Never Fail
Chapter One: The Beginning of It all
Her head was pounding and something uncomfortably warm and sticky and heavy was crushing her into the mattress. She wiggled out from under the thing slowly and it groaned.
Then the night went rushing back. No, she hadn't had sex, but it certainly looked like she had. But she was still fully clothed, and his shirt was off.
She didn't even know who the hell this guy was. She remembered meeting a guy at the gym. He'd been single, and he'd had a bottle of vodka in his car. She'd thought, what the hell, and they'd gotten stone-cold drunk, and she'd brought him to her apartment, and that's the last thing she remembered.
She sighed, attempting to bully the headache from her thoughts. She grabbed him and dragged him out of her apartment, then dumped him in the hallway several doors down. She then returned to her apartment, made sure nothing of his was left—except the empty vodka bottle, which she threw out her window and it landed in a dumpster across the dingy alleyway and shattered.
She rarely got drunk, but sometimes she needed to just forget everything even if the price was one hell of a hangover. But that was the good thing about her and drinking, she mused, her body processed the substance better than others because she was in better physical shape.
The small, old apartment's walls were peeling, chipped and yellowed from age, and she was glad she was getting out of this place that day. She heard a loud "What the fuck?" Out in the hallway and an amused smirk grew onto her lips.
'Looks like sleeping sweaty woke up.' She chuckled, and then started packing. She was only in the southern part of Ohio because she had gone for some information, anything left on Umbrella's horrors. That and an extremely small underground lab had been found, and she'd been sent to deal with the miniscule numbers of Cerberus, infected researchers, and Lickers—who had taken care of the Hunters, for some reason. It hadn't taken more than fourteen shotgun shells, and her old Browning HP's clip to take the monsters out.
Really, it was a pathetic reason to have to stay in this place for a week, but she'd managed. Ohio was a really boring spot, she knew, but it was nice to be able to be here during September, killing off infected corvedai in a remembrance of that day eight years before.
Being twenty-eight, she had been part of the B.S.A.A ever since the T-veronica virus thing blew over. A few years ago Wesker had been killed, as reported, by a rocket launcher and a volcano. Even he must have surely died.
And if he didn't, the Uroboros project and all connecting data to it had been lost—the work of a self-destruct order to the single backup left of it left by the former S.T.A.R.S captain as a failsafe. In the last few years she'd cut all connections to Terrasave, mostly because it had begun to annoy her. You couldn't always follow the rules if you wanted to save lives in time, but the N.G.O wouldn't accept that.
Not only did being in B.S.A.A help her from getting sued, but it had given her a chance to find her life's goal in an easy-to-reach setting. Unfortunately, this had been the first mission left open for her after the long absence of anything to do. Since Umbrella's old spills and dormant labs were causing all the trouble, things had been rather slow. She should be grateful, she knew, but it had almost driven her to be a hand-to-hire at one point, or take an extremely long term mission—that the last fifteen operatives had died on.
As she got into her rental van, she relaxed as she drove to the airport where her transport to the B.S.A.A HQ in the states would come. It was somewhere in Colorado, where she had a nice apartment of her own that was closer to the rest of her friends and her brother. She grabbed her light bag and then got into the jet with a hello to the pilot, and then she was staring out the window.
She was tired, and she had a terrible hangover. But she didn't really want to fall asleep. Her head tilted onto the headrest, and she let her eyes slide shut. 'Just for a minute,' she thought tiredly. 'Just a minute…'
And with that Claire Redfield was asleep.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
"Miss Redfield?" The pilot asked her, shaking her shoulder.
She merely mumbled something about pancakes burning and kicking someone's ass before her eyes opened up. A pink tinge spread across her cheeks. "S-Sorry Clint. Dreaming about breakfast at my brothers." She cracked her back as she checked her bag—which had been setting on her lap, but she found it on the floor.
He gave a laugh. "That's fine. We're here, obviously. See you." With that he left, and she departed the plane alone. She shouldered her pink backpack and headed to the car she'd left parked there the whole week. She got in and slid the keys into the ignition, the hangover she had had just a mere distant memory as she drove home, listening to the radio talk show people blather on about stupid topics.
When she pulled into her building's parking lot she put her backpack on her shoulders and started in. When she got back to her room door she sensed something wrong, but she shrugged it off. It was simply strange to be in her apartment after a week when she was used to longer trips.
So she entered, and walked in after flipping the lights on. She sighed and inhaled the days-old stale scent of air. Why the hell she'd been forced to settle in Colorado escaped her mind for a second—then she remembered how she liked being so close in contact with everyone, even though the Umbrella Horrors part of her life was steadily drawing to a close. She couldn't say she was glad about that, and it worried her slightly.
She looked to the small table where she kept photos. There was a picture of Jill, Chris, Barry and Rebecca. There was a picture of Leon and her and Ada—who had come to their aid many times and eventually joined their side. Those pictures represented who they had survived with, their fellow survivors. There was a picture of Leon and Ada—who were planning to marry soon, Chris and Jill—they weren't married but they were just as close as if they were. She had a picture of Barry and his family, but had never met his wife and three daughters. And then there was a picture of her by herself, in a white cotton sundress last year at her birthday party, her smiling as she held a present in her lap and read the tag.
She preferred to have candid shots of herself instead of traditional pictures. That one had been snapped by Chris when he had been fiddling around with his new camera—which he still couldn't use right. She walked into her bedroom and dumped her bag on her bed, then went to the kitchen. She was far too used to jet lag to notice it anymore. But that didn't mean she didn't want a cup of coffee.
As she entered, she froze dead in her tracks at the blonde man sitting at the table, hands folded neatly and politely as he waited for her. "Hello, dear heart." He greeted unabashedly.
"…Hello…" She waved, confusion sweeping over her form although she was calm.
He simply sat there. "What? Did Christopher really believe that he had killed me? Did you believe he had?"
She shook her head after her thoughts had run into a conclusion like ink on a wet paper ran into smears. "No, but I didn't want to burst his bubble," She spoke cautiously. "It would take a nuclear warhead to kill you. Maybe more."
He gave a smile—not a cruel smirk, but a smile, she noted. "I am pleased that you are not as brash as your brother." He spoke as she walked over to the coffee maker and pushed the start button after making sure she put the essentials into it.
"Yeah, well, if I had been Chris I would have probably brought out my knife and tried to slash you." She spoke lightly, and he knew it was true and he chuckled at the thought.
"Ah… but that's the past." She gave a nod. "Aren't you worried about me being alive and in your kitchen?" He asked.
"Not really," She admitted. "You would have killed me and high-tailed it out of here if you wanted to."
He gave a nod. "Smart girl."
She sat down across from him and sat down, her hands clasped underneath her chin. "Then why are you here?"
He gave a shrug. "I don't know, dear heart. I got the overwhelming urge to visit someone from my past, and here we are."
"Funny," She let her eyes twinkle with mischief. "The last time I saw you, I got trodden on." And she let out a laugh. She didn't mind it anymore, and she had escaped it with a simple bad bruise and no scars.
"Well then," He sighed in amusement. "I guess you did." His eyes were fixed on her form, she knew, and as of late she really hated sunglasses.
"You know," She started out. "There's no point wearing those sunglasses. It's not like my neighbors are snoops, and I've already seen your eyes."
He paused for a moment, then his hand reached up and took them off, then folded them and placed them in his blazer pocket. "I suppose so, Miss Redfield."
She was pleased that he'd taken his glasses off willingly—then a bit confused as to why she was pleased. "Thank you. You're just as handsome and mysterious without them, plus you're more inconspicuous with them off." She pointed out. "Some dark coloured contact lenses and I know that if you passed my brother without saying anything, he'd pass you off as the average male." She pushed her hands through her bangs. Her hair had only been allowed to grow an inch from the last time he'd seen her.
"Really? Well, interesting suggestion. I may take your advice and get a pair or two." He chuckled. It really was a good suggestion, after he thought about it.
She was a bit caught off guard when he took her advice seriously. Perhaps he was trying to be friendly, now that his world domination dreams had crumbled? "Well, you can get them cheap but you'd probably need to order them off the internet, or something. You know, get them dark enough to hide the amber."
He soaked that in, then looked around her kitchen. "I expected you to own at least a small house by now, Miss Redfield. Or at least someone living with you."
She shook her head. "Nah. I'm only twenty-eight, and I'm too preoccupied with missions and stuff."
"Ah. Ambition?" He asked.
"I guess so. Just trying to find a balance and a purpose while Umbrella's horrors are fading away into nothing." She then heard the alarm on the coffee maker go off. "Ah, excuse me. Do you like creamer or milk in your coffee?"
He shook his head. "Just sugar, thank you." She nodded.
"'Kay. That's all I put in mine. I just keep that stuff around for when people stop by." She fixed it, then handed the warm mug to Wesker as she sat back in her seat with her own cup. She took a long drought of it before she sighed in near-pleasure.
"Coffee addiction?" He guessed.
"More like it's the only thing that lures me out of bed in the morning." She gave a snort. "Besides, the caffeine helps when I don't get much sleep, or if I had bad dreams."
"Why are you so honest?" He asked suddenly.
"Well…" She took a sip of coffee. "It's because I know that you won't go using it behind my back. I've got nothing to lose by being honest." She sighed and set the mug down with a clink. "Besides, Chris was always the one who was brash and rushed into things guns blazing. I preferred to actually think it through then do it his way. Too dangerous… he just has blind luck sometimes."
He nodded. "That describes it well," He commented.
They sat in a comfortable silence and drank their coffee for about eight minutes.
"Well, if you don't mind and don't think me rude, I have to go to bed. It's about eleven." She spoke, glancing up at the clock. She didn't know how long the trip had taken, because she'd been asleep the whole time and she knew she'd woken up late.
"Certainly not," He assured her. "You're definitely not rude, and I don't mind. But… Dear heart, would you like to help me with something?" He asked it quickly, as if knowing she may say no.
"Depends." She shrugged.
"I'll tell you in the morning." He nodded, then headed for the balcony.
"You can crash here tonight, you know." She called, stopping him in his tracks and making him turn. "I don't mind. There's a guest room next to mine. Make yourself at home." She started towards her room, and then she picked up the front of her shirt and gagged. She hadn't changed clothes before she'd left, having been nearly late for her transport.
That meant that she still carried the slight smell of vodka and not-so-slight smell of sweat on her, where that stranger had been laying on her. "Urgh. On second thought, you'll hear the shower running." He chuckled as she entered the bathroom, stripping her shirt off on the way into the door before shutting it with her foot.
She couldn't believe she'd given a 'maybe' to an offer made by one of the most dangerous men she knew. But that was back when he had true ulterior motives. He'd learned that power that intense had nearly killed him, and from speaking to him briefly and observing him knew instinctively that he wasn't suicidal. He valued his life and had given up the biggest pursuit of his existence to keep it.
She was a bit gladdened by it, because she'd been right about her thoughts. Unless he'd gotten mixed up in something and had to come to her, the sister of his nemesis for eternity.
She let the hot water run through her hair before squeezing shampoo onto it. She fumbled with the bottle—damn thing was slick from built up soap scum, she noticed with distaste—and she dropped it unceremoniously onto her right foot, it grazing her shin on the way down.
"Son of a BITCH!" She cursed and bit her tongue. She rubbed her leg and foot where it had hit and knew that she'd have a bruise there. Or perhaps she wouldn't. All the abuse her body had taken over the years kept her from getting minor bruises from banging into things, but then again, the shampoo bottle was a heavy family sized bottle.
She grumbled as she scrubbed her hair and then rinsed it, then put conditioner on her long auburn locks. She grabbed her razor from the small built in shelf and then bent over to shave her legs. She got through most of it without much hassle, but then she nicked herself on the back of her thigh. "Fuck!" She hissed, the cut stinging with the hot water's flow.
She placed it back onto a shelf and then rinsed her hair out again until she was sure it was clean, then stepped out of the shower, careful to not slip or trip on the high lip of the tub. 'Urgh…A new cut and a probable bruise. What the hell is with my luck today?' She grumbled in thought then grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her, her hair already drying as she brushed it. She sighed as she dried off her body then almost smacked herself on the forehead when she glanced to the top of the wicker hamper she usually put her bedclothes on for easy access—and found nothing.
'Shit, Shit, SHIT.' She cursed, staring at the doorknob tentatively. Wesker was out there… and he was staying in the room next to hers. That and she didn't know where he was, exactly. He could be anywhere from her kitchen to her guestroom. And she didn't want him to see her in this damned threadbare, clingy and short towel. She steeled her reserve before placing a hand on the shining knob, and turned it before she could second-guess herself.
She was around ten steps from her bedroom door when she heard a chuckle from behind her. She sighed and turned.
"Do you always run around your apartment in indecent attire like this?" He asked, smile on his lips.
"No," She admitted. "But I needed a shower and forgot to get my bedclothes, that's all." She then retreated into her bedroom and closed the door, hoping he hadn't seen the blush spread across her cheeks when he surprised her.
She then made sure she was dried off and slipped into her black sleeping flannel pants, and a white spaghetti-strap shirt with a built-in bra, and then exited her room with the damp towel as she headed to the bathroom and dumped it into the hamper with the rest of her dirty clothes.
She brushed her teeth in the sink then flipped the light-switch, bathing the room in dark blue and black hues as the bulbs turned off. She made her way to the end of the hallway where her room was, and peeked her head into her guest room. "Good night, Wesker." She spoke politely, then went into her own room and got into bed.
XxXxXxXxXxXxX
A peaceful morning light reached through the small window to caress the pale, fair face of the pretty auburn-haired woman on the bed as birds twittered in the park across the street.
The calm was shattered by said pretty pale woman's alarm going off with enough noise to raise the undead… again. "Argh… fuck. Why did I even set you?" Her voice pierced the faint chirping of birds and she swiftly hit the 'snooze' button on the contraption. Hard.
She rose from her bed, stretching her arms over her head and ears spared from the overly cheery music the birds made as she exited her room, feet padding noiselessly on the carpeted floor.
As she entered her kitchen she stared blankly at the blonde tyrant sitting calmly at her kitchen table, reading the newspaper, but then the night before rushed back to her, and she smiled. "Hello Wesker." She greeted cheerfully, spirits recharged from a good night's sleep.
"Hello dear heart." He replied absently, flicking through the pages uninterestedly. "I see you're in a better mood."
"Yeah… it's how having a good sleep with no nightmares helps. Anyway, how was your night?"
"Pleasant enough." He nodded. "I already started the coffee." He added right before the old coffee maker beeped, announcing rather annoyingly that it was done brewing.
"Thanks." She spoke as she poured and prepared two mugs and set one by his hand on a coaster as she carried hers with her and took sips as she glanced into the fridge. "Do you want anything to eat?" She asked as she dug through something wrapped in tin-foil—probably a piece of chicken or something left over from a dinner at a friend's house.
"You don't have to…" When she turned and gave him a pointed look, he stopped in mid-sentence. "Some toast would be fine."
"Alright then," She got out the half-loaf of bread and a tub of butter. "Toast it is."
K.L.K- Soooo? How was it? Good? Bad? Is Wesker so OOC nobody will read this? Is Claire in character enough to be alright? Am I completely off my rocker in respects for the idea on this story?
Claire- Is the Authoress asking far too many questions?
K.L.K- (dead-panned stare) Gee, thanks Claire… Well, anyway, let's get it out of the way—this disclaimer applies to the WHOLE story! I. Do. Not. Own. Resident. Evil!
Wesker- (Flips through newspaper) Couldn't you supply a better article of reading material? Perhaps one of the lemons you are working—
K.L.K- (laughs nervously) What? What lemons? Wesker, you should stop taking acid, it's bad for you.
Ripredisawesome- In true Kim style! Goooo Scarlett! (Disappears in the flash of a Deku Nut)
K.L.K- Yes, I am writing lemons. No, I won't put any of them up. Yet. And Wesker, stop trying to hack into my files… you arse… You'll get to read them later…
Wesker- (stops) Fine.
K.L.K- Please—
Ada- (pops out of the closet) Review!
K.L.K- (poisonous stare at her)
Ada- …(disappears out the window quickly)