A/N: All right back to chapter nine! This AU is done at the request at Sip Fornicaras. Originally I was going to have them run straight to Cheyenne so Wesker could run tests on himself but there's really no need for him to do that. So I kept some of the original writing since the story is only slightly deviating at this point. Okay, not so slight but you get it. Also, this was difficult to write… But basically in this AU, Wesker remains powerless! And "Electio" is supposed to be Latin for "Alternative."

Electio

Chapter 1: Curre

April 3, 2001 Tuesday 9:30 PM

Subject: Redfield, Claire

Location: Red Lodge, Montana

Status: Alert

I heard beating at the front door, like someone was trying to force their way in, but I kept for the kitchen, slipping a few times on the wood in the den. The back door had been unlocked but I thought nothing of it, and the light on the house provided me with the illumination I needed to place my key in my motorcycle. Never had I found a key that fucking fast in my life, especially without thinking, but I didn't hesitate when I heard gunshots. I hurriedly put my helmet on and reminded myself that I had a turn to get around so I was fine with starting slow, but as soon as I saw that straight, gravel driveway I was sure everyone inside the house heard me escaping. The speed limit was the last thing on my mind at this point, but Wesker was all I could think of as I got onto the interstate, Denver-bound once more, but this time Wesker was coming back with me. Upstairs he put up a hell of a fight when I told him to come with me, bruising his ego by denying him the chance to defend himself.

Right now he still needed me, and he was still mortal.

April 4, 2001 Wednesday 9:44 AM

Subject: Redfield, Claire

Location: Denver, Colorado

Status: Worried

Somehow, despite feeling like I wouldn't make it through the night, I managed to fall asleep on the couch. My nightmares ranged from dreams about the men from Red Lodge breaking in and killing us to Chris walking in to see me lying against Wesker on the couch. Both scenarios were horrifying, and I think I actually prayed to God that neither happened. Chris was more of an inconvenience right now, shit it sucked to have to admit that. Yeah, he was my brother but he was also something that I had to worry about. What exactly would happen if he decided to come visit me? Would there be some epic fight, human versus human in my apartment that went on until Sidorov decided to call the cops? That in itself would lead to Wesker either being imprisoned or shot on the spot- I was over thinking things.

Chris would call before showing up. He would.

A pale arm caught my eye, frightening me out of my dreary thoughts, and I realized it was Wesker saving the stew on the oven that had begun to boil violently as I stared right at it without seeing it somehow. Rather than apologize, I just stayed there staring at the electric stovetop, knowing that if I decided to speak it would just lead to rambling and embarrassment on my part. I was supposed to be so fucking badass that I didn't give a shit about anything yet I was burning my breakfast whilst contemplating things that more than likely wouldn't even happen. Wesker didn't need to know this; he didn't need to be bothered with my paranoia when he just took a major shot to the ego when I forced him to run from a fight.

Still staring down I mumbled, "At some point I have to go to the store." Silly I know, but the way that man ate I would have no choice. Chunky wasn't going to fill him up, and I had a feeling I was going to be binge eating to stave off an impending bought of PTSD. This situation was beyond complicated, beyond fucked up. There were no words for what exactly this was but clusterfuck covered about a third of the severity.

Suddenly I was being held, a gesture that was greatly appreciated by me; sometimes a little human contact went a long way. My eyes closed as I buried my face into his shirt, the one I really didn't want to put him in due to where it came from. It was a shirt Chris left over. That fact was one I kept from him, but I was sure that he had to know somewhere in the back of his mind that it could be no one else's. Maybe he wore it without question for my sake. Emotionally I was still ill equipped to deal with these things, whereas Wesker had decades to harden himself to the underworld and its inner workings. I don't think I wanted to be privy to any of this anymore, I think if I could I'd just go to a madhouse and get the memories fried from my brain.

Though plenty of useful survival skills would be lost I would have some kind of normal life? Failing math, that was normal. Dating wealthy Byron and vacationing with his family to Mykonos, that was normal. Settling down… Everything normal in my life was not for everyone else. I had no parents from a very young age, I ride and salvage motorcycles, I've bashed in the heads of zombies, and I was sleeping with a man that had threatened to kill my brother and me. Normal sounded so much better than this. It produced fewer nightmares, less pimples, and less hair loss. And yet, I thought, finally looking up into glacial eyes, normal didn't produce him. Though part of the problem this didn't exist.

I was a virgin before this particular dose of crazy, a tough ass chick that never had the experience of being taken. Had Byron been that guy would it have been so enjoyable? No, it would've been messy and uncomfortable, more of an incident than an event and one to forget at that. I loved the way I felt with him.

To validate this reasoning I pushed myself up on the tips of my toes to signal to him to meet me halfway. This kiss was so different for us, not because I wanted it as a means of comfort but for some other reason. Shutting my eyes to the world I let my problems fall away, leaving nothing here except us. His hand brushed against my stomach, causing me to feel a strange tingling, but nothing would stop me.

It didn't take long before a kiss led to me against the wall, something that led to clothes being stripped off, oh what followed. Something about all of this made me feel like no matter what happened tomorrow, things would work out.

April 16, 2001 Monday 10:36 PM

Subject: Redfield, Claire

Location: Denver, Colorado

Status: Happy

Over the past few weeks things were brought to the apartment, Wesker assured me that we were no longer in danger of the threat that had forced us out of Red Lodge, but it would have been very foolish to return. My closet was packed with clothes, shoes, and a box that contained an assortment of jewelry that I really didn't care about. There was one piece that I wore though despite there being no meaning behind it: the engagement ring. It was so odd; this felt like something so real but I couldn't even ask him a simple yet important question: what was this? Were we still playing bodyguard? I wanted to ask him so badly, but maybe after tonight.

There was going to be a party, one that Byron had failed to tell me about (he was probably too afraid). Even though he made the oddest face when I asked if it was okay that I went, Wesker still said yes. To come off as "cool" with it he told me that I needed to get out and enjoy myself. Underneath that I imagined that he was really saying, "Claire, I hate seeing you wound up and miserable, go have fun." The look on his face when I presented myself in my dress though, now that was a sight to behold. His shades may have been on their usual perch, but his brow was raised just a bit higher than any other time.

The dress was black, hugging my body tightly to make up for the lack of straps, and the neckline plunged deep, something what was a bit of an issue tonight since my breasts were a bit swollen. PMS, I thought to myself. It was a good thing that my breasts were naturally perky; this helped with their presentation, although it would probably be seen as an invitation of some kind at one of Byron's parties.

With that thought, I finger-combed my hair in the mirror, frowning at the sight it. For some reason it was dangling down past my breasts, something I never allowed to happen. Maybe someday I'd do the really long look but for now I wanted to be a little comfortable with what I already knew. I grabbed my scissors from the medicine cabinet and chopped off a few inches and threw them in the trash can without a second thought. The last thing I needed to worry about was taking care of a head full of un-layered and too-long tresses.

When I nervously walked back to the front room, my heels loud against the floor, Wesker turned away from whatever world news station he had been watching, and he was either unimpressed or upset that I was going to go out wearing this outfit. I wanted to invite him, to have him watch over me tonight, but it was out of the question. Byron wasn't the only thing keeping me from bringing him; he was a very wanted man who couldn't risk running into any big-city cops, especially when we were so close to what used to be Raccoon City. Those who survived that catastrophe probably kept as up-to-date as possible on the information, and I was sure that many of them lived in the surrounding area. Just a few months ago a cop who abandoned post was mentioned in a news article speaking about his escape from the city. I had expected to hear of his death soon, but perhaps his desire to be heard was what was keeping him alive right now. It also helped that Umbrella's stock had plummeted

"When will you be back?" His inquiry had brought me back tonight.

"It's a party so who knows?" Despite everything that I had just gone over in my mind I blurted out, "Do you want to come?"

He smiled at my offer and gave a single laugh. "Have a good time Claire." With that, he turned his attention back to the news.

Smiling to myself, I headed for the door. Hesitantly I turned the knob and left the apartment, to begin my short walk.

About fifteen minutes later I was walking into Byron's parents' mansion, my body tense as I felt the vibrations from the bass of the music reverberating all around me. College students flooded in and out of the place, not one without a red, plastic cup in their hands. A few people I knew waved at me happily but refused to step away from their current conversations but it didn't make me feel completely alone since I was used to isolation. As usual Byron was nowhere to be seen in his own house so I made my way to the backyard, avoiding being splashed by pool water as best as I could all to the reach the bar which was manned by a professional bartender and not some moron just slinging together "cocktails." Professional as he was though he couldn't help staring at the girl in front of me who was topless without any cares, and she didn't even think that maybe the creep with the camera across the pool would peddle the video of "babes." In my mind I just chanted over and over, Claire don't trip in these heels and fall onto the half-naked chick.

Rather than continue to act like I was Sara Ivanov, prepping myself to be married to the classy Jeffrey Saunders I decided to try and appreciate that it was seventy-three degrees tonight, knowing that next week mother nature wouldn't be too gracious to the young girls who had rushed out and bought new bikinis in hopes of crashing a frat party.

"SCHOOL'S OUT FUCK YEAH!" The yell was followed by a loud splash, so I didn't even bother to look, but the half-naked girl turned around, drink in hand as she gave me a view of a not so impressive rack. The bottle blonde avoided my eyes and she sauntered off.

"Four shots of vodka," I ordered, waiting patiently as he took his time filling the shot glasses for me.

Just as he finished filling the last one he frowned at me and said, "Haven't seen you in a while." It took some time but I realized that he was the very same bartender that mixed drinks at every o ne of Byron's parties and for a few other frat boys. "You look different. Happy."

"Okay…" With no idea what he meant I took back my shots and waved to him before beginning my walk back into the house. Sure I was enjoying things right now but I wasn't too sure if I'd consider myself to be happy. Maybe when the vodka hit me though… By the time I got upstairs I was sure that the alcohol would be kicking in so I could begin enjoying the party, and I was right. Not sure if I was going to be sick I stumbled into the bathroom in the right wing of the house, interrupting a primping Valerie Swan. "Sorry."

My muttered apology was unneeded and before I could leave she said quickly, "That's all right." Unsure of what to do I stepped into the room, my heels clicking loudly against the tiled floor. "Shut the door." At her request I ended up slamming it, but she could see that I was drunk so she forgave my clumsy action. "It's so fucking loud downstairs. Better up here." Her gaze returned to the mirror as she coated her lashes with some expensive looking mascara, and she further made up her eyes with some black liner.

Valerie wasn't a slut per se, but she was extremely different from the girls we went to school with. Any and every girl nowadays tried out for Playboy, but she was a certified Bunny that had appeared on the front covers of a few magazines and her spreads were infamous around here. What made her so special was that she was accessible, or at least that's what a few guys thought until they found out she was a lesbian. This reminded me of Stephanie, but she was too ashamed of the way she was to openly tell others.

Nervously I glanced around here and there, trying not to stare as the brunette applied a fresh layer of gloss to her lips. Valerie was not the typical blonde bombshell you would expect if you heard of her from someone; she opted for her natural color over bleaching, and she had no need to tan which was something she thanked her mother for since she had been a native of Greece. Her tits were obviously fake, and everyone knew her cup size: 34 DD and this caused the drooling, horny college boys much grief since they knew they would only be able to see them in a magazine. She was about the same height as me, but her body was curvier than my own, which she proudly showed off in a white and black corset and skin-tight jeans.

Smirking at her own reflection she gave a chuckle, "I thought you could hold your liquor Claire."

So did I, I thought to myself, trudging over to take a seat on the closed toilet. It wasn't like I wanted her company; I just didn't want to be alone while I pondered over why I was suddenly a light-weight. "What's it like to pose naked?" I blurted out, but my fear of a nasty retort was unneeded since she only let her smirk grow wider.

Finally, she turned to look at me instead of using the mirror as a way to make eye-contact. "Maybe you should find out. You have a body for it. Plus, you're kind of a redhead and guys eat that shit up." My silence caused her to scoff. "Don't worry. The big, scary lesbian isn't hitting on you."

A part of me wondered though. I mean, life was so complicated when it came to men for some reason. There was this Wesker drama, Leon never saw me as anything but some kid that got wrapped up in the same situation that required us working together for survival, and Byron just wanted to fuck me. Maybe it was me. Maybe I just wasn't meant to be with a man. So either the fates had eternal solitude in mind or I was just not cut out for a happy relationship.

This wasn't some ridiculous argument solely based on one instance. However, Wesker differed in one way from the other men who had played vital roles in my life: my dad, Chris, Leon… They had all been my protectors. I heard my inner self scoff, telling me that somewhere inside I knew this. Though the deviation seemed so small it held some degree of value to me. My dad lived to protect his little girl, when he died Chris took up that responsibility. I wouldn't have made it out of Raccoon City had Leon not been there, and truthfully I wouldn't have gotten out of Antarctica had he not sent Chris to Rockfort. Then, in some cosmic joke of a twist, the man that Chris had to save me from came to me for my services.

At some point we had closed the gap between us, and Valerie's face was inches from mine, but I pulled back.

"I… I'm sorry," I muttered, stumbling out of the restroom. What almost happened, I'd never do that. Not in any alternate universe could I let myself believe I'd give in to that type of situation. It was just the kind of drama that'd have everlasting effects that I tried to avoid. I wasn't that girl that got a few drinks in her and was willing to try everything because of some drunken moment of weakness and despair. Wesker would be disappointed to know that that's all it took for me to jump ship and attempt to cope (very badly) with my problems. As I held onto the rail for dear life, trying to take one step at a time but at a quick pace I saw Byron with his arms outstretched.

"Hey, not even a phone call that you're back?!"

The host of the party was one of the last people I needed to talk to, especially since he would want some explanation for getting thrown into wall while standing at attention. The only way for drunken me to get around him safely was to push him aside, and on my way out I heard him yell an expletive.

Once outside I nearly tripped down the steps, a prompt to remove my pumps, and I'd just have to hoof it home barefoot. It was only half a mile and I'd gotten here just fine… except I was sober on the trek over. I'll be okay, I thought to myself optimistically. People would be leaving restaurants closer to the apartments, they'd be entering bars, and traffic would be heavy with people getting off of work from grocery stores, fast food joints, and some would just be the bored students with nothing better to do. If I fell there was no way I'd be left to snooze on the sidewalk. As I walked on I recognized a few faces from school, young women made up for Byron's party no doubt, and a few guys were going on and on about their itinerary for the function. Like them, I had set out to have fun tonight, I meant to dance and challenge frat boys to beer pong, but all it took was a little bit of liquor to completely alter my mind frame to an unrecognizable distortion that didn't mirror theirs in any form. Therein lies the problem with comparing myself to normal people.

At some point during my walk, I realized the importance of checking the sidewalk for glass or nails. "So far so good," I whispered to myself as I tipped over the pavement. Of course I was impressed with myself that I hadn't run into anyone or anything. "Ooph!" With that thought, a successful, blind walk came to an end, and in a moment of quick thinking I released my heels and threw my hands out behind me to catch myself, but somehow when I fell my ankle ended up bending slightly. As I seethed in pain on the ground, I knew that I hadn't fractured anything, but for the rest of the night I expected a sore ankle and wrists. Before I dared to look at my more than likely scraped palms I looked up to see what brick wall I managed to run into. What I saw when I looked up though was no brick wall.

What I could see with the help of dying street lamp was a person, whose face was shaded from the angle that I sat. I could see a tuft of white hair atop head that was hidden mostly in shadows, a body I swore that was as wide as a refrigerator, but an observation that was even more intimidating was that the figure had to be almost seven feet in height. Great, I'd managed to bump into the Terminator. "Sorry," I groaned out, snatching up my pumps and attempting to get to my feet. When I attempted to put weight on my left ankle, I felt my whole leg shake, and I was prepared to once more fall on my ass. Surprisingly, two huge hands shot out to grab my arms, and the man was so strong that that was enough to almost lift me off my feet.

"Are you all right?"

Tilting my head, I felt even smaller once I heard the thick Russian accent, and had I seen or heard him earlier then I guarantee that I would have been more careful. But he offered me help so I guess this didn't turn out as bad as I had thought it would.

"I think," I said, looking around for some reason.

Once he released my arms I noticed that they had been shackling them all the way around. "Looks like you had a lot on your mind," he offered, taking half a step back, revealing a scarred, right eye that probably had no vision. Now I felt really bad if I caught him when he was without peripheral vision on one side.

In a small voice I mumbled, "Just trying to get home. I'm so sorry." After my final apology I tried to walk around him, but I felt my ankle give out underneath me.

In one swift movement he picked me up bridal style, his reflexes surprising me. "You obviously cannot walk. Let me help you miss."

Being so close to a stranger was a bit unnerving, especially when I had been the cause of this incident, and now he was helping me out. To ensure that I wouldn't fall, it would have been a great idea to wrap my arms around his neck, but that was out of the question. As he cradled me closely to his massive body though, I knew it wasn't necessary anyhow; this guy probably lifted the front half of Rams for a warm-up.

"What apartments are you staying in?" His inquiry rumbled in his chest, shaking me within.

"Skyline." The pitch of my voice was pathetically higher than usual. This man was a stranger to me, this whole thing could have been some ploy by a serial killer, and I didn't possess the physical strength to stop him or run if any of my crazy thoughts were true.

Once we began moving, he seemed to show no signs of physical strain from my weight, and I now didn't fear being dropped. I still had a fear of him being some kind of alleyway slasher though, and at this point I realized that there was no point to my outing. I could have stayed home, watched TV or did some living room workouts. Right now a redo button would have been very much appreciated in my life, and as we neared my apartment I kept an eye on ever passerby just in case I needed to call out for help.

"A beautiful, young lady such as yourself shouldn't be out alone. American nightlife can be… dangerous."

This was definitely the moment of foreshadowing in movies to a girl being strung up in some basement that was modified for torture. We were close to the apartment though and people were still pouring in and out of buildings.

To bolster my standing as a hardass and downplay my current status as a damsel I said, "I can take care of myself." The statement was bold, daring, and the realization that I could have just unwittingly challenged him made my blood rush so fast that I was now sober.

The vibrations in his chest were so great that it felt like I'd been rocked by thunder. "Is that so? I've seen men in war who had claimed that they were capable of defending themselves. And these were Russian soldiers."

I looked up to him despite not wanting to make eye contact, but his comment rubbed me the wrong way. Because of my current position I wouldn't set the stage for our own personal cold war in the form of a dick measuring competition. If it helped, internally I was kicking Mr. Russia's ass. Finally, I almost said aloud as we reached the front door.

Gently, he let me down and I tried to keep weight off of my injured ankle. "Did you need any help getting upstairs?" he offered , something which was odd since he just insulted me.

Fighting the urge to stick out my tongue I prepared to walk through the front door. "I got it from here. Thank you for your help though."

"Sergei," he boomed. "Colonel Sergei Vladimir."

I didn't ask.

"Claire Redfield." That came out as a habit, because I really didn't need to tell him anything.

"Redfield?" he asked with a smirk. "What an interesting name."

"I guess. Well, thanks again. Good night Colonel Vladimir." I thought by calling him by his title that he would be so buttered up he'd accept this as goodbye. With a nod I bid him farewell and I went for the elevators. Once I was upstairs I started for my apartment, expecting a bitch of a walk and a hell of a story about a rabid Russian for Wesker. Yet when I turned the corner I saw him standing in the hallway, his face free of shades. When he saw me his eyes opened slightly wider, something he probably though I'd miss since it was so subtle. Why would he risk leaving the apartment for anything?

The sound of a door opening stole my attention though.

"I totally forgot-"

Maritza had stopped dead in her sentence once she saw Wesker staring down the hallway, her hair flying over her shoulder as her head whipped in my direction. She was attempting to continue a conversation with him for some reason. At this point I don't think things could get any weirder.

A/N: Ok I have to stop. Sorry for taking so long getting anything up. I have a midterm I have yet to cram for though. Night.