Chapter Six

Shivers

By the fourth week of her captivity, Claire had developed two things: an uncomfortable sort of routine, and a love-hate relationship with the bathroom.

As per usual, her prison was freezing. She had warm clothes and plenty of blankets, but the only place she was ever truly comfortable was in a tub of hot water, soaking the chill from her bones. Eventually she discovered that she could keep the water hotter longer by showering instead of bathing, and switched over. Her showers grew longer and longer until she was spending a good hour each morning under the steady soothing spray. It was the best hour of her day, the only luxury of her captivity.

But then came the moment when she had to get out of the shower and into the icy room. She dreaded it almost as much as she dreaded Wesker himself, the shock of cold air raising goosebumps along her flesh, the shiver of shock, her body never seeming to get used to the cold no matter how long she endured it.

So she'd developed a routine there, too: from the shower she wrapped herself in a thick towel, darted across the room, and dove beneath the covers of her bed, where she could shiver herself warm. She stayed there until she was completely dry, usually reading one of the paperbacks Wesker had brought at her request, sometimes dozing. She was sleeping too much, she knew, but there wasn't a lot to occupy her in her one room prison -- two if you counted the bathroom. So she read and dozed and slowly warmed, her clothes prearranged in a heap beside her so she could dress without leaving her cocoon of heat.

She stayed naked beneath the sheets longer and longer each day, so it was really inevitable that Wesker would eventually walk in on her. Nonetheless, she was completely unprepared when it happened. After all, she hadn't seen him in five days; how could she guess he'd pick this day, this morning, to show up? Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the key turn in the lock, but she forced herself calm, drawing the blankets all the way to her neck and sitting against the wall (like a block of ice prickling her spine). After all, he had no way of knowing she was naked unless she told him, which she had no intention of doing.

He entered as he always did, cautiously, eyes sweeping the room and ascertaining her location before he took two strides forward, locking the door behind him. He glanced at her curled into the bed, wet hair disheveled and falling in her eyes, blankets clutched tightly at her neck. Oh yes, he had her at a disadvantage. She just hoped he didn't know it.

"And how are you this morning, Miss Redfield?" he asked, setting a covered tray on the desk.

"Lovely," she spat in return. "Really enjoying my first month as a prisoner."

He offered her his best ironic smile in return, almost as cold as the room. "I'm pleased to hear it." Even through the dark glasses, she knew he was looking her up and down, taking in her position on the bed. "Sleeping late, are we?"

"What else do you suggest I do?"

"Only an observation, dear heart. You're welcome to spend the entire day in bed if you like." He crossed towards her and she tightened her grip on the blankets, cursing him roundly. He never lingered in her room anymore. But now he perched on the edge of the mattress, and she almost dropped the blankets in shock. She had never, ever seen him sit in her presence; he'd always been ready for action. "Is everything all right?"

Her mind reeled, but fortunately her mouth didn't wait for her brain to catch up. "Yeah, Wesker, everything's spectacular. I've never been happier."

"I meant, are you feeling quite well?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You're shivering," he replied simply, reaching out and touching the side of her face with one gloved finger. Her heart leaped and hammered, and she didn't dare drop the blankets, didn't want him to see her bare shoulders.

Fortunately she could explain shivers away easily enough. "Of course I'm shivering. It's freezing in here."

"Is it?" His finger stroked down her cheek, leaving a path of heat behind. He examined it disinterestedly, as though he might have soiled it against her skin. "I told you before that you'd have to inform me if you wished changes made to your quarters... or, as I believe you preferred it, your hellhole."

She flushed slightly but didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer, fixing her gaze on her knees beneath the grey woolen blanket. His voice tinged with amusement, he said: "Is there something you wish to ask me, Miss Redfield?" Correctly interpreting the expression on her face, he added, "Now, don't let pride stand in your way. You'll only regret it once I've gone."

He was right, she knew, and she swallowed a lump that could equally have been her pride or her heart. "All right. Is it possible to get some heat in here? Please."

"Certainly. I'll see to it this afternoon."

She closed her eyes, grateful he hadn't pushed her further, knowing she wouldn't have groveled in spite of the constant cold. "Thank you," she forced herself to say.

"My pleasure."

And still he wasn't leaving, so she slapped him with the full force of her glare. "Is there something else you want, Wesker?"

"Mmm." He leaned back against his hands, staring at her in a way that made her feel he could see right through the blankets. "I thought you may want to know that Miss Wong also survived our little adventure to the north."

To the north, not to the north now. She filed the information for future reference. Without missing a beat, she said: "Great. Thanks for the news."

"I've been wondering if it was worth the bother to locate her and decided, unfortunately, that it is." He sighed impatiently. "There's too much she could tell Mr. Kennedy if she so desires." He glanced at her face and his lips twisted in a cruel smile as he registered the surprise in her eyes. "Oh, yes, Mr. Kennedy has located Ada. From what I can gather, he's spending a great deal of time in her hospital room, holding her hand and whispering sweet nothings."

She hated him, hated his cruelty, his enjoyment of her discomfort, and she hated herself more for asking: "Has he... I mean, is he...?"

"Looking for you? I'm afraid not, dear heart. I think he believes you dead."

But he'd found Ada. She turned her head away and blinked so he wouldn't see her tears. She hated him in that moment, hated him as thoroughly as she hated Leon. "Don't cry, dear heart," he said gently. "I'll remove Miss Wong from his clutches soon enough."

"So why tell me? What do I care?"

"It means I'll be gone for several days. You'll have the entire facility to yourself -- a perfect opportunity for escape, if you care to try. Of course, you'll be locked away as usual. I'll leave you provisions for the duration of my absence."

She glared at him. "And what if something happens to you and you don't come back? I'll slowly starve in this room?"

He smiled in return. "Then you'd best pray for my safe return, hadn't you, Claire?" He rose to his feet and crossed the room, pausing only to glance over his shoulder and say, "I believe your clothing has fallen on the floor. You'd probably be much warmer if you put it on." She closed her eyes in mortification as the door closed behind him, then made a mad dive for where her sweater and track pants had indeed tumbled to the carpet.

I hate you, she thought savagely as she yanked them on, and for the life of her she couldn't figure out who she was talking to.