames of his irises. So much a reflection of the man on top of her. Deadly in appearance, almost frightening to look at for long periods- they would burn you up without hesitation. "He was in my mind and in so much pain," Claire couldn't look at him as she felt the tears of the dead's sorrow mix with her own and start to leak from her eyes. He watched her cry silently-the smell of salt mixing with her scent. He moved without thinking, tongue darting out to taste her tears. They both froze as the action completed. Slowly she turned her head to look at him again, confusion on her face. "Wesker?" she said and the smell of apple was stronger now; like he was walking through an orchard in early fall. He wanted more of that smell and brought his head to her throat as he sought the source. His breath was hot against her neck and just behind her ear. She shivered from the feeling and once more his name tumbled off her lips. Her mouth had gone dry and she had no clue what was going on. He moved their hands so that he could use one hand to hold hers and brought the free hand down to grasp her chin-fingers delicate against her skin as he tilted her head further to the side. With him so close she felt like she was drowning in his scent, but it was layered with something else. She didn't have a name for the smell-it was dark and rich like velvet and it lit a heat under her skin she forgotten could exist. It was like having a banked fire living underneath her skin. She let out a little whimper when his tongue met the juncture of chin and throat.

He wanted to taste her; the irrational thought in his head that if she smelled so strongly of apples she had to taste like them too. She didn't. She tasted of sweat and soap and skin, but the whimper she gave at his touch was like a fiery punch to the guts that spread throughout his body. The smell of apples was stronger now, thicker, richer, bolder as it lay over her scent, and he traced a path down her throat and just over the artery containing her life blood. He paused there, breath rushing over her it, his thumb absently running back and forth over her throat. Just as she was opening her mouth to ask what he was doing he _bit down_. Gently, he cradled her pulse in his mouth as she jerked up, the hand at her throat being used to keep her still enough he wouldn't accidently hurt her. It was like someone had flicked a switch in her and the fire that had been banked came roaring to life with that one action. Her body went limp under him, eyes glazed over with whatever this was, her mouth forming his name but without enough air to make it more than a cracked whisper.

The blonde was up the second she submitted to him, releasing her hands so he could lift her up with him. She let out a little noise of surprise at the movement, part of the spell broken even as she clasped onto him with both arms and legs. But the smell was there again, the musk diverting her attention to his neck. She used her nose to move the collar of his dress shirt so she could lay kisses there even as he moved. She heard the ding of the elevator distantly, more concerned with the way he froze when she trained nipping bites up his neck and the little growl he made when she soothed them with her tongue. Wesker wondered distantly if she knew what she was doing as he punched in the code for the control room with more force than needed. The smell of apples was everywhere covering up everything else as he moved into the room.

"Dear…," he never got the second part of the name out as she used the leverage given to her by wrapping her arms around his shoulders to lift her up enough for her to place a bite on the skin just behind his ear, her teeth dragging as she lifted her mouth away. She couldn't have picked a worse spot. Wesker had few places on his body more wired for an instant reaction than the one she had just assaulted. Which was why he dropped her; hands letting go of the support he had given her thighs, pushing her away as he moved. True, he had been caught up in the moment and the smell of those damn apples, but this was very bad idea. She was the sister of the one man he bothered to actually put on his list to kill, and she was emotional. One he cold overlook in terms of the fact he had a feeling this would be something to lord over Chris for the rest of his time on the planet. The other would be disastrous to his plans as emotions were volatile annoyingly unpredictable things.

Claire stood where he left her, in the middle of room-her feet bare, robe open though the loose knot was still tied and the darkness managed to keep anything from really showing, her hair tossed about wildly though seemingly done with an artist's hand. Her eyes glowed silver as she took large gulping breaths through her mouth. Now that he was not so close to her, rational thought was sinking in, and she was appalled by her actions. What the hell was going on? She felt hot, almost feverish, and she had the strangest compulsion to close the few feet between the two of them. Wesker appeared to be in the same state, though she quickly pulled her gaze away from him as the need intensified.

"Wesker," she said her voice deeper, closer to what she imagined one of those telephone sex-girl's voices would be. His jaw went taunt and his fists clenched as he was forced to exhibit more self-control at the sound of his name rolling off her tongue than he had in years. It didn't help that he was looking at her, though he refused to look away like she was doing. He was not so weak that he could not control his own body's urges.

"I really think it would be best if you returned upstairs, dear heart," Wesker said taking a step closer to her before he could stop himself as he watched her shiver in reaction to his voice. He needed to know what was going on. Nothing similar to this had ever happened before, and he did not recall it being mentioned in any of the stolen notes on Tv either. Claire swallowed thickly as she walked backwards to the door, it opened and closed without her touching it and she had never been more thankful for the Red Queen. The second her feet touched the cold concrete of the hallway she took off running. What the hell was going on? And, dear God, had she willingly kissed Wesker?

* * *

One cold shower later, Wesker found himself pouring over every piece of information he had on Tv and all the information he had gathered on T-Claire in an attempt to figure out what the hell that had been. Alexia had not been alive long enough to demonstrate anything of this nature, though she had appeared to have complete control over the infected in Antarctica. That helped to explain how Claire knew about the subject he had infected with her virus. It seemed that T-Veronica allowed for some kind of psychic bond to develop between the infected and it's 'queen', as Alexia was want to call herself. This allowed for near perfect control and was something that he was going to have to look into further for both himself and Claire. If she reacted to all infected like that, she could end up being a liability in a hot zone. While it meant the infected would likely not try to actively kill her, she would likely be overwhelmed by their 'minds' in large numbers. Not to mention that the 'queen' had been designed for control. It seemed like the longer Claire spent with the virus active the stronger it was becoming, which would not translate well for him if it turned out her control could extend beyond subjects that had been infected with her strain. The idea of killing her, the only way he could assure that she would never attempt to exert that power on him, was not an idea he welcomed. That in and of itself was an issue he did not want to look at too closely. He could chalk most of what happened earlier up to two things: her morals getting the better of her, thereby causing her to kill his subject, and the touches… Well, he was the only person she had really had contact with for several weeks now. It was not unheard of for Stockholm's to develop in that time period.

Hands folded themselves together as he rested his elbows on the armrests of the chair, providing the perfect perch for his chin as he leaned forward in thought. That did not, however, answer just why he was uninterested in terminating her. He had his samples now. He had proof that there was a bond between those infected with her strain and knew that it was only a matter of time before he figured out a way to make use of with the strain of T he had in current development. So then, why was the idea of ending her not even entering into the plans he was spinning even as he sat there? He did not need her alive to succeed in his creation of a suppressant. Still, the idea of wrapping his hands around that delicate neck as he so often thought of doing to her bother, brought him no sense of satisfaction like killing normally did. Instead, as he made arrangements for accommodations for the gala he found himself thinking about her preferences. He could not remember the last time he had done such a thing that had not been a means to an end. It was…unsettling. Deciding that this thought process had gone as far as he was willing to let it under the circumstances, he rose and headed back down to the holding cells. There were still uses for the body.

* * *

The water had long since gone cold on Claire, but she didn't care as she sat under the spray of the shower, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes squeezed painfully shut. What had she done? One second she had been trying to explain why he should never ever infect another with her virus, what it felt like to have that kind of hunger and agony in her head, the next they had been all over each other. She wasn't stupid and didn't often lie to herself. She knew that the odd tension that sometimes stretched between the two of them could go one of two ways, but had been confidant with the thought that it could only turn towards violence. She had never contemplated the other possibility. She slammed the side of her fist into the tiled wall, ignoring the pain, the shower of dust, and chipped tile pieces that exploded. God, he had just sentenced two men to death by her hand and all she could think about was the result of her hormones and too much time spent in his company. Anger blossomed in her chest giving her reprieve from the feeling of self-loathing that had settled into her the second she had left him.

The brunette got onto her feet in a graceful rolling movement and shut off the water. She pulled the curtain open and grabbed a towel, ignoring the blood stained robe that lay heaped on the floor. She knew with crystal clarity that she would be burning it the first chance she got: just like she had finally brunt the clothes from the night in Raccoon and later at Rockfort. The thought of all that had happened in that doomed search for her brother came to the surface then, and she had to grip the side of the sink to remain upright. The man downstairs may not have dealt the blow that killed the only man to express interest in her since her life had been turned on its head, but he had almost done something worse. He knew that he had taken Steve's body and done unmentionable things to it in order to get a sample of T-Veronica. He hadn't even been allowed the dead to rest in peace.

Claire looked at herself in the mirror, the silver in her eyes fading slowly out of them, wet tear tracks running down her cheeks. She had not even realized that she had been crying. She was a mess. She had been so absorbed in thoughts that she had stood there for God knew how long, her hair drying in knots. Her skin was flushed from the slight fever she figured she had. A frown cut across her dark thoughts and disgust with her appearance. Shouldn't the virus running through her veins kill off anything else that managed to try to brave her system? She hadn't had so much as the sniffles in years. She let go of the sink and clenched the towel as another thought raced through her head. What if this was the first stage of her mutating? Was she going to turn into a creature like the poor man she killed in the lab? Suddenly, it was all just too much. She was emotionally exhausted from the combination of her past ghosts and the events of the past two days. The idea that she could be mutating on top of everything else was the straw that broke the camel's back in this case. Her mind shut down, blackness that was not the result of drugs, but just as cold, took her. She crashed into the hard wood floor, towel fluttering out of loose hands.

* * *

Wesker looked through the observation glass at the unconscious form of Claire. The sheet covering her body was thin, monitors hooked up to her just in case, beeping softly as they gave their read-outs to the Red Queen. He had been in the process of looking at the physiological changes brought on by her virus when the Red Queen had informed him about her passing out. He had been beyond surprised when he had touched her skin and felt her running a fever. Granted, Claire normally ran hot when compared to an average human-somewhere around 105 degrees was normal for her and she had been running at 110. He ran colder, his internal temperature running around 95 to account for his slower metabolism. He had put her in the infirmary, drawing blood samples to try to figure out just what was going on in her body. He had been startled to discover that the new scent of apples carried over to her blood. It should've just been the overly sweet smell of infection as it had been the last few times he had drawn it. The results from the battery of tests had been startling. The scent of apples turned out to be a pheromone, the same one used by queen bees in order to attract males to their hive. Confidant that she was stable enough for now, the preliminary tests showed she had passed out from exhaustion, he turned to go back to the lab. He needed to know just how he and other infected would react to these pheromones.

The blonde stepped into the lab room just as the machine he had left on came to a halt in its cycle. It had separated out the chemicals that made up the pheromone from her blood, leaving him with two test tubes. One was all the other chemicals, which he dropped into the biohazard shoot to be burned in the lab's internal incinerator, and the other was the pheromone. It was clear in the tube as he prepped the syringe, before sticking it in and sucking the chemical substance out. He made his way back to the infirmary, the door opening with a soundless swoosh. HUNK had been recovering from the injections of the control serum beautifully. He had been waiting until such a time as he could devote time to making sure the control mechanisms worked before waking him up. The level of infection in his blood stream was very low, too low for mutation or death in combination with the serum. It meant that he could inject the pheromone straight into HUNK and get an idea of just what it would do to him. He pushed the needle into the part of the IV made for injections and pushed down on the plunger. He moved outside so that he could observe what happened without fear of becoming caught up in it if HUNK began producing the pheromone. He didn't have very long to wait before he got a reaction. Red Queen informed him of the man's spiking blood pressure, the rise in his body temperature and in the levels of testosterone in his blood stream.

* * *

Claire dreamt of apples-thousands of apples all around her. But it was more than just the smell of apples. Her body was on fire as it had not been in years. The touches were feather light, but enough to stroke the eternal fire she carried buried beneath the surface. Her eyes were closed, as she threaded a hand through short hair. A pair of lips met hers and she let out a moan. This man tasted good, but there was something missing. There was someone else she wanted this to be. The thought was gone as quick as it came when one hand grasped her breast. Her eyes opened then, finding a handsome dark haired man filling her vision. She could feel him, granted it wasn't as clear or as strong as the infected from before, but it was enough. His desire was all consuming, mixing in her mind, and washing all clear thought away except for the need to reach completion.

* * *

Wesker had watched in shock as HUNK went from just displaying all the physiological signs of arousal to actually appearing to wake up in some kind of lust induced trance. The man had sat up before pulling out the IV and moving to Claire's bed. The blond actually took his sunglasses off when he saw him climb onto her bed. This most certainly explained what had happened earlier. To his amazement she seemed to wake up the second the other man touched her, Wesker shifting uncomfortably as she moaned into his kiss. He knew that sound. Hours earlier he had been the one she was making that noise for. It was something he figured she made deep in her throat, a sign of just how far the very idea of control was from her mind. It was a sound he wanted her to make just for him. The urge to open the door and rip the other man off her was strong, but he would not give in.

He began to try to distract himself, thinking about what the presence of a pheromone designed for attracting the opposite sex meant. He knew that the T-virus and all its variants were hardwired for reproduction. It was part of the reason that the virus was so infectious. He was pulled out of his musings by a moan that just bordered on a scream, his imagination supplying the reasoning behind it, even though he could see HUNK had done nothing more than grab one perfectly shaped breast. He could just imagine her coming for him, the way her face would look, the way her body would feel clenching around his, the feel of her nails in his back from that full loss of control. She arched up and met his eyes over the other man's shoulder. Her pupils were dilated in lust, what he could see of her irises a single band of silver, and she held his gaze even as her body responded to the other's touches. She let out a moan, licking her lips in the process, and that was it. There was almost an audible snapping noise as his control broke at the sight and he was in the room.

* * *

Reviews:

Naoko Suki: glad the last chapter was worth the wait, I hope this one was too. I know I took forever to get it out. I'm really surprised everyone enjoyed the length, especially considering how short this one was in comparison. I'm thankful for my beta-chan too! You won't believe how often she put up with me whining because things weren't working or Wesker was being an ass. But maybe we can work on them developing a working relationship of some kind now.

JennyT: I have a horrible habit of putting out chapters when other people should be doing homework… That includes me. I love Wesker. He's broken enough for me to play with with my knowledge of psychology. Total sociopath. I hope some of just what is going on with Claire's body and the virus is beginning to be explained. I think my mind gets a little darker each chapter. Wesker only eats like twice a week, why waste it on something he doesn't like to eat? –smiley face- About the lapel, that would be me typing really fast to keep up with my mind and my beta being sick…

Spark of Insanity: More is gladly given. Don't worry, everyone gets their just deserts in a totally Silent Hill way (adores Silent Hill). I'm sorry it took so long to post…

Eventide: Yeah, I think the virus has just forced things to boil over. Let's just hope Wesker doesn't decide to lock himself up somewhere until he can decide to kill her. And I just can't see her willingly parading around in heels. Fighting in them sucks! –learned this from cosplaying in heels-

Nikki-Marie-Wesker: Glad you got a lol out of that. My beta thought I might have been too much. I'm just going to have to make sure that Wesker doesn't turn into hermit man or kill Claire so that he doesn't have to deal with emotions…

Project X: I like longer chapters too, but hate it if they take forever (like this one). The gala will be soonish, and this story is like three or four chapters away from being done. Fret not, though. There is a sequel in the works and this is all assuming someone doesn't run away with a chapter and make it longer…

Tinkies: I'm glad you liked the action. I always think I suck at action scenes. Getting them out of my head and onto the paper is almost painful.

Neonn: Can I just say that your review made like my week? I'm glad that the characterization is so good because I think that's my strongest suit. Grammar not so much. I'm better at finding things in other people's work. No beta on this chapter because she was busy… I also tend to try to type as fast as my mind thinks and as long as some version of the word comes out my mind makes it into the one I want (yes, I am a speed reader).

Maraelle: They kissed! Sort of…

Radical Canadian: Thanks for the review, hope you're still looking forward to the next chapter.

Lime Ricky: I love this plot so much. Thanks for the review and hope that you still like this story.

Halosandthorns: Mallory's fate is a carefully kept secret…And I'm amazed that you read all the chapters in one go. That is a very big compliment.

MartialArtsKD: More chapters here.


	8. Losing my Religion

**A/N: A couple of things to address: 1-there is no lemon in this chapter. I wanted Claire awake and consenting for when I wrote it, and that could not be done under current circumstances. 2-Those of you who believe that the two of them could possibly have a nice fluffy relationship will likely be very disappointed. 3-I'm trying very hard to ground them in reality while keeping this a scifi/horror story. This means that I will try to realistically address the issues stemming from their actions in their universe. That said, enjoy.**

* * *

Ch 8 Losing my Religion

* * *

Claire opened her eyes and groaned. Everything was sore. Hell, she was willing to bet that if she could pinpoint her finger nails in the mass of soreness they would be sore too. She closed her eyes against the harsh light from the overhead fluorescents and just laid there for second trying to figure out what she had done to warrant this kind of protest from her body. A memory came to surface, hazy like she was drunk on something at the time, but she could not remember drinking since the night before in Phoenix. She bolted upright seconds later as the content of the memory took shape.

_A hand in her hair turning her head to expose her throat, that unique full feeling that only having a man in the most intimate of ways brought her, flesh under her fingers. Harsh breathing filled her ears as she felt herself reaching that distant peak._

And she shoved the memory back down. Holy shit. Her mind kept looping those two words over and over, and at some point she had starting shaking. What the hell had happened? The last thing she could remember without that haze was showering after having a close encounter with Wesker. Maybe this was all a dream? Maybe she had passed out after her shower, she had been feverish, and this was some kind of demented fever dream? She looked down at her body then, one trembling hand running over her unblemished skin. That was until her hand came to the juncture of shoulder and neck.

_She was riding that rush of climax, barely aware of what was going on around her when she felt him come-his teeth sinking into the flesh of her neck marking her and she felt another orgasm force itself along fried nerve endings._

She ripped her hand off her neck like she had burnt herself. Her breathing went erratic at the physical proof of her dream. Her first thought was that she felt dirty, like she would never be clean again. What had she done? She stood from the cot her hands flying as she tied the thin sheet around herself. It didn't matter that no one would be able to see her as she made her way through the hallways and back to the bathroom where she could try to get clean again, she felt like there were thousands of eyes on her and they were all judging her. Even if she wasn't sure what had happened. She made her way through the hallways looking more like a harried animal than a woman.

* * *

Wesker watched as she made her way through the hallways on the monitors in the control room. He had woken up in a state that was hardly better, mostly due to the fact that his mind had not tried to block the memories out. He had thrown HUNK out of the room the second he had walked in, barely even noticed the shut-down of his rational mind in the smell of apples. He'd come to a few hours later, naked and spent with her curled into his side. It had been…Interesting. There had been no desire to move from the position at all. Just a sense of it being right and perfect. It left him utterly and completely confused. In all his sexual conquests, he had never had that particular joy before. The formula had been sex and then getting the woman out of his bed as fast as possible. No post-coital cuddling and definitely no sleeping in her presence. The loss of consciousness was a sign of weakness that he could never afford to display. He expected to be enraged at the fact that he had fallen asleep in her presence regardless of the circumstances. Instead, he had just been mildly confused at the lack of rage and the fact that he had the sudden urge to brush her hair out of her face.

Wesker leaned back in his chair as his eyes flicked to another monitor. It displayed a view of the men's bathroom on this floor and its current occupant. The man known as HUNK paced up and down the space between the urinals and the stalls. The Red Queen had managed to keep him from leaving the lab as soon as the pheromone had worked its way out of his system. The rage the sight of man inspired had little to do with Birkin at the moment and more to do with his own mistake. Granted, the circumstances that had involved him and Claire getting into bed where not those he would normally condone, she was his now. A print out sitting in the printer shelf it had come out of proved it along with just why her body had reacted the way it had. He was, in an uncharacteristic moment of charity, giving her a chance to put herself together before he delivered the news.

He leaned back in the chair, a grimace on his face. He knew there was more to it than a moment of charity. He still hadn't decided what he was going to do. Logic screamed at him to kill them both. They would be nothing more than liabilities, pawns that his enemies could attempt to use against him. The resources that would be required to assure their safety were not acceptable spendatures under any circumstances. He knew he should've walked down there and killed her the second he had gotten the results back. But he had been unable to do it, to raise a hand against her with such intent. When had that started? And why had he not noticed it? Tolerating her presence he could excuse as nothing more than one getting used to a constant pest. But the inability to be rid of her when circumstances practically demanded it? That he could not excuse. He refused to change his plans, his designs. He had spent years setting things into motion. Which left him back at the beginning with no answers and no rational explanations.

* * *

Claire felt better the second that she was clothed again, though her choice in clothing was not her normal style. Every inch of her she could cover she had. The anxiety and disgust were still present as she had been confronted with more evidence of just what she had done while unconscious. But something else had come with each piece of confirmation: anger. She had been unconscious, completely unaware of what was going on. Wesker had no such excuse. And what about the man she remembered from that odd dream? The brunette had been in such a hurry that she had not bothered to check the other bed in the infirmary. Pulling her hair up in a ponytail, she narrowed her eyes. She was not going to hide herself under a rock because of this. She was Claire Redfield. She had faced down hordes of the undead, taken on multi-international companies, and brought low crazy scientists and corrupt governments. Albert Wesker was hardly the scariest thing she had ever faced, and he deserved her wrath for this. She was going to go downstairs and beat Wesker within an inch of his life.

* * *

Wesker watched as numbers representing chemical reactions and their results scrolled by on the monitor in the autopsy room. He may have been out for hours because of what had happened, but the good news was that a majority of what he needed to do in order to concoct the serum for Claire were things that the Red Queen could do without him there. He was already in possession of the first testable sample of the suppressant. The theory he was working with was some way for her to cheat the test that they had developed for infection. She was lucky that her appearance had not changed as dramatically as his had. Unless angered or forced to make use of the attributes that the virus had given her, she looked just like she had before infection.

There was a soft ding to let him know that the computer was done calculating things and a panel slid back to reveal a vial of light yellow liquid. He picked it up and swirled it, watching as it stuck to the sides slightly from its thickness. He pulled the sterile film off a new syringe before plunging it through the rubber top made for that purpose. He noted how hard it was to extract the serum and wondered if he was going to have to dilute it before giving it to Claire in order to lessen injection sight pain. He frowned before jabbing the syringe forcibly into the corpse of the solider from the day before. He should not be concerned with whether or not the injection would be painful. He was doing this purely because he needed to know if he could not to try to make it so she could go back to her life from before.

His eyes narrowed behind mirror tint as he tossed the disposable needle into the biohazard box for that purpose. There was a swish as the airtight door opened and the scent of cinnamon and sugar assaulted him. Thankfully, the scent of apples was gone. He had a feeling he would never look at them the same again. The tyrant barely had time to put the delicate vial of the potential suppressant on the counter before he was dodging her fist. He used his momentum to move away from both the body on the slab and the counter, watching her the entire time. Her eyes were almost pure silver from the rage. While this was not the reaction he had hoped she would have, this was one he had planned for. He couldn't harm her for fear of upsetting the very delicate balance her body was maintaining in order to keep everything stable, but it was clear that she had every intent of harming him, putting him at a handicap.

"Dear heart," he began blocking a kick aimed for his head. He had to make her see reason before she harmed herself or him for that matter.

"Don't 'dear heart' me," Claire snarled as she watched him move around like an eel. She was angry when she had walked in, figuring she would wail on him until she felt better knowing that he could take it, but the anger was rising to rage as he managed to stay just out of reach. "You pervert! I have no idea what the hell you did, but taking advantage of me in that way is a low that I never thought you would stoop to." The sad part was she meant that. For whatever twisted reason, she had felt almost safe with him and had since the whole thing began. Being violated like this hurt in a way she couldn't explain and for the first time she had a feeling she knew just what Chris had gone through all those years ago at the Spencer Mansion. The thought was enough to make pause in her onslaught. Wesker slid into the opening, using her pause to grab her left arm and twist it behind her.

"I assure you that I had no intention of ending up in bed with you, Miss Redfield," his voice cut through her thoughts and she winced as she began to struggle. "You need to stop before you hurt yourself," Wesker ground out. Claire twisted her head so she could glare up at him.

"I'll just heal," she spat. "At least this virus is good for that. Fucked up everything else, but at least I get the satisfaction of knowing I can go toe-to-toe with you and win." The brunette kicked out as she spoke the last, a sickening pop being heard as her shoulder popped out of place and her foot connected with his kneecap. He released her and let out a little huff of pain as he landed on the wrenched knee. Claire backed away from him, lifting her good hand to her shoulder which felt like it had been ripped clean away. They locked eyes as he used the wall to help him stay upright as his knee refused to take his weight.

"I would hardly call this winning," the blond pointed out flatly. She narrowed her eyes at him before baring her teeth.

"It's not losing either," Claire told him just as coldly. They stood there looking at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch out forever. It was like those moments before, the ones were they stood on the brink of either violence or something else, though this time Claire had a feeling that the something else might be an actual option. He broke the eye contact first, reaching down to snap his dislocated knee back into place. She watched him warily as he approached her, looking up at him when he stopped in front of her. He gave no warning as he reached out and put her shoulder back in place in one of those speed blurring movements. The brunette let out a whimper of pain and he stiffened. His mind went back to the last time he had heard a similar sound from her. His entire being flooded with need, but without the scent of the apples, the pheromone short-circuiting his common sense, it was nothing more than a pale echo. It was something he could control and dismiss like the distraction it was.

"Wesker?" her voice cut through his train of thought. His grip was beginning to get painful and she could feel her heart rate picking up at the look in his eyes even if they were far away. She had seen that look, had it directed at her. Her blood sang with the memory, the sight of his eyes when he looked at her in the throes of passion-that perfect loss of control in a man so very controlled. She felt heat flood her body, the same heat he always seemed to inspire when he was this close. He let go of her, stepping back and to the left, and the memory shattered. She could almost hear the shards impacting on the sterile tile of the floor around them. She inhaled like a diver coming up for air.

"You're pregnant," the blonde said, the words tumbling out of his mouth to fill the tense silence and give them a direction other than the one they were currently on. Her head turned so fast she thought for a moment she had given herself whiplash, so that she could try to make eye contact with him.

"What?" her voice came out as a squeak and she had to swallow before she could continue. "How?" The last question got a lift of his eyebrow.

"Seeing how you acted yesterday," Wesker said leaning against the counter to allow his healing knee to properly knit, "I would hardly think that I need to explain the mechanics of how." Claire felt herself flush in a combination of embarrassment and indignation. That was not what she meant.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," she was hardly going to let his attitude stand in the way of her getting answers especially about something like this. "I thought that the virus would've made that impossible." She blinked as another thought occurred to her as well. While she had never had to deal with the stress of needing to know whether or not she was pregnant, she had friends who had. The most accurate tests she knew of needed at least three days before they gave definite results. "Not only that, but how would you even know? It's been less than twenty-four hours!" The blond wondered at the ability of Redfield's to give him headaches. No one else was as fast or efficient at it.

"Dear heart," Wesker ignored the little growl she let out at the pet name. She would get over it. "Your body has a very delicate chemical balance to begin with in order to keep the acidity of your blood from destroying you from the inside out. I took blood after waking up in order to try to figure out exactly what happened on a micro level, and noticed that levels of certain other hormones were elevated. Your levels of estrogen and the presence of Beta Human Chorionic Gonadotropin are consistent with someone about a week to two weeks along. It seems that the virus has accelerated things." He was hardly going to tell her that this was likely a measure taken by the virus to ensure that the baby spent as small amount of time in the hostile environment that was her body.

Claire gaped like a fish for a few seconds as she digested what he was saying. One hand went to her stomach. There was a life in there. A new life that was part her. The idea sent a flood of warmth through her, even if acknowledging that it was part her also meant she had to acknowledge it was part Wesker as well. She raised eyes she hadn't realized she had lowered to look at him.

"You're awfully quiet, Claire," Wesker said wondering just what was going through her mind. "If the news is that distressing, there are other options." Options he was hoping she would take. He had no interest in children and with the enemies the two of them had it would likely be best anyway. They were hardly in love or anything so sentimental that they might even contemplate such a thing. Claire's hand tightened into a fist as she put it back down at her side.

"Are you suggesting what I think you are?" her voice was low and her eyes flashed silver in the harsh fluorescents. The tyrant folded his arms as his knee had finished healing and he no longer needed the support.

"It would be for the best," he wondered vaguely why he was even bothering to give her a choice. He could just as easily not told her anything at all and drugged her. She would never have known the possibility of a child existed. Logically it made more sense than the route he had gone. So why was he doing this? Perhaps, a voice wormed its way into his head like poisonous smoke, you want to hear that she'll keep it. On some demented level, maybe he wanted to know that she didn't hate him so much that her first thought would be termination of the pregnancy.

"You cannot be seriously contemplating keeping it. We're both carriers of the T-virus. The chances of the pregnancy making it to term are slim at best. Assuming it does, there is no telling how normal the child will be. Chances are good that rather than get a little boy or girl you would end up with some mutated creature that would kill you as soon as it got out of the womb. Even if it came out looking normal, it would still carry the virus in its blood. It would never be normal. That doesn't even touch on what your friends and family would think or the number of enemies we have," for a second Wesker was unsure who he was convincing. Logically, all his arguments stood up, but Claire had never been a creature of logic. If she was, she would've died a long time ago.

"It's still a life," she said one arm crossing protectively over her stomach. "All lives are precious. Not that you would understand that." She walked towards him as she spoke, one hand reaching up for the ever present sunglasses. "You were never given that chance," she knew her virus was in overdrive, desperate for some way to protect the life inside her and it was reaching out to him. Glimpses, flashes that were more emotions than anything coherent assaulted her. Her viral connection to him was not as strong because of the differences in their variations. "You were never allowed to be a child, to know the love of a mother's arms, to be normal." Her fingers closed around the frames of his glasses before his hand reached up and gripped her wrist. The pressure was such that she knew she would have a nasty bruise before it healed up.

"Stay out of my mind," Wesker hissed practically throwing her to the side, all care for the child or her lost in his rage at the idea of what she could've found in there. His mind had always been the one thing that remained his own. Claire barely had a chance to start pushing herself up off the floor before he had one hand around her throat pinning her to the floor. Claire could feel panic set in as her air supply was shut off and all she could think about was the baby. Was he going to kill her? Had she finally reached the point that she was expendable? Would the poor thing's life be over before it even began? Would he knock her out, kill the baby and then bring her back? He seemed cruel enough with what he was suggesting to do such a thing. The edges of her vision had started to go dark before he eased up enough for her to get some air in.

"Do that again, dear heart, and as fascinating a subject as you have been, I will kill you. Do I make myself clear?" She nodded frantically. He let go and stood up, ignoring her coughing fit. He desperately wanted to kill something, yet the very thing he wanted to kill was untouchable that way. The knowledge that even given provocation he couldn't kill her fed into his rage and he knew that if he did not do something about it soon it was going to become more of a liability than it already was. He turned his back to her, the need to look away before he gave the thought away greater than the risk that she would take advantage of the fact.

"Since you're so in to experiments," Claire ground out, her voice rough from the abuse to her windpipe as she pushed herself up, "how about I propose one?" Wesker stopped walking away from her, the only sign that he had heard anything. "You're so bound and determined to eliminate anything that has the possibility to harm you, you can't see the merit of letting this child live. This child is as much you as it is me. Haven't you ever wondered how you ended up the way you did? If you were born this cold or if it was something learned? Why not let it live and see? I can give it everything you never had." He looked over his shoulder at her, the shades sliding down his nose so that she saw the flame he had for eyes.

"You have no idea what you are talking about, dear heart," his voice was cold and she couldn't suppress the shiver as it travelled down her spine. The voice, the look he was giving her, it was like she was back in Antarctica all over again. It was like he had shoved the small part of him that was still human, the part she was realizing that he brought out when she was around, back into whatever box he normally hid it in. Looking at him in that second, her heart broke for him. It seemed that, while it wasn't love, over the time she had spent with him she come to care for him-not the ruthless tyrant who saw the world as his plaything, but the man who bled, who cooked pasta in the kitchen upstairs, and put her to bed without waking her. She broke eye contact first.

"Wesker, _please_," she looked at the floor, unaware of the tears that ran down her cheeks. She wasn't sure what she was pleading for now. The child, yes, but there were other things in there. She didn't want him to look at her like that. She wanted to fix him, to take away everything that made him into the cold killing machine looking at her. _I am who I am, Claire_, his words echoed through her mind and she would give anything in that second to change just who he was-to make him into the man he could've been if Umbrella never existed.

He looked at her, lying almost broken on the floor of the autopsy room nearly spent from her emotional upheavals. His hands formed fists at the scene. Looking at her all he could feel, all he allowed himself to feel, was anger. He was angry at this woman. Who was she to come into his life and make him feel anything other than anger at the world and joy in the death of others? Who was she to plead with him over the life of something that might not even be human? Who was she to demand his affection in such a way? Not that he felt any such thing. Not that he cared about the fact she was likely stressing herself out too much and would likely abort naturally. Actually, he should be encouraging her to do so. So, then why was he just standing there looking at her? He tore his eyes from her form and he began walking again, ignoring the wailing sob that tore out of her throat. Or at least he tried.

"If it becomes a choice between you and the fetus, you are more valuable," Wesker said with a growl before walking out of the room. Claire stared after him in shock, one hand coming up to wipe her nose. Part of her was convinced that she had misheard him, but the greater part knew that wasn't so. Warmth exploded in her chest as she looked down at her stomach. She was going to be a mommy. A small smile lit her face even as she thought about everything that was stacked against her. It had been a dream for her since childhood to be a mother. This may not have been the way she had envisioned it, but she was no less thankful for the chance.

"Thank you," she whispered softly as she closed her eyes to gather her strength to go back upstairs and get something to eat. She was eating for two now.

* * *

Carlos looked at the watered down beer in his glass and prayed that whoever his mysterious contact was would show up. The bar was dark, dirty, and smelled of week old piss and vomit. But, such were the hazards of drinking in a bar in a third world country. His eyes flickered out to the empty common room before stopping on the door as it opened. A woman walked in wearing a pair of black cargo pants and a tank top. It was clear from the gun holstered to her thigh and the machete over her shoulder that she didn't care who knew she was armed. She got closer and he could make out distinctly Asian features under cropped black hair. She slid into the booth next to him, putting the glock he hadn't realized was in her hand on the table.

"So, you're Carlos Olivera," she said in a voice that he knew could have every man in the room on his knees with a little effort.

"The one and only," Carlos said one hand fingering his firearm under the table. "You are?"

"Repaying a debt," the woman said snapping her wrist. Carlos drew on her in reflex and she chuckled at him. A piece of paper the size of the business card rested between her fingers. He re-holstered the gun. "Easy, cowboy." She put the paper on the table and slid it towards him. "That's the name and number of the person who knows where he is. Be for warned: she'll likely demand a pretty penny even for those of us in this line of work." He reached across the table for the paper only to have it snatched back up. "The payment, Mr. Olivera." He reached into a pocket on his vest a slapped a thick envelope on the table between them. That was just about every penny that all of them had saved up for an emergency. He had no idea how they were going to pay the other contact.

"A pleasure doing business," she said as she took a quick look at the bills. She stood and looked at him for a second before shaking her head. "A word to the wise: nothing is ever as it seems."

* * *

It was two days before they saw each other again. Claire had kept up her routine, needing the normalcy, even as she made sure the exercise would not have an adverse effect on the baby. Wesker seemed to be avoiding her just as much as she was him. She would come into the gym to find towels used and his scent thick in the air, but no him. Her eyes closed as she stood in the threshold and she inhaled. She might be mad at him, scared that he would change his mind and she would wake up on a lab table somewhere, but that didn't change the effect his scent had on her. She felt the calm settle into her bones, muscles weary from her workout and hair wet from the shower in the small locker room. She finger brushed her hair as she walked up the stairs to the house.

The smell of his cooking hit her nose the second she opened the door. She lingered in the hallway just outside the kitchen. Routine demanded that she make herself breakfast now, but she was unsure if it was worth facing him. A loud protest from her stomach decided her, though. It wasn't like her to avoid confrontation and she knew that unless he did something it would just be horribly awkward. She could deal with awkward, and she had some questions that needed to be answered as well. Claire bit her lip as she walked into the kitchen, intent on making herself a quick bowl of cereal and being on her way, when she saw the single wine glass sitting on the island. Something about the sight of it eased a little of the tension in her. She reached out and took the glass, spinning it in her hand.

"You know, drinking is bad for the baby," the brunette said softly to his back. He had to know she was there, but he hadn't bothered to look up from chopping the vegetables. Her only response was a pause in his rhythm before he continued on. She sighed and put the glass back on the island, the clink it made loud. "You know we need to talk about this." She flinched at the thunk the knife made as he sunk it into the bamboo cutting board. He turned around slowly, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

"I doubt there is much more to discuss, Miss Redfield," Wesker said softly. He had not been avoiding her so much as his work had fully demanded his attention. Certain plans were coming to fruition and he was going to have to leave this place very soon. Tenative talks were taking place with the Russians concerning testing of the new strain and control mechanisms for the tyrant class mutations. If talks got much farther he was going to need to meet with these people in person. There was also the matter of certain files dealing with the early research of the T-virus that were located in the remote area he needed to pick up.

"I think there is," Claire said trying to hold his gaze even with him wearing the sunglasses. She leaned on the marble top of the island. She had done a lot of thinking and research over the last two days. There were several very fundamental things that they needed to decide. "I think what you said about the possibility of the child being dangerous to me may have some merit." Wesker felt his eye brows rise and he crossed his arms. Was she changing her mind? Not that he would object, but it didn't seem like something she would do. She took a deep breath. "If it turns out that this is not a child, that it's…it's…," her voice failed as she tried to find a word to convey what she was trying to say.

"A monster? An abomination? A beast?" the blond supplied watching as her expression darkened with each word. He could see the anger building in her and he didn't know why he felt the need to stroke it. Perhaps it was a twisted need to have her feel some of what he felt every time he looked at her, every time he thought of her or caught himself doing something to make her life easier.

"Whatever," Claire said cutting across him before he could continue. "I will agree to terminate." She had to push back the panic the thought induced, reminding herself that part of it was virus created instincts. She would not bring something into the world that would harm others, which her brother would have to put down like some rabid animal.

"I have no objection to that," Wesker stated as the silence after her statement stretched out and he realized that she was waiting for some kind of response on his part. She seemed to take courage from this because she inhaled before continuing on.

"Do you want to be part of this child's life, Wesker?" Claire moved around the island as she spoke, so that she was forced to look up at him to maintain the eye contact.

"No," he said without really having to think about his answer. He had never planned on children, never really been around them either. The sole exception was Sherry and she had been half grown when he got her. Not to mention the fact that he had no idea how to be a parent really. The child would just be another liability, another thing to get in the way of his plans. He watched the rage spark before being carefully contained by the woman in front of him.

"Alright," Claire said biting back the lecture she wanted to launch into. It was his choice, and plenty of children grew up just fine never knowing their fathers. It was his choice. She had to respect that. Maybe it would be for the best. She could hardly see him teaching the child how to ride a bike or some such. Instead her imagination had him teaching the kid how to properly use a syringe or a trick to memorizing the periodic table. "My next question is simple: when can I leave? If you don't want any part of this child's life, I'm going to have to leave. You hardly need me to continue the research into a suppressant and I need to find an OBGYN. Not to mention I'll have to move somewhere more baby friendly…"

Wesker only paid half attention to what she was saying as he pondered the question. It went back to a fundamental question he had been avoiding since he had realized the permanency of her infection and was further complicated by what had happened recently: did he want her to leave? He had gotten used to her-to sparring matches in the morning, cooking enough for two when he needed to eat, having her drop by at random times just to see what he was up to. The last two days had felt odd to him and it took this for him to realize why. It wasn't the fact that he was going against his logical self by allowing her to keep the child, and not just killing her to be done with everything. It was the lack of having her actively around that bothered him. So then, could he let her walk out the door?

"You're quite right," he said interrupting her list of things that needed to be done in preparation for the child. "Staying here is not an option." Claire nodded, her mind already trying to figure out how she was going to get a hold of Chris. If he and the others could hide from Umbrella while part of that anti-Umbrella terrorist group, they were bound to know how to hide her from the government. She knew Chris would get over any objections he had to the child once he saw it. Her brother always had a soft spot for children. "This place is not easily defensible. The base in the Phoenix Islands is probably best. Less chance of discovery and being primarily a medical facility they should be able to handle anything that could go wrong during the pregnancy." Claire's brain malfunctioned for a second at his words. What was he talking about?

"What? I thought you said you didn't want a part of this child's life," she asked confused. Wesker raised a single eyebrow at her.

"Dear heart," he began letting out a mental breath when she didn't immediately recoil at the use of the endearment. "Together the two of us likely have the highest number of enemies in existence. I can hardly allow you to leave on the chance that one of them could decide to try to use you against me." Claire blinked.

"What do you mean? You'd hardly come after us…," she trailed off at what his response seemed to imply. In order to be thinking of her in terms of being something his enemies could use against him meant that he had to have some level of need for her or the child. The other reason was just too far-fetched. That would mean he had some level of affection for her. She felt her hand twitch as she wished that he wasn't wearing those damn sunglasses. Those foreign eyes of his were hard enough to read as it was, but at least they displayed some hint of emotion-some hint of just what was going on in that brilliantly twisted mind.

"Do you really think so little of me?" Wesker asked in a tone that suggested he was insulted. The brunette sighed and shook her head.

"No," Claire said raising a hand to rub her temples. "It doesn't matter anyway, because I'm not going to live the rest of my life holed up somewhere like some kind of kept woman and you can't make me." She crossed her arms and glared up at him.

The last few words stroked the fire he had been keeping in check. Wesker was always in control. People did as he told them. It wasn't like he was trying to do something cruel either. _She_ was the one insisting on keeping the child. _She _was the one who had worked herself into his life. _She _was the one who insisted on testing his temper. He slammed his hand on the countertop of the island, the marble letting out a groan of protest, and she let out a frightened eek. He moved so that there was barely a few scant inches between the two of them. Her eyes were large and frightened as they looked at him, but he couldn't take satisfaction from it.

"I can't _make _you, dear heart?" he asked darkly, letting the sunglasses slide down his nose enough that she was looking into the inferno of his eyes. He watched as the fear drained out of her eyes and that damned Redfield stubbornness kicked in.

"I'm not afraid of you, Wesker," Claire managed to get out, proud of the steadiness of her voice. That tension was stretching between them again as she glared up at him. She could feel the warmth spreading through her and she shirked from examining whether it was in preparation for a fight or something else. She didn't let her eyes leave his as she felt his hand come to rest on her throat, cupping it.

"You should be," his voice was a dark chocolate whisper before his lips were on hers. The kiss was hardly gentle, all the rage and frustration of everything since the beginning pouring out. Teeth clashed, tongues fought, lips were bitten. Neither one was willing to back down, to stop when it meant that they would have to look at the why behind it, both knowing that the answer could not be blamed on science or logic. Hands lifted her on top of the damaged countertop to eliminate the awkward angle caused by the height differences and one of her hands yanked off the sunglasses, tossing them elsewhere. Desire ran through her veins, frustration turning into passion, and it wasn't until she heard the sound of breaking glass as the wine glass was pushed off the counter that she was able to pull herself out of their violent passion. She used her hand in his hair to pull him away enough for her to breathe.

Wesker looked at her spread before him. Her hair created a dark halo around her head, her eyes glazed with lust, her chest rising and falling rapidly. One of his hands rested on the outside of a thigh, gently wrapping the rest of her leg around his hips, the other supporting him as he bent over her. He didn't know what he felt as he looked at her, but it wasn't anger. Yes, there was lust there. The blood singing in his groin was proof enough of that. No, it was something else-something just as dark and hungry as the anger. He knew with clarity then that he would not willingly let anyone else have her. Whatever this feeling was, it would not let him.

Whatever he was feeling must have shown in his eyes, because she released the grip she had in his hair, and shoved with both hands. It was unexpected and he was flung back against the true counter. He caught a brief glimpse of her as she fled the room, and the rage was back. He wanted her. He wanted her to stay, even if she didn't finish what they had started. He wanted to strangle her with his bare hands. But most of all he wanted her to end whatever this feeling was. Anger never hurt like this.

* * *

Claire locked the door to her room before collapsing against the door, knowing that the gesture was likely futile. If he wanted in he would not hesitate at breaking down the door. A panicked snob escaped her lips and one hand formed a fist over her stomach. She shut her eyes before opening them again. All she could see when she closed them were his. She'd seen the look in his eyes before, maybe not directed at her very often, but she'd seen it. Another sob choked itself past her lips. He was in love with her. Her only consolation was the fact that he likely didn't know it. The small glimpse she had been given of his childhood meant that love was likely the last thing he would suspect. But where did that leave her? He was bound to figure it out at some point and she had seen his reaction when things didn't go his way several times.

A single hand fisted the thick carpet as she ran the other through her hair. More importantly, why had she allowed this to happen in the first place? She knew she felt something for him, but she also knew that it was not enough to look the other way about what he had done. Nothing would ever be enough. Tears blurred her vision. What had she gotten herself into? Her emotions were being pulled in so many different directions she had no clue what to do. Normally, she would call her brother and even if he didn't understand he would make her feel better.

A wail joined the sobs as she thought of her brother. He might be able to deal with a child that some kind of drug had initiated the creation of, but finding out that his sister might feel something other than hatred for his worst enemy? That was asking a bit much. And what would the others think? God, they would likely put her in some kind of mental institution. Maybe she should just stay with him. He was offering her and the baby protection even if it meant living in some far away island and never seeing her friends or family again. Could she live with knowing that he was likely killing and experimenting on innocent people?

Claire's chest was starting to hurt from the force of the crying. She knew she couldn't do it. Her best bet was to wait until his guard was down and to run. He would likely pursue her, but she could not live a life in a cage no matter how padded. Maybe if she kept the part about her having feelings for him, the others would help her and the baby hide. All she knew, as she sat there on the floor, tears drying on her face, was that she couldn't stay. If he wouldn't willingly let her go, she was going to have to run the first chance she got.

* * *

Reviews:

Ultimolu: I'm working on it. I was always taught that paragraphs were a line of thought and at minimum seven sentences. I've even seen a few that went on for a couple pages (OMG, Tom Clancy the master of the three page paragraph and the complete lack of using names). But, if it makes it easier for people to read, I'll try to cut down.

PurgatoryNymphe: -hands tissue- Claire in not the only living Umbrella incubator. –evil grin- But that gets into things that will likely not be covered in this story. The next one definitely. I think the mini-Weskers are cute –shakes her shimeji Wesker who is crawling up the side of her page- I think Wesker would make a good if creepy parent. I hope you weren't too disappointed with the lack of lemon in this chapter, but I tried and it just didn't feel right with her being so out of it.

Project X: Thank you. I hope it is still compelling. I'm trying to keep them rooted in reality. I don't think Wesker would understand love even if he felt it. I don't think Claire would be willing to overlook everything he has done and will do just because she loves him. I really don't think they could ever truly have a normal love affair. I fear this is heading straight for tragedy land, but I might be able to prevent it.

Jenny T: I made something epic? –squees and dances- Anyway, I hope you didn't make the popcorn, because the lemon isn't here. It didn't feel right. Don't get me wrong, there will be one. It's just that I would like her to be aware and consenting. And I know a great place that does brain repair. You just have to donate a kidney.

Lancelot-Albion: Really? I can see him being very possessive. What's his is his, and heaven forbid you touch it. But I can see him going the other way, what with his ability to just drop everything and leave it behind at a moment's notice. As for HUNK, I don't think I'll ever get around to explaining just what he's doing there. Claire and Wesker keep running away with their shit to the point that the plot just stuck on the back burner. Ugh. Maybe I'll just leave out the details like the actual games do. Just mention in passing that he survived.

Naoko Suki: I loved how T-Veronica appeared to give the host some psychic abilities and there are a lot of things that insects and the like do that science can't explain. Like they have and extra message sending and receiving method we don't know about because we aren't them. So, I took the above and stirred. I'm glad that I didn't get angry fan mail about the HUNK thing. With Wesker I sometimes have to really push to get him where I want him. I just hope that this was worth the wait and that no one is going to kill me with the way I resolved the cliff hanger…

GreenOnBlack: I think he makes a perfect anti-hero. I can't picture him willingly saving the world, but hell, someone has to do it. It also makes him a lot more three dimensional as opposed to the 2D we get from the games. I am humbly honored by your conversion and offer you all the stories on my favs list for your enjoyment.

Priime: I think this is the first time I've had my writing expressed that way… And yet it really fits. I really get into my writing, to the point where during part of this I actually had to take a break because I was getting depressed. Thank you for the review and I hope that you enjoy this chapter.

Awkward English: Wesker is incredibly fine… And here's the next chapter.


	9. Push

A/N: So, after nine rewrites, countless sessions with other fans, I finally get a chapter that I feel I can put out. It has been hashed and rehashed a million times. The grammar mistakes are likely still there. After 13k worth of words, I still feel like if I didn't post it hot, no one would _ever_ see it. And, because I forgot to put this at the 50 review marker, I'll do it for when we hit 100- my 100 reviewer gets a one-shot of this pairing. So, enjoy it.

* * *

Ch 9 Push

* * *

Chris stood as the others sat around Barry's dining room table. The man had been kind enough to volunteer his house when it became apparent that Chris' apartment would not accommodate everyone for any length of time. Ever since Leon had gotten that video he had been unable to stay still. All he could think about was the last time Wesker and Claire had gotten together. The memory of the terror he felt when he saw Wesker dragging his sister around by her hair was fresh in his mind. The one question he could not get out his head was why he gone after Claire and why she was in the military base in the first place. He knew the viral monstrosity that had once been his captain didn't so much as blink without it being a step in some kind of plan.

He bit his lip, a habit both siblings had picked up from their parents, as he began to pace. The only use he could up with for Wesker to have interest in Claire was the fact that she would be close to the perfect bait for him. He had practically raised Claire himself after their parents had died, and they were as close as siblings could be. The idea that something could happen to her was agonizing. It didn't help that he was completely unsure of Wesker's intentions towards her. Surely, if it had been about baiting him, Wesker would've made a move by now. It wasn't like him not to use a resource presented to him.

"Chris, you need to stop," Jill said from her seat at the table. She looked almost as miserable as he felt. She had started staying over at his apartment in order to make sure that he ate and slept. "You're making me nervous." Chris let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair.

"None of this makes sense," he said as he pulled out one of the oak chairs and fell into it. Barry grunted from where he was fiddling with a speaker phone they had stolen from one of the BSAA conference rooms in agreement.

Carlos had called in a few days ago with a phone number of someone who supposedly knew where Wesker was. It was going to cost them more money, though. Money none of them had-which was why Leon sat in the corner glaring at them all, though he clearly wasn't really directing it at them. Leon had ties to the Kennedy family that he never liked talking about or exploiting, but this was an emergency. So he had been forced to visit family he liked to pretend he didn't have, in order to secure the family checkbook. Chris could only guess what that had been like. Apparently, Leon was the black sheep of the family.

"I mean," he began as Rebecca walked in along with Billy both carrying snacks. Barry's wife's response to crises was to make sure everyone was well fed. Even now he could smell the homemade food she was cooking. "If he took her to get to me, shouldn't we have heard something by now? Why send the video to Kennedy? What was Claire doing at that military base? Those uniforms looked an awful lot like our guys." Chris put his head on the table when all Jill did was offer him a half-hearted smile in response.

"Don't worry, Chris," she reached across the table and ran her fingers through his hair. "We'll get her back. She's like a little sister to all of us." He lifted his head enough so that he could see the determined nods from the others. Despite everything a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. There was a reason that they all had survived this long.

"Thanks guys." There was a sound of triumph as Barry finished hooking the speaker phone up. They had stolen it so that everyone would be able to hear the conversation with whoever this contact was. Rebecca and Billy put the food on the table and took their seats.

"If you would do the honors," Billy said as he pushed the phone towards Chris. He pulled the scrawled number from his pocket and pushed the button to turn the phone on. He waited until he heard the dial tone before he punched in the number.

* * *

She sat in the warm sun of the tropics, skin that was naturally pale turning golden brown in self-defense. She had no fear of sun damage or any other harm coming to her body. Long bright yellow hair was pulled up in a French braid that would reach her ankles if she stood. A black pinstripe pantsuit looked like it would unbearable in the heat, but not a bead of sweat showed on her skin. A pair of thin shades sat on the bridge of her nose over a naturally smirking mouth. The sound of a cell phone going off was startling against the backdrop of tropical forest life. She reached one manicured hand into her pocket to retrieve it, a full smile blooming on her lips as she saw the caller ID.

"Mr. Redfield" her voice was thick and honeyed, the light Southern accent announcing that she was American even in the foreign setting, "I've been expecting your call." She crossed her legs and waved away the servant who approached her with a cocktail.

* * *

Chris looked at the speaker phone in surprise before looking around the room. Just who the hell was this woman and how the hell did she know it was him? Even if she had caller ID it would display Barry's number. He cleared his throat, wondering just how he was supposed to go about this.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked and a tinkling laugh was heard.

"Honey, information is my business. How would I make any money if I didn't know who was in need of my services?" the voice sounded amused and for a second Chris had a flash of another coldly amused voice. "The only question I have for you, is what piece of information do you want? You can only afford one, after all."

"What do you mean?" it was Leon who asked.

"I know this call is about the whereabouts of Albert Wesker," the way she spat out the last name left no doubt in their minds that she was likely not on good terms with the man. "But aren't you curious as to why he would even be interested in Claire Redfield? Why he would break into a secure U.S. government facility to get her?" Everyone in the room's eyebrows rose at what she said. The tinkling laughter was back. "You didn't know that? Dear me, let's just consider that one a freebie. The next one will cost you."

"How much?" Jill asked raising her hand to stop any other questions. It had been a long time since she had done something like this. The last time she had truly dealt with someone who deals in information was when she was still leading a life of crime with her father. She knew this woman was trying to distract them, getting them to pay for the wrong piece of information so that they would have to pay more for the one they wanted. It was a standard practice.

"One-point-eight million wired to an account I'll give you," she purred through the phone line. "And that's for every piece of information I give you minus the aforementioned." Chris felt his eyes reach the size of dinner plates. That was four times what they had paid in order to get the phone number. Jill frowned. The figure was above what she had expected, but she had been out of the game for so long she had no idea what was reasonable and what was not anymore.

"One," Jill counter offered. The woman clicked her tongue over the phone.

"I fear you don't realize just how dangerous even talking to you is, Miss Valentine," she said her voice thick with false fear. "However, I understand your limited resources: one-point-six." Everyone in the room looked at her, Leon's hand hovering over the check as he waited for them to decide on a figure. Jill brushed a piece of hair out her eyes as her mind worked.

"One-point-four," she gritted out praying that the woman wouldn't hang up. She held her breath as she waited for her response.

"Done," came the firm response from the other end of the phone. "Now what do you want to know? I'm a very busy woman." All the eyes in the room went to Chris. The man took a deep breath.

"Just where he is," he figured that they could find out the why after they found Claire. There was no telling what that madman was doing to her while they sat around bargaining with some woman over the telephone.

* * *

One corner of a perfectly sculpted mouth lifted in a smile as she gave him the address of the laboratory and house in Arizona. While the information Ada had given her on Chris Redfield and the others was correct, she knew he was far smarter than Albert gave him credit for. The account number rolled off her tongue, knowing that these people's sense of honor would assure she was paid. They might even use her number again someday. Not that they would if they knew who she was. She hung up the cell phone, and the servant who had been hovering just out of earshot approached.

"Is there anything else you'll be needing, Mrs. Jackson-Wesker?" the man asked his voice heavily accented as English was not the first language he had learned.

"Have them ready the jet," she said as she sipped the cocktail. "I will be needing to return the states. It seems my brother's little side project has had some interesting results, and I have a feeling I'll soon be in a position to reap the benefits."

* * *

Claire rubbed her hair with a towel in one hand as she walked into her bedroom. Oddly, since the kiss in the kitchen things had gone back to some semblance of normal. Wesker still didn't return to sparring with her, but she knew that this was due to some project he was working on on-top of the work he was doing on the serum, not him actively avoiding her. She had stopped by the lab room a couple of times over the past few days to give blood samples and the sheer amount of paperwork piled neatly around the place was startling. He had almost seemed distracted as he took her blood. It was unlike him to be so untidy. She had actually thought about trying to filch some of them, before common sense told her that he would likely notice if anything was a hair out of place.

She let out a sigh before frowning as she saw a box on her bed. She threw the towel over a chair as she approached it. Cautiously, she pried the lid off, almost like she was afraid that whatever was in it would hurt her. She pushed tissue paper aside to find a pair of black ballet flats. Little black jewels went around the top and she had little doubt that they were real gems. Ribbons trailed from them in order to secure them to her feet. She studied the shoes for a moment like some kind of great puzzle trying to figure out what was going on.

The brunette finally gave up and put the shoes back in the box before picking the box up. Why was she going to spend all her time trying to figure out why Wesker was giving her ballet shoes when she could go downstairs and ask him?

* * *

Wesker decided that Russians were not people he was going to actively seek out to work with again. They were all almost as paranoid as he was from the combination of the Cold War and the stranglehold the KGB once had on the country. It made negotiations crawl. The only good news was that he had managed to perfect the serum for Claire and decided that he was going to use the Gala in order to test it. Testing had shown that the virus would overcome the serum, which meant she would likely be on doses for the rest of her life if she wanted to 'live normally'. It slowed down her healing to a virtual crawl and her strength and speed were greatly reduced. But it would cheat any test done for the presence of T and its variants.

There was a knock at the door to the control room and his attention went from the data streams Red Queen was sending him from Russia that were being printed out, to another monitor that showed Claire standing outside the door a black box under her arms. A frown danced across his features. Things had been getting better since the incident in the kitchen. He had come to the conclusion that whatever had happened in there had been nothing more than the result of too much time spent together and mutual frustration at the situation.

The shoes had been his way of getting her attention without actually having to talk to her. Whatever conclusion about the mess he had come to, it had not changed the fact that that odd feeling that was anger but not appeared whenever she was present. He had not had time between his projects to examine it enough to come to any kind of definite conclusion, so he had decided the prudent course of action would be to avoid it. This was why he did not answer the door himself but allowed the computer to do so. He turned in the chair, so that he faced her as she walked in.

"Can I ask what gave you the impression I was a ballerina?" Claire asked sarcasm heavy in her voice as she stepped inside. It always felt to her like she was entering some villain's lair with the way he kept the lights dim in order to see the computer screens better. His scent was thick in here, the smell of rock candy and ozone easing tension out of her without her consent. A hand unconsciously went to her belly, only for her to realize it as Wesker's eyes followed the movement. "Well?" she asked drawing his attention away from a topic that seemed to mostly result in the two of them brawling or doing other things she wished no part of. She was no less determined to escape, watching for an opening.

"They match the dress," the blond said simply leaving her more puzzled than when she started. Sometimes it astounded him how dense she could be.

"What dress?" she went back over her mental picture of her room, making sure that she hadn't overlooked it. "And why would I need a dress?" Claire was not a dressy kind of woman. She had always felt more at home in a t-shirt and jeans or the occasional bit of biker gear. Dresses always made her feel like she was a three year old playing dress-up with her mom's clothes. She knew she was not the most beautiful woman, but hoped that someday someone would like her for her personality. But that was before this had all happened. She was going to have a child and due to the nature of her infection, the very idea she could find someone to settle down with was ridiculous.

"The dress being delivered to the hotel room," Wesker said clearly annoyed. He couldn't afford to play twenty questions with her right now, so it was better just to explain things in simple terms. He had forgotten how like her brother she could be when she wanted to. He had been known to forever ask mundane questions. "You should pack an overnight bag as we will be leaving in a few hours. We will be attending a party that a friend is throwing."

Claire looked at him in disbelief. They were going back out after what had happened last time? Was he insane? _Yes,_ a voice in her mind responded, _he very likely is. _But she wasn't going to say anything. This was likely the opportunity she had been waiting for. The party meant civilization, and civilization meant a chance to disappear and find her brother. Her thumb traced over her lower stomach as she thought. She was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Fine," she said with a shrug. She watched curiosity light in his exotic eyes and she moved to leave. It would be better if he didn't ask her any questions. She had a feeling that she would be hard pressed to come up with a lie he would believe. That and the more amount of time she spent in his presence the more she remembered the feel of his lips on hers and the passion in that single kiss.

Wesker watched her walk out, puzzled. He had expected more of a fight after what happened last time. He knew that she was adamantly opposed to the idea of harming others in her attempt to stay out of the government's clutches, and that, while she hadn't said anything, the night they had spent in Phoenix had bothered her. So then, why had she given in so easily?

He blinked slowly as a thought came to him. Perhaps she saw this as a chance to get away from him. He knew that their argument was likely far from finished in her mind, and that she had likely only appeared to have given in in order to plan something. She was not her brother and understood the concept of planning doing what brute force could not. But, surely, she was not going to try to take off. She could not be that foolish.

* * *

Chris looked at the weaponry spread out across his bed. Most of it was legal, he had the permits to prove it, but there were a few that he had modified himself. His S.T.A.R.S. issued handgun was one of them. He picked it up, pushing the button to slide the magazine out. He checked it to make sure it was empty before putting it on the bed. He slid the slide back to check the chamber before checking the sights by looking at a tree outside the window. All of this was habit- a practice developed from years spent moving from one viral crisis to the other. The fact that this was to go after his sister didn't change it. Chances were good that he was going to encounter Albert Wesker and he didn't want a gun to stall because he missed something an inspection could've caught. He heard the snick as the door behind him opened and he lowered the gun as he turned.

Jill leaned against the doorway, her brown hair was pulled back in a low pony-tail pulled through the back of a black baseball cap. She wore a black long sleeved shirt and jeans. A thigh holster wrapped around her waist and right thigh, the gun missing at the moment in response to her own preparations and her jeans tucked into a pair of steel-toed work boots. She waited until she was sure she had his attention before she walked inside.

"I figured I would come and give you a hand," she said with a little shrug as she made her way to the bed.

"Checking up on me, now?" Chris asked as he watched her walk her fingers down the barrel of the shotgun. He wondered if she did things like this around him intentionally or if it was all subconscious. Because, despite his sister being kidnapped by a madman, he still found Jill attractive enough to make him forget for a split second just why he had all the weapons spread across his bed.

"We worry about you," she said looking back up at him before moving so she could rest a hand on his upper arm. "I worry about you. Besides Barry, you're the only member of this team who has someone to lose. What will you do if we're too late?" Jill hated to even suggest such a thing, but knew with Wesker it was a very real outcome. Even if Claire was by some miracle alive, there was no guarantee she was Claire anymore. He could've turned her into some kind of mutated monster and the only peace they could give her would be by killing her. She knew her former captain was more than capable of being just that cruel, especially when it came to his former team members.

"Don't say that!" he ground out from between clenched teeth as he shrugged her arm off. "We won't be. Claire will be fine and we'll finally kill that bastard." The look he gave her made her heart contract. He was well aware of just what they might find at the desert address they had been given, but he couldn't let himself believe they would find anything less. She nodded firmly, letting him know without words that she was behind him.

"Well then, let's get this stuff packed up," Jill said as she grabbed the shotgun off the bed. "Carlos should be back tonight and Leon just called to confirm that he got us a ride. Unofficially, of course," which meant Leon had called in more favors with the people in the military he knew. He wondered what he would do without his friends.

"Thanks," he said with a smile. "Maybe we'll get lucky and actually surprise him this time."

* * *

Claire watched him work. They were on the flight to wherever the party was going to be held. Wesker wouldn't tell her, and she had spent most of the drive to the small private airstrip in sullen silence. The second they had climbed into the plane he had opened up a little black laptop, making a point of the fact he had things to do and would not be dealing with her childish attitude. Whatever. She was bolting the second they hit the city streets. But with his ignoring of her in favor of his work, and the fact that she was too wired with adrenalin from thinking about her upcoming escape, meant she couldn't sleep. This meant she was reduced to staring at him, as it was cloudy so there was nothing to see out the window, and letting her mind wander.

Her eyes mapped his face, the sunglasses gone in favor of the natural light filtering through the cabin. He didn't look a day over thirty though she knew he was in his mid-forties. She also couldn't deny that he was handsome in that cold almost statuesque way. There was no doubt in her mind that the greats would have killed to get their hands on him. She looked at the small downward turn to his lips and couldn't help the flush of heat in her veins as it summoned the memory of the kiss in the kitchen. For those few seconds there had been no virus, no child, no years of hate stretching between the two of them. There had only been passion, pure and simple. She had never felt that kind of passion before, and had a feeling she would never find it with anyone else. Why did she have to find it with her worst enemy? Why couldn't it have been with some normal man? Did God really hate her that much?

A sigh escaped her lips and the sound of typing ceased as those liquid fire eyes rose to look at her. She felt heat rise to her cheeks under his scrutiny, knowing that she had been caught, but she refused to look away. She couldn't afford to show weakness, not if she was going to protect this baby.

"It's impolite to stare, dear heart," he said closing the lid to the laptop and setting it aside. It was hard to concentrate on his work with her staring at him. There was a considering weight to her gaze and he couldn't help the curiosity as he wondered just what it was she saw. Did she see a monster? A God? Or something else entirely?

"It's also impolite to drag people across the country without telling them where they are going," Claire snapped as she crossed her arms, letting the anger cover her mild embarrassment at being caught staring at him. "I do believe they have even gone so far as to make it crime. Kidnapping I think is the term."

"What difference would knowing where make? You would end up going either way," Wesker said leaning back in the white and cream chair as he folded his hands together in front of himself. Claire felt her temper flare. This was part of what they had been fighting about at the kitchen. He just expected her to follow him around doing whatever he wanted like some kind of deranged pet, offered a treat if it was compliant.

"I'm not one of your lackeys, Wesker," she hissed moving so she was sitting on the edge of her chair. "You don't get to tell me to jump and expect me to say how high. I'm not something you can control like an experiment! I'm a person." She made sure her eyes were locked with his as she said it. She wanted no misunderstanding.

The blonde raised an eyebrow at her response. Clearly, the extra hormones in her blood stream where affecting her judgment. He had best calm her down before she ended up trying to take him on physically-the plane was not built to handle that kind of damage and he did not enjoy the idea of having to walk all the way to their destination along with the fall and its results.

"I'm perfectly aware that you're a person, Ms. Redfield," he began but she cut him off with a scoff.

"Really? Sometimes I don't even think you know what anything you can't put into one of your predetermined boxes is," the sneer in Claire's voice was unlike her, but she was so tired of this, of everything since she had found out about her infection. Wesker was just the closest target, but that didn't stop her. "I bet you don't even know why're keeping me. Oh, I'm sure you've figured out some way to justify it in that twisted mind of yours, but it's not the real reason and you know it. Does it eat you up knowing that in some twisted way you need me?"

The words had not been meant to leave her mouth. They were far too close to voicing what she had seen in his eyes that day. Claire knew that once he figured it out, she would either end up dead or never see the light of day again. Such a weakness would either be destroyed or locked away where no one would ever have a chance of finding it. She had to get away before he got to that point. Had to.

His temper flared to meet hers at her words. He had no name for the feeling she inspired, had no rational reason for the fact that he could not bring himself to fatally harm her. It was slowly driving him crazy. The only thing he could think to do was to prove her wrong. He was in front of her in a flash, tossing her onto the floor of the cabin, and pinning her down. She struggled, a fist connecting with his lower jaw before he managed to capture her wrists and pin them to the floor above her head with one hand. His other one was around her neck.

"I don't _need_ anyone, Claire," Wesker told her, nose inches from her own. "You're something rare and intriguing that is rapidly becoming more trouble than it's worth. I would advise you not to become so troublesome you lose all worth." He tightened the hand around her throat as he spoke, those defying eyes staring up at him.

Claire was not ready to give in just yet. One leg hooked around his thigh, and with a twist she reversed their positions. The shock of the move left him momentarily stunned and she was fisting her hands in his dress shirt, bringing her face close to his in an instinctual need to try to intimidate him.

"That's why you're alone, Wesker," they were close enough he could feel the breath from her lips as she spoke. "Never needing anyone or anything. Tell me, do you ever wonder what you're life would've been like if you let that ice thaw a little bit? If you asked instead of ordered? If you had someone waiting for you on the other side of that lab door? Or are you so cold, that no one could mean anything to you beyond what they could do for you?"

He wanted her to stop talking. She was giving voice to questions he had been shoving away for a long time-things he had labeled as irrelevant in his quest to perfect the virus. Then there was the fact that she had the unique ability to drag these things he had put to rest in his mind to the surface and force him to think about them. That damn feeling that was not rage was back and he was moving with a single purpose-he needed her to stop talking. A shift of his body weight, a flex of his muscle, and she was once more underneath him.

Claire had a split second to read the intent in his eyes before his lips were on hers again. It was violent, as much an extension of their fight as if they were trading blows. This was so wrong. She wasn't supposed to be yanking the short strands of his hair in an effort to get him to do as she wished. She wasn't supposed to be sucking his tongue into her mouth, delighting in the feel of it. She wasn't supposed to be locking her legs around his waist so she could get as close to him as possible with clothes on. She was supposed to be pushing him away as his body molded to hers. She was supposed to be protesting as one of his hands slid under her shirt. She was supposed to be fighting as his lips moved towards her neck.

A sound escaped her lips when he found the pulse point on her throat and he cradled it with his lips, teeth, tongue. He didn't know what this was. He had never experienced a lust this all-encompassing before. It was like their anger was fuel, feeding the need to touch, to claim. He wanted her. He wanted Claire Redfield writhing underneath him, he wanted all the sounds she made, and he wanted her to want it. It was like an ache settling into his bones, into his very being, and it frightened him.

He paused, her pulse dancing under his lips, one hand on the small of her back pressing her into him. Then he was moving. He left her like she had burnt him, feet carrying him to the bathroom. He didn't care that he had left her sprawled wantonly on the floor, that his body was protesting adamantly, that it might look like he was running away from her. What he cared about was that damn _feeling_ coursing through his veins-the sheer intensity of it. Wesker had felt very little even when he had been human: ambition, anger, desire, curiosity, triumph, the occasional bit of contentment when things went his way. But none of them held the sheer power of this feeling.

He ran one hand through the mess she had made of his hair, forcing it back into place, as a thought hit him with all the force of a runaway train. Was this affection? Was this that petty emotion humans wrote such drivel about? Was this the thing that brought men low and nations went to war over? A sneer twisted his face at the thought. If that was so, they could keep it. Albert Wesker had much more important things to do than deal with an affection.

* * *

Sherry Birkin frowned at the email she had just gotten from her "Uncle Albert". The length was not the problem-often when she would send three or four page emails she would get back one or two lines of his concise prose. It wasn't uncommon to get two sentences: _That's nice dear. All is well here._ _–A._ Indeed, this email was just as short, only what made her stare at it in her dorm room was the message itself. _Much to discuss. Come home over break._ He hadn't demanded she come to wherever he was for the holiday break in years. He also wasn't one to discuss much, more the type to inform her of how things were going to be.

A sigh escaped her lips as she answered his email with an affirmative. More than likely, all she'd have to do was be packed and a car would show to take her to the private jet and fly her to wherever her uncle was. Vaguely, she wondered what was so urgent he was having her come to him. She began to dial a number she had long ago memorized on her cell phone. Her parents had not left her a pauper, and the second she turned eighteen all the money was hers. She could afford the services of the Asian woman with no name.

* * *

The rest of the plane ride was spent in self-induced silence, neither one wanting to discuss what had happened. Claire thought briefly about kissing the tarmac as the pilot lowered the small staircase or just making a run for it blindly. Anything would be better than this. Her eyebrows climbed into her hairline as she saw the four men in suits waiting at the bottom of the steps. She hesitated at the door, looking back at Wesker. For all the fighting and confusion, she still found herself looking to him when she was in danger. It grated on her nerves that she still trusted him like that.

Wesker said nothing as he took note of the welcoming committee. It seemed some of the people from the Organization didn't trust him to be able to conduct himself in the city without drawing attention to himself. It would be annoying, but it would be better to ignore them than to give the Organization more reason to suspect him. He moved past Claire, frowning at the small spark just brushing against her provoked, and headed for the limo like the men had never existed.

Claire let a sigh out at his actions before walking down the stairs herself. She glared at the one man who dared to offer her his hand. She was hardly an invalid and had never understood the whole helping a woman up and down stairs, in and out of cars, and such. Well, not when they weren't wearing heels. The biker boots she had on didn't count, and she nearly growled as one of the men reached for her overnight bag. Whatever they saw on her face was enough to have them backing up enough for her to follow behind Wesker. She slid in next to him, clearly displeased when the men followed as well. Two sat across from them and two next to them, blocking her exits. There was no way she could bolt before Wesker grabbed her now.

"Welcome to Washington, Mr. Wesker, Ms. Redfield," one of the men said and Claire just about felt her jaw drop.

"Washington? As in Washington D.C.?" she asked feeling her heart give a leap of joy. This was her town. She spent nearly as much time here as she did at TerraSave headquarters in New York. Plus, Leon lived here.

"Yes, D.C.," it was Wesker who answered and the look he shot the man across from them was cold enough the other man was giving thought to checking his vest to make sure it had not frosted over. Claire noted the exchange and quickly came to the conclusion that the blond had not planned on these men being here. If he had, they would've known what they could and could not say in her presence.

"Ms. Gionne sent us to ensure that you had a pleasant stay," the man continued and Claire had to wonder whether he was brave or stupid.

"Ah," Wesker said next to her, that one sound conveying both recognition and annoyance. Claire decided that she would not want to be this Ms. Gionne even as she stored the name away for later use. She would get out of this mess one way or another. There was another life depending on it.

* * *

Alex waited as the valet opened her door and offered her a hand out. Gone was her pantsuit-instead she wore a pair of creased black dress slacks, a white trench coat buttoned over a grey turtleneck. She looked like an heiress or rich trophy wife, just like all the other women who made use of the hotel. She handed the valet her keys, and made her way towards the door that was already being opened. She had never liked D.C., the smell of power and corruption in the air like a disease. But she wanted to get a look at the woman who would seal her future before the government managed to get their hands on her.

She smiled at the male counter clerk as she gave her name, her mind already on the evening's events. She needed to gauge just how valuable the woman was to her brother. She needed to know just how to push them both so that she got the results she wanted. She had two goals for this night: to see to it that she was in a position to gain the secret to infected reproduction and make sure her brother had a weakness she could exploit whenever she so chose. A wicked little smile crossed her features as she entered the elevator. She had a long night ahead of her.

* * *

Claire looked at herself in the mirror. She had been amazed by the sheer opulence of the hotel suite. Foreign dignitaries stayed at places far less grand. She didn't want to think about just how much this place was costing. There was a full kitchen, living room, dining area, and a balcony with a hot tub. The bedroom was amazing, a bed so big it could fit twelve. Laid out on it had been a black and silver gown, matching the ballet shoes she had been given earlier. A quick check showed the bathroom was just as obscene, with both a walk-in shower and tub that could seat six. She had no sooner finished her self-guided tour than Wesker was shoving the room service menu in her hands and telling her she had two hours to eat and be ready.

She frowned as she began to blown her hair out to get it dry enough to work with, she was still a little startled by what had happened in the airplane. It seemed like the more they fought, the more likely they were to end up in compromising positions. It was almost like for them that the lust and the passion was an unnatural extension of the rage between them-almost as if they used it to communicate when words failed one of them. A smirk lifted one corner of her mouth. That was utterly ridiculous.

She tossed her reddish-brown locks back and turned off the dyer. But there had been that moment when she had contemplated surrendering to him and to the passion on the floor of the plane. She knew that if he hadn't stopped and taken a moment to cool off, she would've let him take anything he wanted. Her hands gripped the sides of the stand-alone sink hard enough her knuckles turned white. Why? What was it about him that shut off her common sense and left her nothing but a pile of lustful intentions? Why was she fighting it?

The last thought had her lifting her eyes from the marble of the sink to the oval mirror over the sink. Where had that last thought come from? She was fighting it because it was _wrong._ He was her _enemy._ _Except,_ another part of her mind crooned, _he's not anymore is he?_ The statement was true enough. He was no longer actively trying to harm her. Hell, he had aided her when placed in situations where she was in harm's way. But, just because he wasn't trying to kill her, didn't mean that he wasn't harming other people. She knew he thought nothing of killing another man or sacrificing people for the sake of his experiments. _But he hasn't exactly started looking for more live subjects to test your virus on…_

Claire sighed and began to gather her hair in order to pull it back. While that statement was true, she hadn't had any more episodes where she was inside the mind of some viral victim; it wasn't exactly a point in his favor, was it? She had practically pleaded with him not to, never saying the words, but conveying her meaning by describing what it was like for her. Another thought came then, one she knew was foolish even as she latched onto it. If she could get him not to experiment on others with her virus, could she get him to stop altogether? Could whatever they have be the key to stopping his madness? Could that be the reason fate had infected her in the first place?

* * *

Wesker opened the brief case he carried practically everywhere, fingers punching in the numerical code faster than the human eye code follow. He had dismissed the guards outside of the suite as soon as he realized she intended to shower. He had caught the glances they had given her when they thought the two of them weren't paying attention. She was so far out of their league it was laughable, but he still did not want them anywhere near her. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain to Excella why one of her men was in a ditch somewhere because of the temper Claire had.

Gently, he pulled out the vial of serum he had created for Claire. This whole thing, on top of annoying Mallory, was designed to provide a basic test run for the serum. He grabbed a sterile needle from the case and made his way to the shut door of the bedroom. He rapped a knuckle against it and smirked at the sound of cursing from the other side. The amount of time it took a female to get ready to go anywhere was a mystery he had a feeling he would never unravel.

Claire swore as she heard him knock on the door. According to the clock she still had over an hour before they were due to leave, why was he bothering her? Not that it really mattered. She had spent the last five minutes trying to do the impossible and lace up the back of her dress by herself. The dress was a gorgeous strapless affair that the tag claimed was a Versace. She crossed one hand over the bodice of the dress to hold it up as she opened the door-if he was going to bug her he could at least be useful.

Wesker blinked at the sight of her, even as she was forced to hold up the dress, she was beautiful. The personal shopper had done an amazing job. She had pulled her hair back bohemian style, two French braids starting at her temples and held together at the back of her head with an apple blossom clip. The black of the gown made her look paler than she really was and her eyes stand out more. Her scent of sugared cinnamon was more than enough to warm his blood.

"I do believe someone once told me it was rude to stare," Claire said as she raised an eyebrow and backed away from the door to let him in. She turned her back on him once she was far enough into the room and reached one hand up to hold her hair out of the way. "I'm having the damnest time with this back. Would you do me a favor…?"

Wesker put the serum and the syringe on the dresser as he realized the source of her swearing. Women's fashion was ever so unpractical. Carefully, he laced the black ribbon through the small silver clasps, eyes on his task and not the tempting expanse of neck she was showing him, the thickness of her scent in his nose. Claire gritted her teeth as every time his fingers brushed her skin she was reminded of other times they had touched, the smell of him trying to coax her into relaxing into his touch. She needed a distraction.

"So what did you want?" the brunette asked staring at the cream colored wall next to the bed.

"I thought I would let you know the reason why we are going to this little party," the blond said as he finished lacing the dress. "Breath out, dear heart." The second she complied he gave the ribbon a careful jerk to tighten it before swiftly tying a bow at her waist. His hands lingered for a second before he stepped away from her to the dresser. Claire let go of her hair and turned towards him. She eyed the needle in curiosity.

"Is that what I think it is?" she asked thankful for the open cut of the dress in the front as she moved towards him. It meant she didn't have to gather it every time she wanted to move and showed off the ballet shoes with every step she took.

"I believe that I have perfected the serum," he stated as he pushed the needle into the rubber top of the vial and pulled back the plunger. "Tonight is going to be a test to see how long the effects last and if there are any adverse side effects." He held out his hand for her arm as he spoke. She gave it to him as he pushed the plunger down slightly to get any air out.

"So then, this isn't a party with your fellow conspirators?" Claire asked as he sunk the needle into the juncture of her elbow.

"No," he acknowledged removing the needle before putting it back into the plastic so that it could be disposed of properly. "Though you are likely to see some people from there. It would be best if you acted like you didn't know them." She got the message: he didn't want her to blow their cover, the bastards.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't," Claire hissed as she pulled her arm out of his grasp. There was an odd sensation running through her veins, almost as though peanut butter had been injected into her.

"There is a chance that as long as the serum is in your veins, if you die you won't come back," Wesker said coldly as he made his way to the closet and pulled out a suit that had been hanging in there. She sneered at him around the headache forming behind her eyes, but her retort choked in her throat when the doorbell to the suite rang. Her dinner was here.

* * *

The man known as HUNK began whistling a tune as he worked. This had to be one of the oddest missions he had undertaken. He had been beaten, poisoned, drugged and almost forced into having sex with his target. The last was really what set things apart in his mind. Never had that happen before. He ignored the hologram of the little girl on his right telling him that he should cease and desist. He needed to get out. Now that the location was confirmed, he needed to get in contact with his employer.

He practically did a happy dance as the control device for the door short circuited. He pocketed the lock pick, thankful that he had made the pit stop to get his clothes before getting locked up once again. The Red Queen yammered on about a breach in security even though no one could hear besides him. He looked at the thick steel of the inner door and sighed. He brought out finger sized explosive and stuck it to the door along with a remote trigger. Still whistling the same tune he walked around a corner and pushed the button. The explosion was music to his ears and he grinned as he made his way through the rubble. The first stage of his mission was over and soon phase two would begin. He couldn't wait to see what kind of surprises would be in store for him.

* * *

Claire decided as she was forced into yet another pointless conversation with the wife of some researcher, that she was going to have to show Wesker the meaning of the word party. They were supposed to be fun, not bore one to sleep. Thankfully, Wesker had left her alone to conduct some kind of business, so she didn't have to deal with him hovering over her shoulder. She remembered the car ride over. He had asked her to describe every one of her senses every fifteen to twenty minutes from the time of injection. Touch, sight, and taste remained the same, but they had hardly changed to begin with. Hearing was less, but it was the sense of smell that had changed the most. While still acute, the stench of non-infected had just about disappeared.

"Jenny, darling," a male voice on her right said startling her out of the stupor the other woman's voice had put her into. "I do believe Marcus is looking for you." She watched as the dull woman's face lit up and she took her leave. Claire turned to look at her rescuer, and found herself looking at a handsome man her own age. He had short sandy blonde hair with chocolate eyes. He was wearing a pinstriped suit, the harshness of the pure black cut with the deep purple of his vest.

"You mustn't allow yourself to get cornered by her like that," he said. His voice was rough- a direct contrast to the smooth tones she had been hearing for so long. He offered her his hand. "I'm Greg Marshal. I don't believe I've seen you at these things before."

"I must admit to this being the first one I've attended," Claire said as she took the man's hand. For the first time in a long time, the smile on her face was genuine.

"Well then, we'll just have to see about getting you acquainted with everyone," he offered her his arm and she took it. He steered her towards a friendlier looking group, pointing out people he knew as he went.

* * *

Wesker hung in the background as he was want to do at these types of affairs, waiting for Mallory to be alone. She appeared to be quite popular with these people. She looked good in her silver evening gown, though she didn't hold a candle to Claire. None of these peacocks could even come close. He saw his chance when she headed towards the punch bowl.

"Really, Captain Mallory, no wonder you haven't found us if this is what you have been doing with your time," he made sure his voice was that cultured, cold purr that drove the mockery in deeper. He had been cutting people apart with words for a long time and had long since perfected the art.

"You!" she sputtered, seeming to shake with rage. Wesker didn't bother to hold back the smirk at her reaction. It appeared she was easy to get a rise out of.

"Yes, me," he reached past her and took one of the champagne flutes from the table. "I am comforted by the fact our military employs such geniuses in stating the obvious." He sipped the champagne and was pleasantly surprised that they had managed to invest in a decent vintage this year.

"Very funny," Mallory said as she stuffed her hand into the clutch she had been carrying intent on finding her cell phone. "You can laugh all the way to the undisclosed government prison you're going to spend the rest of your unnatural life in." In a movement too fast to follow, he snatched the cell phone from her hand.

"Really, such an amateurish move, Captain," he crushed the phone dropping the pieces into a fake plant. "All I want to do is talk." Mallory looked at the pieces of the phone and couldn't help the fear taking place of the anger she had felt at first seeing him. This man was a classic sociopath with enhanced strength that was nearly impossible to kill. The only thing likely standing between her becoming another victim was the presence of so many people at the gala. Not that that would stop him if she gave him enough reason.

"There, now that the pleasantries are out of the way," Wesker said smoothly as he took another sip of his champagne, "Let's discuss you giving up pursuit of myself and the sample." Mallory crossed her arms and did her best to glare at him.

"Not going to happen," she hissed. "I've staked my entire career on this."

"Are you willing to stake your life, Captain Mallory?" he asked looking over the rim of his sunglasses to give her a glimpse of his inhuman eyes. She shivered, but stood her ground. She wasn't the only player in this game and with the dogs she had sent after him it was only a matter of time. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she met his gaze.

"I already have, Albert Wesker," Mallory reached for a flute of champagne for herself and downed it all in one swallow. The devil had already been and gone this night, and she had already bargained. "Things have been set in motion. It's only a matter of time before I have the sample. The only question is whether I'll have you along with it."

"Promises, Mallory, promises," he said as he seemed to disappear back into the shadows he had come from. She had given him a lot to think about. Just what did she mean that things had been set in motion? There was a twisting sensation in his gut and he had a feeling that he needed to find Claire. Now.

* * *

The bubbling laugh that left Claire's lips was real as she listened along with others that Greg had collected as he went around the room to a story involving him, a goldfish, and a drinking game early on in his career. He was a micro botanist, studying all varieties of very tiny plant life. He was also a killer with the ladies, though he seemed most intent on lavishing Claire with attention. She felt kind of bad that she couldn't return any of his advances, or so much as give him her last name. She wondered if this was what the rest of her life was going to be like-able to look but not partake.

The thought banished all the happiness from her. Regardless of what was going on with Wesker, or what power she seemed to have over him, she knew that she had to get out before she got much deeper. She already had feelings for him that were not hate or rage or anger. If she stayed too long she risked those feelings becoming something more. What was worse was the fact that she hadn't used his inattention at the party to try to leave yet. She placed the small flute of champagne she had been nursing on a passing waiter's tray, her mind made up.

"Is everything alright, Claire?" Greg asked her quietly as one of the other women began telling a story about her college roommate's cat and her final project. She offered him a small smile the lie falling off her tongue with frightening ease.

"I'm fine. I just need to make use of the washroom," the brunette said using the first excuse that came to her mind. He nodded.

"Just be sure to find your way back quick," he winked and all Claire felt was a deep sadness. There was no attraction on her part. Not even satisfaction that she had managed to get the attention of such a handsome man. It scared her as much as the idea that she might not want to run from Wesker as much as she thought she did.

She made her way to the hallway that contained both the bathrooms and one of the emergency exits for the building. She couldn't be sure if Wesker had concluded his business and was looking for her or not yet. It was better to throw him off for as long as possible. She moved towards the exit, knowing that there was a metro station nearby that would have payphones. She'd be able to call her brother or Leon collect from there. Her hand was inches from the gold bar of the door when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned on her heel, prepared to run, knowing that there was no way she could fight anyone in the dress she had on.

A woman stood there, long blonde hair coiled on top her head in complex knots that said she could afford to have someone else do her hair. The dress she wore was a purple so deep it looked black except when the light hit it. The neck line stopped just short of obscene and the diamonds that glittered at her throat were worth enough to buy a third world country. The scent of cigarette smoke hit her nose as she saw the lit white stick in the woman's delicate hand. Surprisingly, there was no other scent-not the muted scent of death that everyone else at the party had, nor the sweet sugary smell of infected. The only way she could think to describe it was unholy. The woman smelled like she was blank, a perfect slate waiting for something to be written on it. She felt goosebumps rise on her arms looking into the cobalt blue of the woman's eyes. They were the eyes of a predator put into such a perfect face.

"Running, Claire?" she asked in that slow southern drawl, cutting off the g sound in the word. Her hand raised and the tip of the cigarette glowed red from her inhale.

"How do you know who I am?" Claire asked as her body began screaming danger, something it hadn't done since she had undergone the change with the virus. Instinctively, she knew that this woman could harm her and her child; likely wouldn't hesitate to do so.

"It's pure foolishness to think that there isn't someone just waiting for you to rush into your brother's arms," the mystery woman exhaled the white smoke in a rush. "Not that staying with Albert's the best option either. He can't keep you safe and pursue what he needs to. What do you think he'll choose when the time comes, hmm? But that's irrelevant." She stalked forward, pausing only to inhale and exhale the thick cigarette smoke, almost like she was cloaking their own scents in it.

"What do you want?" the brunette asked as her back hit the metal bar of the door. She planted one foot behind her, another in front, balanced to spring if she should need to. Claire couldn't help her mind's wish for Wesker. She was a Redfield and that meant that in situations like this they relied on luck, while he was always the one with a plan. She had faced all manner of virally mutated monstrosities, but never had she felt the kind of fear this woman created. It was primitive, the same one that sent chills down your spine in the dark, the one that had you jumping at every noise in a deserted house. It was multiplied a thousand times by the mere presence of this woman. She needed his ability to plan, the way his scent gave her comfort, in order to fight that fear. But she wasn't going to let it stop her if it came down to it. Claire was going to protect her child.

"Merely to offer my aid," she had stopped moving, an amused smile curling on her lips. "You have something I want, Ms. Redfield. A secret hides in your blood-one that Albert has already dismissed as inconsequential." A shiver crawled up Claire's spine as the woman looked at her stomach in open hunger. Without thinking, she rested a hand on it, protecting what rested within.

"No," Claire's voice was firm, anger dancing behind it. She was so tired of these people who saw nothing but the secrets that rested in her blood. They could all go fuck themselves for all she cared. The hand not on her stomach fisted. She would die before she let anyone touch her or her child like this woman was suggesting.

"I can make all this go away," the woman said putting the cigarette out on the cream colored wall, ignoring the black smudge it made as the soot touched the wall, "The government chasing you, Wesker's need to have you, the threat to your life and that of your friends. All of it. You can live a normal life again with your brother and the others. It can go back to the way it was before this ever happened."

Did this woman think she was stupid? There was no way things could go back to the way they were before. One could not just erase over two months of their life, never mind her claim to be able to make both the government and Wesker go away. She was startled to realize that she didn't _want_ to forget it, or for Wesker to go away. For all the confusion and internal conflict Wesker was inducing, she wouldn't trade what was developing between them for a chance to go back to the way things were. As twisted and wrong as it was, she had never felt more alive than when he touched her. Whatever was going on between the two of them, she was going to see it through. The acknowledgement of this fact helped her embrace her anger enough to drown the fear of this woman.

"Pretty words," Claire hissed anger heating the air around her. She felt slightly dizzy for a second before the world came into sharper focus. She could see clearer, the smell of cigarette smoke was thick enough it almost burned her nostrils, and she wouldn't be surprised if her eyes were that eerie shade of silver despite the serum.

"What's wrong, Claire? Not even tempted by the offer?" the woman's voice was like liquid honey. "Has Wesker managed to suck you in so completely? Offered you a few kisses, put a child in your belly, and suddenly he's worth more to you than your friends? Your _family?_"

"How dare you," her fists balled and she had to fight the urge to punch this woman. "You have no idea of what's going on between me and him."

"You're a fool if you think he can love you," the superior look on the woman's face just succeeded in making her look like a lifeless statute in a museum-perfect beauty with no depth. "He can't _love_." The sound of footsteps was heard and the other woman pushed her out of the way to take the exit.

* * *

It took Claire a few moments to gather herself enough to decide not to return to the party. She was unsure why she was still here, but the woman's words had told her something very true: she couldn't run to her brother about this. Not without risking him and the others. Wesker, while a murderous bastard, at least kept her safe and kept his word. He was really the lesser of all the evils in this situation, but that didn't mean she was giving in to him. She would fight him every step of the way, make sure he understood that she would be treated as he equal and nothing less. She had made her decision for better or worse and now she was going to have to stick with it. Firm in it, she walked out the front exit of the building, knowing there was a small park nearby. The very idea of going back into the ballroom was enough to make her stomach roll. She needed some time to herself.

* * *

It took Wesker fifteen minutes to realize she was no longer in the building. With this knowledge, came a distinct anger and an odd burning feeling in his chest. He had left her alone at the party confident that she was not going to run, and yet she was nowhere to be found. Anger had him slamming the door as he realized what this burning feeling was. He felt _betrayed_. He had _trusted _her. Granted, it had been only to do as he said and do nothing foolish, but he had still done it. Trust was something he had not realized he was capable of anymore.

A growl escaped his throat as he turned on the sidewalk, ignoring the valet asking if he should have the limo brought around. The cold D.C. night air was a sharp contrast to the warmth of his anger. He was disgusted with himself as he followed her lingering scent. The trust had to be a symptom of the affection same as the way her scent excited him despite his current anger at her. The fact that this affection was affecting his decision making process was beyond unacceptable. What if she had gotten on the metro? There was a station nearby and while it would be odd to see someone so well dressed on it, they would hardly not let her on. She could be at that pain in the ass Kennedy's apartment right this moment.

A fresh wave of anger flooded his veins as he imagined the greeting she would receive. The idea of any other man touching her, even in a friendly way, was enough to spark his anger anew. He shoved his hands into the pockets of the suit jacket, fisted to the point his knuckles showed white even against the natural pallor of his skin. This was completely unacceptable. Even when he had been human, he had never allowed his emotions to rule him. The fact that they were affecting his decision making process, that _she_ was affecting his decision making process… He needed to get rid of this affection and he needed to do it now.

He stopped in front of a sign that displayed the name and hours of a small neighborhood park. Her scent trail clearly told him that this was where she had gone, but he could not understand why. If she was planning on making her great escape why would she come here? He stepped inside the park fence, vision perfect even in the low light of the city night. A quick scan found the only figure actually moving in the park. Claire sat on the swings, looking down at her feet which were off the ground, as the swing moved slowly back and forth. The sight was both sad and endearing at once, making him grit his teeth and viciously shove the emotion away. He closed the distance between them in seconds.

* * *

Claire had known it was only a matter of time before Wesker found her. She never doubted his ability to do so. The eerie way he was able to do it reminded her distinctly of an old Chinese saying-something about how certain people were connect by an unbreakable red string of fate, and regardless of how tangled it got, how hard the two parties fought, they would be forever connected. So, when his unique scent hit her nose, she was unsurprised. She put her feet down to stop the swing's motion, uncaring of the dirt that was now coating her shoes, and looked up at him.

"I knew you would find me," she said as she stood, her eyes glowing a soft silver as the combination of time and the encounter with that woman had burned through the serum. Wesker choked back his anger at the combination of her odd statement and the fact that she appeared to have flushed the serum from her body. According to the lab testing, she should've been okay at least until the next morning.

"What happened?" the blonde's voice was curt, his anger showing through despite his attempt to hide it. Claire looked away at the trees in the park, knowing that once she told him, her fate was sealed. Once he realized there was someone as genetically altered as that woman had been was after her, she was never going to see the light of day again. A hand flattened itself across her womb. Would her child ever know the simple joy of a place like this? Would he or she ever be able to run free, making quick friends with other kids his age, doing things that would result in the typical scrapes and bruises of childhood? But she had made her decision, she reminded herself.

"There was a woman," she began a hand reaching out to touch the cold metal of one of the poles holding up the swings. Once she began, the story tumbled from her mouth, gooseflesh rising on her skin from the memory. She looked him only when she spoke of what the woman had offered her. She wanted him to understand what she was giving up, even if she knew that he would never understand the why behind it. She wondered about her future. Was she doomed to eventually come to love a man who could never share one-tenth of the affection she felt? Was the child she carried going to be adversely affected by having a father who could never love it?

"I find it hard to believe, dear heart," Wesker said as she finished her story with her coming outside to get some fresh air and think, "that you would give up such a ripe opportunity to get out of my clutches." He stored the information on this woman away, wondering if this was part of what Mallory had been talking about. Was this woman connected to her? His anger had lessened at the idea, no matter how his mind told him that he was being played by her, that she had not left the gala with the sole intention of running. As a matter of fact the idea that she had given up what was likely her last chance to return to a normal life to stay with him, had caused a resurgence of that feeling of affection. It sickened and disgusted him with its warmth and the sudden urge to touch her, pull her close, and hide her away somewhere. He was Albert Wesker not some love sick fool.

Claire had prepared herself for his disbelief, or so she had thought, but the anger at his words, the way he threw back at her the decision she had made, was hot and quick. She moved so that she was inches from him, a growl buried deep in her throat as she looked up at him. Her fingers itched with the need to remove his sunglasses and see his eyes, to make sure that he was paying attention to her words.

"There are things more evil than you out there, Albert Wesker," she snarled reaching up to pluck his shades away from his eyes. He caught her wrist before she could bring it all the way down to her side. His eyes burned in the lack of light, twin fires staring at her with such intensity. She felt her body shiver with anticipation. If he touched her this time she would give in. She knew it with a startling clarity she had never before possessed during their conflicts.

"Evil is subjective, dear heart, but whatever you need to tell yourself to justify staying," the blonde said as he reached forward to grab her chin. Claire clenched her fists in anger and against the heat of his touch. She knew he would not understand. The woman's voice from earlier echoed through her head: _he can't love._ So then, what was it that had flashed in his eyes seconds ago? What was this burn that started where he touched her and spread through her body? Was it a by-product of the virus that ran through her blood? Was everything she was feeling a by-product of this lab created plague? Had she given up her freedom in a decision fueled by virus created delusions? Rage at the idea burned through her blood just as intense as the heat created by the simplest of his touches, even as a voice whispered in her head _it couldn't create what there hadn't been a seed for in the beginning._

"Now, when did you notice the effects of the serum starting to wear off?" Wesker was determined to get back to the business at hand. Speculating on why she had not taken off was not a question he could answer at the moment. It likely had to do with emotions, of which hers seemed to be in a constant state of illogical flux that was impossible for him to unravel or predict.

"Oh, I dunno, how about when I was cornered by the she-bitch in the hallway?" Claire's tone was biting as she jerked her chin out of his grip and took a few steps away from him. "Do we have to do this right now? I'm tired." She refused to look at him with the rage and knowledge floating in her veins. If this kept up she would do something stupid.

Wesker let her move away from him, studying her. She was a walking contradiction of emotions and decisions, impossible to predict. She reminded him so much of the viruses he had spent his whole life studying in that aspect. Beautiful and just as obsession inducing. The thought brought his entire train of thought to a halt. That damn affection was creeping back into this thought process and he needed to nip it in the bud _now._

"Yes, we do," he pushed crossing his arms, "The longer the amount of time between the trigger and me asking you the questions the more you are likely to forget." The words were so similar to the ones she herself used when trying to coax details out of a bioterror victim, she felt something snap.

"What does it matter, Wesker?" her eyes reflected a certain amount of bitterness as she looked at him. "There will be other opportunities for testing. Hell, you said yourself, you plan on locking me up in some island facility somewhere. What's the fucking point? I'll never get the freedom it was supposed to give me." Claire moved passed him as she finished speaking, the wetness on her cheeks freezing at the temperature around them.

The blonde's eyes furrowed. What was she going on about? Sure, he had mentioned stopping by the facility in the Phoenix Islands because it was secure and would likely have everything on hand for the potential disasters that came with such a risky birth. But he fully expected her to fight him every step of the way. It was part of what made her so intriguing. And here she was acting like she had done the unthinkable and given up.

"Well then, that saves me the trouble of trying to think up some way to get you into a cryo-tube," he was bluffing, he had no such plans. As a matter of fact, he had no clue why the words had come out of his mouth, something that never happened. All he knew, was that the added scent of saline that signaled tears had that damn feeling returning in spades complete with pain. If he didn't know better, he would think he was having a heart attack. But the words had the desired effect.

Claire whirled on her heel, the full skirt of the dress floating around her like the aura of her rage. Her eyes were full silver as she narrowed them in a glare. She moved towards him with purpose and he couldn't help the amused glare on his face. He understood this Claire. Unfortunately, he had forgotten just how fast she was. The palm of her hand connected with the side of his face, sending his sunglasses flying.

"How dare you!" she hissed, all the bitterness swallowed by her rage at the idea of her becoming just another number in a computer system somewhere. She was fighting so hard to prove she was still a person, sure she had lost it for a minute, but that didn't give him the right to even suggest such a thing.

"Dear heart," Wesker said with growl in his tone. They hardly needed to be fighting in a public park where anyone could come by and see them. When she moved to hit him again, clearly taking her anger out on him, he caught her arm and jerked her around so that her arm was twisted at an awkward angle. She could get out of the hold in a second if she really wanted to, but he wanted her to calm down, not fight with her. But Claire wanted to fight. She wanted to hold onto that white hot anger his words had invoked as long as she could. There was a chance, she knew, that if she let it go that bitterness would come back. And she couldn't stand to feel that way. It was so unlike her.

"Don't 'dear heart' me," the brunette hissed modifying the hold so that she was chest to chest with him. "I'll never let you do such a thing. I'll die before I let someone put me in one of those damn test tubes." She was standing on tip-toe as she tried to make it so that her eyes were level with his while she spoke.

"Good," he said glad that she had her fire back, before pushing her away from him. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled his cell phone out to call for the limo.

Claire watched him, her rage put out with the single word her had responded with. She wasn't stupid. She realized now exactly what he had done. It was the same thing she did to her brother when he was thinking about giving up after everything he had seen. He had noticed she was close to breaking and had brought her back in the most effective way for someone of her personality. He had manipulated her.

That wasn't the part that puzzled her, she noted as she ran one hand up her arm as they waited in silence for the limo to come around. It was the motive behind it. Manipulation was par for the course with Wesker, as much a part of him as the virus. But, manipulation required motive, a need to put a person in a certain place in order to execute an objective. When Claire had done such things for her brother it had been about making him feel better and come up with the motivation to carry on. Both were things that she could not see Wesker having too much interest in concerning her. If she was defeated and only going through the motions, wouldn't she be better to handle?

She followed him out of the park entrance as the limo pulled up. Did it really matter? He had done it, pulled her out of her pity-party. She waited until he opened the door for her before she looked at him.

"Thank you."

* * *

Alex leaned against the building across the street, the shadows thick enough to hide her form, as she watched the two of them get inside the black limo. Everything had gone according to plan. Mallory had been easy enough to convince, more than willing to write her a blank check in effect, in order to make get the information on an ambush site for when Chris managed to extract Claire from Wesker. She would get her hands on the reproductive answer in her blood and the child she carried once Mallory had her hands on her.

One heeled foot propped itself on the bricks behind her as the limo sped into the night traffic of D.C. But she knew better than to just take the data and run. When her plans came to fruition she was going to need something to hang over Albert's head in order to keep him from interfering. She was more than content to let him do the leg work at this stage, perfecting the virus as the ideals that Spencer had planted in his mind drove him closer to her own goals. This was why she needed to be sure he had a weakness, something she could exploit when the time came. She wasn't like him, a super human created from T. She had truly found the secret to immortality buried deep in the RNA structure of Progenitor, but the price was high.

A frown on her face did nothing to diminish her beauty. The answer to her price was in Claire Redfield's blood, and that of her child. Once she had that solved she could show the world its next stage in evolution. Death would be as a fairytale whispered in dark corners. What a beautiful place it would be. She would ensure that only the worthy received her gift. She just had to wait-to wait for Chris to find Claire, the military to give her Claire's blood, Wesker to perfect the virus to the point where she could use it to start over. It was a good thing patience was the only virtue she actually possessed.

* * *

Reviews:

PurgatoryNymphe: Yes, lots of Wesker trying to squish that nasty affection. Apples have taken on a whole new meaning in my mind. As for who Carlos is seeing, I thought I was obvious… Ada. Apparently I should work on that description… Glad you aren't disappointed with last chapter and I hope this chapter came out decent.

Grissrox: Glad you like all the twists and turns. I'm trying to keep it engaging…

Lime Rickey: I hope that they are still in character (it gets harder the more Wesker understands to keep him from going "Fuck it. It's too confusing I'll just kill her and save myself the trouble"). I don't think Wesker has ever really had anyone to love/love him. Love can be frightening just as easily as it can be something warm.

Project X: Glad you think it's realistic. A famous fantasy writer once said: "What makes a good fantasy piece believable? It's the realism. They have to do the same things normal people do or they'll never relate to them". Or something like that.

Ehehehehe: Now, I must know who this reviewer is. –is ashamed she doesn't know- And I understand what you mean about infected Claire. You have to be very careful of two things: that she doesn't become Marysue-ish and that she stays in character. It's quite the balancing act. Wesker, while quite smart, has the emotional expression capacity of a toaster. The physical violence is the only way he has to express even a tenth of what she makes him feel. He's just glad she doesn't break. I'm honored to have broadened someone's taste.

Naoko Suki: I hope you noticed what the title of this chapter is- I couldn't have Claire end up pregnant without having her face the real choices and consequences of such an event. Too many people gloss over that fact with the two of them and I think it is something that needs some very real attention. Claire is reaching her breaking point as is Wesker. The only question I have at this point is the level of messy.

GreenOnBlack: Glad everything appears to be making sense (sometimes I worry). I tried to keep him in character for that bit seeing as I have plans for the child. So, his character did get a little sacrificed in the name of plot. I don't think Claire is really willing to exploit her advantage yet. I think she's still coming to terms with what she feels and its implications. Hope this is continuing to be a great read!

Reviewer who left no name: I hope you didn't miss this chapter's posting and glad things are making sense to you.

Nikki-marie-Wesker: They may stop being so stubborn, but can you really picture them saying the words?

Netherlady: I am honored that you think my approach to the pairing is realistic and that would compare me to Ornamental Nonsense's work. I can promise no sappy ending and no villain 'reformation'. Wesker, as all true madman do, does not see himself as 'evil' or 'villainous' therefore he sees no reason to change. He just sees himself as 'right' and everyone else as 'too weak to admit it'.

Alberquerque Turkey: I love putting my spin on classic plot ideas within a fandom. I read so many of them and am just like "they should've expounded here or here" or "logically that's impossible". Glad you like the twists. As for Wesker, he has to be OoC in order for any kind romance to make sense.

Olabelle: I keep fearing the more 'in love' he gets, the OoC he will end up. Be sure to drop me a line if you think he is too out of line. As for the hunger, can I suggest eating while reading?

JennyT: Indeed. I have no idea why girls get weird when they get pregnant. With Claire it's more a combination of "it's a life and therefore sacred" and the virus mass producing good mommy hormones to aid in reproduction. It being Wesker's kid is more of a drawback than anything else. Hope your brain is still in working condition.

Elisabeth Hill: I'm really happy with the way that everyone seems to be responding to Claire being pregnant. Glad you like my Wesker.

Fany-Li-the Butterfly Ghost: With Wesker. I am thinking perhaps I should crack open my Spanish dictionary and just start working on a translation for you. It would likely help. I love getting reviews from you!

Britt601: Glad you enjoyed my story and hoping that it can turn you on to the other greats in this pairing.

xXx Tinkies xXx: I'd love answer all your questions, but then we would not have the rest of the story…

SaYue-San: I'm glad that my story seems to be so engaging! As for whether or not there will be a lemon-that is totally up to their muses. As this chapter can attest, they pretty much do what they want rather than what I want or the plot requires. How will it end? Good is just as relative as evil.


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