A/N: Hey, all! I'm very glad to see that this story is getting some attention already. I would greatly appreciate some honest reviews to let me know how you guys are liking it, yeah? Anyway, I've been up for like thirty-six hours now, so I'm off to bed. Lots of kisses. Enjoy!

Inconceivable:

Smoke tendrils are dancing up into the air, disappearing entirely with every breath I exhale.

The release it brings me is inconceivable.

Usually I'm not one for basic human vices, but with everything going on in my life lately, I seem to have been smoking more and more cigarettes with every passing day. I am standing outside the precinct, leaning against the brick wall of the building and staring up at the stars above.

People always seem to find some hidden meaning in stars, some vague metaphor to romanticize them. A beacon of hope or something like that. Me, I've lost hope in most things long ago, and the only thing I see them as are stars.

I take another drag, letting the smoke burn its way down my throat and into my lungs. It's chilly tonight, and I find myself slinking further into my long black leather coat. Chief Irons had given me another mountain of paperwork, before he so casually strutted off into the night. Better have it finished by morning, he had said, this demeaning gleam in his dark eyes.

Needless to say, I will not be making it to Umbrella tonight.

I realize my cigarette has burnt out at the end, and toss the butt onto the sidewalk. I know I should be heading back inside and getting a start on that paperwork if I ever hope to finish it by the time Irons returns in the morning. But there is something about the night that always makes me feel so at peace.

Maybe I am more of a romantic than I thought.

…

I never remember my dreams. I know I must have them, and they must be rather vivid, because there are many nights I find myself waking with a start, drenched in a cold sweat and shaking. I am never able to recall the nightmares, and I suppose I wouldn't want to if I could.

I must have been having one of those nightmares, because when I wake up at my desk I jump so hard I manage to spill half the papers onto the floor. "Shit," I mutter, bending over to pick them up. The clock on the wall reads barely nine-o-clock, meaning I was asleep for almost two hours. I've barely even started any of my work, and I'm not even going to think about all the shit waiting for me back in the lab. This day simply could not get any longer.

Finally getting the last of the papers off the floor, I straighten up.

And see a figure slinking past my door.

I know there are other people here; it isn't exactly as though the police department closes. But years of working for Umbrella has created in me this innate sense of paranoia, and the sleep deprivation does little to appease that. Still, I choose to ignore it, return to my desk and at least attempt to get through some of this paperwork.

There is nothing I hate more than fucking paperwork.

A few more minutes pass by, as I look over the case reports and witness statements from the day. A few domestic disputes that had gotten out of control, and an attempted car jacking gone wrong. STARS had been formed in response to the recent crime spike in Raccoon, and I've been dealing with the outcome of that for the last two months since being appointed Captain.

Only a few minutes are actually spent on this, though, and then I am interrupted by a knock upon my office door. A frown on my face, I look up to see who could possibly be bothering me at this time.

Whoever I expect, it is most certainly not the thin redhead now standing in my doorway. I raise my brows unsurely as Claire Redfield offers me a tiny wave. "Hey, Captain Wesker," she greets softly. There is an undertone of sadness in her voice, and although I pick up on it instantly I remain silent. Claire bites down nervously on her bottom lip, crossing her arms over her chest. "Is, uh, my brother here? He wasn't home, and I though maybe-"

"Christopher left some time ago with Miss Valentine," I reply, cutting her off. Claire lets out a deep sigh, tugging at the ends of her ponytail. Her body language is an open book, giving herself away fully. She would rather be anywhere but here.

It is a feeling I can appreciate.

"Okay," she murmurs, turning away from me. "Sorry to bother you, Captain."

She is walking away from my office; I can hear her footsteps growing fainter down the hall. My gaze lingers on the place where she just stood, and I swallow hard.

I wasn't planning on finishing those papers anyway.

"Cla- Miss Redfield, wait." I step into the hall, my black coat sweeping behind me. My fingers are still lingering on the doorknob, and I realize they're trembling ever so slightly.

This girl is making me tremble.

Claire glances back at me over her shoulder, her hair flipping around as she does. She doesn't say anything, but her eyes are urging me to go on, those bright blue eyes standing out even from down the hall.

I clear my throat, realizing I've been staring and that she has been waiting for me to speak. "Do you need a ride home?"

A confused look comes over her face. I can practically feel her hesitation seeping off of her in spite of all the distance between our bodies. Just as I'm beginning to regret the decision at all, as I usually do whenever I try to do something inherently good, Claire curves her lips into a small smile. "That would be great."

…

The ride is not, in fact, great, but rather an incredibly awkward and silent experience. I know Claire can feel it too because she is balling her hands into little fists and staring out the window the entire time. About the only words spoken are the directions to get to her house across town.

At long last, I am easing my black Audi up to the curb across the street from her house, throwing the car into park.

"Thanks for the ride, Captain Wesker," Claire said quietly. Already her fingers are hovering over the door handle. She is looking anywhere but at me.

And then.

Claire Redfield is sobbing in the passenger seat of my car.

I'm not entirely sure what to do in this situation, except to grip the steering wheel tightly until my knuckles turn white. We sit there for more minutes than I care to recall, and I'm fighting the urge to light up a cigarette. Claire has her face buried in her hands as her small body is racked with uncontrollable sobs.

"Are you okay?" I ask, the words coming out uncertainly. I realize a moment too late what a stupid question this is. If she were okay, she wouldn't be crying in my car. Still, Claire forces herself to nod.

"I'm sorry," she manages to choke out. It's the third time that day that she has apologized to me, and not one of those times did she have anything to actually be sorry about. "It's just…" Another sniffle. "It's the anniversary of my parents' death, and Chris said he would be home, and…" She trails off, finally looking back up at me. Even with red eyes and mascara stained cheeks she is beautiful.

I reject that thought as soon as it forms.

Claire's blue eyes flicker from my face to her front door across the road. "Would you like to come in?" She blurts suddenly, before recoiling into her seat. A blush rises to her cheeks. I must admit, the flushed and innocent thing works well for her. "I could make some coffee, or something. And, if I'm being honest, I could really use the company."

I blink slowly, mulling over her words. My head is saying no, but my heart is saying, 'Why not?' I didn't even realize I have anything left in that hollow cavity where my heart belongs. But whatever broken pieces remain, it is this girl's gentle voice that has managed to bring them to life.

I kill the engine and muster a smile for her. "I'd love to, Miss Redfield."