Author: Elizabeth Wilde
Title: West Within
Distribution: Anyone who has my fic, anyone who wants it and asks, .net/wilde [my site]
Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil: Code Veronica. I haven't even played it.
Don't sue! I also don't own the songs used here. The title comes from a Ben Folds Five song called "Best Imitation of Myself", so, obviously, it isn't mine. A-duh.
'Ship: Wesker/Chris, Steve/Claire
Classification: general [angst, romance, drama, etc.]
Summary: Things get a bit complicated when Claire is kidnapped by Wesker's
Organization.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Resident Evil: Code Veronica. Yes, that's *all*
Feedback: to
Notes: I have never played the games. I have watched while my dear friend Feral played them. So... I'm not an expert. I just hated watching Steve die because I grew terribly attached to him, and I thought Wesker was a complete hottie. I have made Claire cooler and thereby more deserving of Steve's love for the purposes of this story... though that doesn't guarantee a happy fuzzy ending, so don't get your hopes up.
Things aren't the way they were before
You wouldn't even recognize me anymore
Not that you knew me back then
But it all comes back to me in the end
I kept everything inside
And even though I tried
It all fell apart
~ Linkin Park "In the End"
First came the pain. Or, rather, Steve expected pain. It took several minutes for him to realize there was in reality no pain. It was a memory, phantom spasms that wracked his limbs just as the strange sensation that a hand was resting on his cheek amounted only to-no! It was real. The young man's eyes snapped open quickly. "Claire?" he gasped before the orbs managed to focus on reality and make out the shape hovering above him. A man. Tall. Built. Wearing shades. "Wh-who're you?" Steve demanded, finding within himself somewhere the strength to sit up.
"Albert Wesker." The man tilted his head as if examining the boy. Even through the glasses, the gaze seemed cold. "You're Steve Burnside. Now that the introductions are finished, how are you feeling?"
The question obviously did not stem from a desire to assess Steve's comfort or happiness. Rather, it seemed the easiest way to discover his status as one might ask for a report on a skyscraper being built. "I... uh... fine," Steve muttered, looking down. He was wearing nothing but a paper hospital gown, and on the pale, exposed skin he saw patches of scaly green. /Guess that means it wasn't a bad dream then,/ he thought with a shudder.
"I suppose we could have it removed," Wesker said, "but it would be a waste of funds. A few scales never hurt anyone."
In another situation, said by another person, the words might have carried comic affect. From Wesker, they seemed a bleak final judgment, and Steve found himself gazing down at the patches of mottled skin with the same indifference the other man might. It struck him as odd that he honestly didn't care much about the state of his skin. He felt strangely indifferent to it, to the fact that he still wore only the hospital gown. Looking up once more, he fixed Wesker with a cold stare. "Where am I? Why am I alive?"
"Not particularly important. You are alive and you're alive because of me.
That's all you really need to know, kid," the man replied, muscular arms crossed over his chest as a bizarre half-smile twisted his lips. "We'll get you clothes, a room, then you can sleep. You look like shit."
Steve considered protesting, but he found no objection to the words. He needed clothes, needed a place to stay, and he was tired. /Dead tired,/ he thought, not particularly amused by the internal humor. As they walked, Steve took note of the layout and their route. The action was borne of nearly inbred habit, but he also had a feeling no one would be stopping by to lead him to the bathroom if he didn't find it on his own. They passed a couple of men, black clad like
Wesker, who paid them no more mind than they might a speck of dirt beneath their boots. Antiseptically barren metallic walls surrounding them, the ceilings and floors matching so well that the base, flipped over, would have been identical.
"This is yours." The hallway was set a good quarter mile from the lab-like room where Steve first awoke and given the proliferation of similar doors, he assumed it was the equivalent of crew quarters.
Steve shrugged. "Okay."
"There's a shower inside. I suggest you use it. You were dead for a couple of days, after all," Wesker observed with another of his unsettling smiles before turning on his heel and walking back down the hall, calling over his shoulder,
"Be up and dressed by 0500 tomorrow. We have work to do."
